I didn’t wait to put my shoes back on after that. I rushed out of the room, fled down the hallway, and didn't stop running until I reached Kari’s front gate. I called my driver to come get me, but my heart didn't stop pounding until I made it to Maren’s house.

* * *

One of Kari’s assistants dropped off the book for Maren the next morning. She read it while she ate breakfast. It was odd to see her calmly flipping through the pages as she ate her yogurt sprinkled with oat bran. I'd expected her to at least get a little defensive on Kari’s behalf.

When I came back from my dance lesson, she'd not only finished the manuscript, she’d made copies. She put one into a manila envelope for Kari's lawyer and one into another envelope. Then she made a phone call. Her crisp professional voice changed, became more intimate and suddenly eager to please. I stayed in the kitchen taking slow sips from a water bottle so I could listen.

She talked about Lorna’s book with more regret and emotion than she’d shown when she’d read it. "I’m sending a copy to her lawyer now,” she said. "I’ll send you one as well, if you like.”

Who was she talking to? My father?

After a minute of silence she spoke again. “Well, despite that, I think I’ve really seen a turnaround. She’s working hard, and she’s sticking to a budget. She’s a little behind on the album, but it’s coming along.”

The response to that, whatever it was, made Maren smile. "I take all the assignments you give me seriously, and besides, I adore Kari. I think she just needs a woman's influence in her life.”

My fingers froze around my water bottle. It was him. My father was on the other end of that conversation. All the years of wanting him, of feeling abandoned, of wondering what he would say to me, suddenly sprang to the surface.

Maren went on cooing about what a wonderful girl Kari was, while I fought the urge to grab the phone out of her hand. That wouldn’t be a normal thing to do. I did not want my father’s first impression of me to be that I was a crazy person who burst into other people's conversations.

Still, I stared at Maren unwaveringly.

At last she said good-bye and slid her phone shut with a happy sigh. It was only then that she noticed my stare. "That was Alex Kingsley, wasn’t it?” I asked.

"Yes.” Her voice returned to its normal businesslike tone. "I thought he should know about the book. After all, he’s the star of chapter one.”

I tried to make sense of the other things she'd said. "Did he ask you to straighten out Kari’s financial affairs?"

She held up one hand like a teacher correcting a student. "Alex is simply a concerned father. Of course he wants me to help his daughter. However, you won't mention this conversation to Kari. I don't want her to think I'm helping her as a favor to him.” And then she smiled again.

Too late. Kari already knew Maren was trying to make inroads with her father.

I watched as Maren slipped her cell phone back into a clip on her belt. She always wore it on her belt. And my father's number was on it.

I hadn't planned on calling him; I wanted to meet him face-to-face. Still, it was aggravating: my father was just a redial button away—and I still had no way to talk to him.

After my shower, I took the sapphire necklace and slipped it around my neck. I decided to wear it all the time. Perhaps it was an outside chance, but my father could stop by and see Maren sometime. If he did, I wanted to be ready.

* * *

I spent the next week making appearances in Texas, Oklahoma, and New Mexico while Kari holed up at her house, writing and practicing songs. Maren came with me, and I noticed she never left her phone unattended. It stayed on her belt during the day, and she charged it in her hotel room at night. Once while we ate breakfast in the hotel, I pretended to be interested in upgrading my cell phone and came right out and asked her, "Can I see yours?”

She pressed her lips together in an unapologetic smile, as though she enjoyed telling me no. "I never let anyone see it. It has private information.”

So much for getting my father’s number from her.

I thought about him a lot when I was out on the road performing. Being up on stage made me feel close to him. Sometimes when I was alone staring out a hotel window, he would come to mind, and my hand would reflexively go to the sapphire necklace around my throat.

I would think about his decisions, how so many decisions, really, affect more than the people who make them. Dwelling on this might make me responsible, or paralyzed, I wasn't sure which.

Luckily I wasn’t alone very much. Some sort of assistant—either mine or people from whatever event I was doing—always seemed to hover around.

It was getting easier to play my role as Kari. I especially liked being gracious to all the staff I came in contact with: the tech people working on the sound systems and the spotlights, the ushers, the waiters, the hotel employees. I’d spent my life being one of the overlooked; I wanted to notice and thank them for their work now. And they were always so pleasantly surprised at how nice Kari Kingsley was.

Even when things went wrong that would have normally upset me—like when the sound system wasn't ready, thus causing one of my concerts to start twenty minutes late—I brushed it off. I didn't want to have a temper. That way no one could criticize my sister for being a prima donna.

Grant called every night while I was gone, which was always the highlight of my day. It wasn’t the thunderous applause I got after a song, or the throngs of people giddy to see me. It was relaxing in my hotel room and Grant's voice on my phone that made my skin tingle. He made a date for the first day I was home and kept running ideas past me.

"Skydiving?” he'd ask. "Bungee jumping? How about running with the bulls in Pamplona?”

I kept telling him it didn’t have to be anything elaborate. "Pizza and a DVD would be fine.”

I knew I couldn’t have a relationship with him. Too many obstacles stood in our way, not the least of which was that he thought I was my sister. But after that kiss at Kari's, I couldn't immediately break things off with him. That would make Kari look like some sort of trampy tease. And besides, I wanted to see Grant again. I craved it.

So I would allow myself to go on a date or two and then tell him it wasn’t working out between us. Sometimes that’s how things went. He probably wouldn't mind. The guy who'd never been turned down wouldn’t have a hard time finding the next trophy girlfriend to take my place. I just had to make sure I didn't let my feelings get involved. I had to keep myself aloof.

Grant told me to dress casually and wear tennis shoes for our date, but I had no idea what he was planning. I also had no idea what I'd tell Maren about my absence or how I could go out without an entourage coming with me. It became a sort of mental game—thinking of different ways to escape.

After we flew back to California, Maren and I stopped by Kari’s house. The art director had e-mailed mock-up covers for her new CD, and Maren wanted to get Kari’s opinion on them.

Kari answered the door with a splint across her nose and bruises around her eyes. I gaped at her, wondering who had beat her up. Maren nearly dropped the covers. "What happened to you? Are you okay?” she asked.

"Did you call the police?” I asked at nearly the same time.

"Oh, this—” Kari touched her nose gingerly. "I got my dose done like Alegia’s.”

We both stared at her. “You what?” I asked.

"Once the swellig goes dowd, it will loog great. Everyone is goig to love it.”

"Yeah, I already love it," I said, trying not to sound too horrified, "because it’s my nose."