Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 06

Ten Years a Stand-in Wife—Old Money Only Recognizes Me Chapter 06

I smiled.

Not at him.

But at myself.

That girl from ten years ago, trembling in the wedding dress, could never have imagined this.

In the living room, Ethan cut a massive slice of chocolate cake and set it in front of me. On top, in shaky frosting, were four words-“Mom is the best.”

The icing was uneven, the last word crooked, the final stroke bending the wrong way.

“Best” turned into something else.

Close enough.

I lowered my head and took a bite.

Too sweet. Almost overwhelming.

Still, I swallowed it.

Valerie’s words echoed in my mind.

“Where’s Ethan? He should be calling me Mom by now, right?”

Mom.

The word rolled slowly across my tongue.

I took another bite.

In her dreams.

The next day, she showed up.

Bold as ever.

At 10:30 a.m., the gate called in-said a woman was outside, claiming to be Mrs. Shaw’s sister,

asking to see Ethan.

Nancy Bennett, the housekeeper, took the call.

She had been with the Shaw family for twenty-six years, running the household since Adrian was

thirteen.

When she hung up, the look on her face was something I’d never seen before-not shock, but

something caught between confusion and disbelief.

Like someone calmly telling her pigs might fly.

“Mrs. Shaw,” she said quietly as she walked over, “there’s… a visitor.”

“Let her in.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

I set down the magazine in my hand, stood up, and walked into the living room.

The cake plate was still there. Ethan’s “Mom is the best” had already started melting, the letters

collapsing into a smear of cream.

Two minutes later, Valerie walked in.

Today she wore a camel coat, cinched tight at the waist, outlining her slim figure. Her hair was tied

back in a low ponytail, makeup flawless.

Different earrings-yesterday pearls, today a large faceted ruby.

Big enough to look fake.

With Valerie, it probably wasn’t.

Her heels struck the marble floor in sharp, steady beats.

One after another.

Like a countdown.

Her gaze swept across the room.

The long sofa. The redwood coffee table. The framed reproduction on the wall. The porcelain vase

by the window.

Her lips curved slightly.

Not disdain.

But evaluation.

“Nice,” she said. “Better than when I left. Picked up some good pieces.”

I stayed seated.

“Have a seat.”

“How polite.”

She sat down, crossed her legs, her knee bouncing lightly.

Nancy brought over coffee.

Valerie lifted the cup, sniffed, her brows drawing together slightly. “This is a light roast? Jenifer

used to drink those really strong dark blends.”

“She changed her taste three years ago.”

“Oh.”

She set the cup down.

“How’s Jenifer doing?”

“Fine.”

“And Adrian?”

“At work.”

“Hah.”

She leaned back against the couch with a laugh.

“Work, work. That’s all he ever does. Same as before. Boring.”

There was no complaint in her voice.

Just a lazy kind of nostalgia, like she was talking about someone who didn’t really matter anymore.

“I’m not here to reminisce,” she said, her eyes settling on me. “Sloane, where’s Ethan?”

—

“At school.”

“What time does he get back?”

“Three-thirty.”

“Then I’ll wait.”

She leaned back and did exactly that.

Scrolled through her phone. Checked her nails. Touched up her lipstick using the reflection in the

window.

At one point, she went to the bathroom, came back muttering, “New tiles. Looks better than

before.”

I sat across from her, handling work on my phone.

The two of us, separated by a coffee table, quiet like we were waiting for our number to be called.

At 3:15 p.m., the school bus pulled up outside.

Then came the sound of sneakers pounding across the yard, the clatter of a backpack zipper.

“Mom! I’m back! Got a ninety-seven on my math test! Only lost points on one word problem-the question was messed up, I told the teacher but he wouldn’t admit it—”

Ethan’s voice rang out from the entryway.

He rushed into the living room like a bullet.

Then stopped.

His sneakers screeched sharply against the floor.

Because he saw her.

A stranger on the couch.

“Mom?” He turned to me, then back to her.

“Who are you?”