"Can't you tell Lorenzo that you don't like this outfit?"

She shook her head. "I don’t want to tick him off. He’s making me a hand-sewn silk gown for the Grammys. It’s going to have five pounds of beads on it.”

Great. She got to wear silk, and I got to wear Xena: Warrior Princess.

After I dressed, Kari fussed over my hair and makeup, giving me club etiquette tips. She slipped lip gloss, my cell phone, and mints into a small over-the-shoulder purse that Lorenzo had made to match my outfit. I would not only look like a gladiator, I would look like a gladiator with a purse. Kari handed it to me with a proud smile. “It's like you’re my little sister and you're going to the prom."

I nearly dropped the purse. I couldn't look at her, afraid she would see the truth in my eyes. When I did return my gaze to her, she studied my features so intently my heart pounded against my chest. I waited for her to make the connection. Instead she dragged me in front of the bathroom mirror, and we stood side by side comparing our reflections.

"You look just like me—except for your nose." She turned to Maren, who stood in the doorway watching us. "I like Alexia’s nose better than mine. What do you think? Should I get work done on mine?”

Maren said, "You need to finish your album before you do anything so drastic. How is the latest song going anyway? Did you get the feel you wanted?"

Kari walked out of the bathroom to the living room. She sank down into the love seat, somehow still managing to look ultra feminine, even though she’d sprawled herself over the cushions. "I'm spending time relaxing so I can fill myself with creative energy before I start on it again."

Maren walked over until she stood directly in front of Kari. "Before you start again? You were supposed to be done with it by now.”

"You can't rush your muse. They don’t punch time clocks.”

I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes after nine. My driver, a middle-aged guy named Bao-Zhi would be here soon with my bodyguard and Stefano. I wasn't sure what country Bao-Zhi came from. I’d only talked to him briefly before— briefly because he didn’t speak much English. Mostly he just smiled, nodded, and checked his GPS. I think that was part of Maren’s plan to keep my identity a secret. My staff was completely made up of foreigners. That way, there was less chance of them figuring out who I was, or leaking anything about me to the press. At any rate, it was almost time to leave. "Any last words of advice?” I asked.

Kari drew her gaze back to me. "Be careful when you’re eating appetizers. If the paparazzi get pictures of you, the last thing I want to see is a photo of me with spinach quiche stuck between my teeth.”

"Um, okay,” I said.

Maren reviewed my appearance one last time. "I’ve given instructions to Stefano that he’s to be attentive but not overly physical, so if you have any problems in that area, call my cell.”

“Okay.”

"Don’t make out with Stefano," Kari said. “I don’t want that in the tabloids, either.”

"I don't even know the guy,” I said.

She cocked her head as though she hadn't heard me.

"Although if he’s really cute, you can snuggle with him. It won't hurt to have Michael get a little jealous."

Maren pulled a picture from a stack of paper on an end table and handed it to Kari. Kari let out a low whistle. "He is cute." She handed the picture back to Maren but looked over at me. "Okay, you can make out a little. That would totally bother Michael."

I walked over to Maren and reached for the picture. "I'm not making out with guys so your boyfriend will be jealous. That's not part of my job description.”

I looked at the picture. The guy was stunning. "Well, maybe one kiss,” I said.

The doorbell rang, and I shoved the picture back to Maren and turned toward the door.

"Have fun!" Kari called.

"Glide!” Maren reminded me.

I slowed down and made my walk smoother.

"One more thing," Maren said. "If you mess up and blow your cover—then you’re a celebrity imposter who crashed the club. The real Kari is home sick, and we’ve never seen you before.” And on that note of confidence, I left.

CHAPTER 7

Nikolay, my bodyguard, sat up in front of the limo, a look of dour seriousness never leaving his face. I knew he worked for me, but he just seemed like a really muscular version of a chaperone.

Stefano sat in the back of the limo with me, and he was just as beautiful as his photo. I wished I could use the camera on my cell phone to take my picture with him and send it to Lori—or better yet, send it to Theresa and Trevor. Who cared about the stupid Sadie Hawkins dance? I was in a limo with a specimen of a hundred percent male hunkiness.

Instead, I made small talk with Stefano as Bao-Zhi drove us to the club. Well, I tried to make small talk, anyway. Mostly Stefano talked about the shoots he'd done in Paris and Milan, dropped names of celebrities in the fashion world, and checked the time on his Rolex. I knew it was a Rolex because he pointed it out to me three times.

I wanted to tell him, "Okay, you’ve proved your point. You're rich and well connected. Please talk about something besides your stupid expensive watch.” Instead, I nodded and smiled.

When the limo finally pulled up to the club, I saw a line of people waiting outside. Every single one of them turned and watched the car. A wave of anxiety swept over me, and

I instantly regretted the whole thing. I shouldn't have come to California. I should have been back home listening to Abuela complain about humidity, taxes, and how many commercials she had to sit through. I should have been sitting on Lori's couch watching stars on TV, not pretending to be one.

Nikolay got out of the limo first and opened the car door for us. Stefano followed, then held his hand out for me. As I emerged from the car, a thrilled gasp moved through the crowd. I heard Kari’s name repeated over and over again. So many camera flashes went off around me that I felt like I was in the middle of a fireworks display. For a moment, I couldn’t move at all. I’m not sure if it was nerves or just the surprise that so much attention, so much adoration was aimed in my direction. This is why I had prepared nonstop for weeks. I was a superstar.

Stefano pulled me forward. My anxiety dropped away, replaced by warm elation. Each flash was a kiss blown in my direction. I was beautiful, famous, and most important, loved. I gave the crowd one of Kari's over-the-shoulder grins, then let Stefano lead me into the club.

Once the three of us were inside, the owner, a man who didn’t look much older than Stefano, hurried over and introduced himself. His hair was slicked back, he wore all black, and when I gave him my hand to shake, he took it to his lips and kissed it. I didn’t know men did that and had no idea how to react. Did I laugh or pretend that hand kissing was normal? Maren hadn't covered this area. Fortunately, the owner didn’t wait for a response. Still holding my hand between his, he said, "You’re even more gorgeous in real life, Miss Kingsley. Anytime you want to hang somewhere, consider this your home away from home.”

I thanked him and wondered how Kari ever got used to this sort of treatment. If I were her, I would go out every night just to see people’s faces light up.

The owner showed us around the club. I had to pass up the good appetizers in favor of grapes and cheese since I was pretending to be a vegetarian. After that, Nikolay leaned up against a wall looking for suspicious activity while Stefano and I danced. Club dancing, I noticed right away, was nothing like dancing at my school dances. Some of the people looked more like they were trying to conceive children than actually dance, and I had to keep averting my gaze from them. If Abuela had been here, she would have wanted to smack people with her Bible left and right.