The club played a couple of Kari’s songs, and when they did, a whole bunch of people sang along and turned to watch me. It was another aspect Maren hadn’t covered, and I panicked at the awkwardness of the moment. I did some of the moves Jacqueline had taught me and pretended to sing along too.

We danced for two hours, and I noticed I was leaving trails of glitter all over the floor. I hoped the owner didn't mind. A few times, people came over to say that they loved my songs, but Stefano always whisked me away before they could attach themselves or try to become my new BFFs. Stefano got high marks for crowd control. He got lower marks for the way he'd taken to staring into my eyes intently as though we were soul mates and not out on our first date.

Finally we left the dance floor to get drinks. Nikolay followed without getting too close, his eyes patrolling the crowd. I sipped a guava-kiwi juice while we walked toward the tables. A group of way-too-excited girls hurried by us without noticing me. "He’s here?” one said with an exaggerated gasp. "Really?"

"I’m going to die!"

"I have to get a dance with him. I have to!”

I let my gaze follow them. To Stefano I said, "Who are they talking about?”

He pulled my chair out for me, then sat down himself. "Probably Grant Delray. He came in earlier.”

"He did?” I asked, sounding too much like the girls we'd just passed. I calmed my voice and casually added, "I didn't know he was coming tonight."

"I saw him while we danced. Do you know him?"

Good question. I had no idea. Maren had never said anything about him, but that didn't mean Kari and he hadn’t done something together. And he might know her well enough to spot a fake.

This could turn bad quickly.

Stefano laughed. "Judging from your response, I'd say you do know him.” He leaned closer, and his voice took on a teasing edge. "You look uncomfortable, so it must be a good story.”

“That’s not it at all," I said. “I just suddenly remembered that...”

I had come to California to find out who I was, and I learned something about myself right then—I am not a good liar. I needed a reason to call Maren and talk to her privately, and my mind was a complete blank.

I rifled through my purse until I had my cell phone. "I, um, forgot to turn off my sprinklers and they’re probably flooding the lawn by now. I need to call my assistant and tell her to turn them off.”

His eyebrows drew together at this new piece of information. "You don’t have landscapers to do that sort of thing?”

Which is why you shouldn’t try to think up excuses for rich people.

I stood up. "Usually I do, but I thought the lawn was looking dry, so I turned the water on, and now I need to find a quiet place to make a call."

He frowned. "Why don't you text her?"

Because with the way Stefano kept draping himself around my shoulders, he was bound to see what I texted, and I couldn't very well write Grant Delray is here. Does he know Kari?

"My assistant might have questions."

Stefano stood up as though he would come with me, and I waved him to sit back down.

"You don't have to come. In fact I'll probably stop by the restroom too, so I'll be a few minutes.”

Nikolay had seen me stand up and he walked over, ready to shadow me, but I didn't want him as an audience either. “You don't need to come," I said. "Really, I'll be okay from here to the ladies’ room.”

I turned and walked away before he could reply. I’d find the owner and ask him if I could use his office. As I walked, I chided myself for being so easily rattled. One unforeseen thing happened and I’d gone off about sprinklers. I could have just used the restroom excuse in the first place. That would have given me enough time to make a phone call to Maren. If Kari knew Grant—if he could identify her—I'd fake a headache and make a night of it.

I hadn’t gotten very far when I realized I’d made another mistake. Maren had warned me that I shouldn't go into crowds by myself. It was too easy to get swarmed. First a couple of guys asked if they could take my picture with their cell phone, then a girl wanted my autograph. In seconds, an entire crowd had surrounded me. People were actually shoving each other and jostling me. I said, "Look, I’m sorry. I need to get through," but no one listened. They waved pens in my direction and pushed their way next to me so that their friends could get pictures.

I felt bubbles of panic rising in my chest. Why hadn't I taken my bodyguard with me? Could he see this happening? Would my Warrior Princess dress stay put if someone pushed me over? I hoped so, since everyone here seemed to have a camera phone.

"Break it up!" a male voice yelled. "Come on, back off, unless you want the bouncer hauling you outside!”

At once, the crowd drained away, leaving me shaken but, thankfully, alone. I expected to see Nikolay. Instead Grant Delray, flanked by two towering men—probably his bodyguards—stood in front of me.

I stared back at Grant in awe. I’d heard his songs on the radio hundreds of times. I had a few of them memorized, and now here he was in blue-eyed, bronzed-skin real life. And the picture of him on that magazine cover—it didn’t do justice to his broad shoulders or pecs.

But another part of me was frozen in fear, waiting to see if he said, "Hey, you’re not Kari Kingsley.”

He raised an eyebrow. "Most people would say thanks at this point.”

"Thanks,” I said.

He rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed with my gratitude, then returned his gaze to my face, letting his eyes linger there longer than normal. He was studying me. I felt my face flush pink. Did he know the truth?

Nikolay walked up beside me. "You all right, Miss Kingsley?"

So he had seen the crowd descend on me, after all. I nodded, still afraid to speak while Grant was staring at me.

Grant motioned toward the dance floor without taking his eyes from me. "Let’s dance—that’s what we’re getting paid for. Then I want to talk to you.”

"Okay.”

He took hold of my arm and I walked beside him, breathing deeply. I wanted to say something; I felt like I should, but somehow having three bodyguards trailing us made small talk impossible.

If Grant knew I was a fake, it didn't seem like he would expose me right now. But what did he want to talk about later? That didn’t seem to be the kind of thing you said to someone you’d never met. I found it hard to think clearly about any of this, since my mind was mostly concentrating on the fact that Grant Delray was touching my arm.

We walked to a raised pedestal on the dance floor and as we did, the DJ changed the song that had been playing to one of Grant’s. People noticed us and sang along. Grant danced—and not your average guy dancing, he danced as though performing on stage. He was all muscle and rhythm, movement and glide. I watched him so intently I nearly forgot to dance myself. I tried; my feet kept moving to the beat, but I looked pitiful next to him. Which meant maybe Jacqueline had a point after all and I should listen to her better.

Grant didn’t look at me while he danced. But every once in a while, his gaze would connect with mine and then I’d quickly glance away so he wouldn’t see me staring. Kari wouldn’t gape at him like some groupie. Even if he did have deep blue eyes, a square jaw, and touchable brown hair with golden highlights.

People snapped pictures of us with their cell phones, and even though it was too dark on the dance floor for them to turn out, I really wished I could ask someone to forward a picture to me. Whether he knew I was a fake or not, I so wanted a souvenir of this moment.