Then she closed the laptop and went to bed in the guest room without touching her own side of the mattress.
The next evening, she came home early.
No warning. No text.
She walked in through the front door at five-thirty and heard laughter coming from the living room—Nikki’s bright, airy laugh, followed by Damen’s lower one, the version he used when he was flirting or getting away with something. Carissa slipped off her heels on instinct and stepped closer without announcing herself.
They were on the couch.
Not in a compromising position. That would have been almost merciful. No, what she saw was worse in its casualness. Nikki sat cross-legged facing him, wearing jeans and one of Carissa’s old cardigans she must have taken years earlier and never returned. Damen leaned forward, elbows on his knees, phone in hand, reading from notes while Nikki repeated the lines back to him.
“How did we meet?” he asked.
Nikki smiled. “At Lindsey Barron’s birthday party in Oak Brook. I was standing by the back window pretending I didn’t know anyone, and you came over with a drink and said you were impressed by my commitment to looking like I hated everyone.”
Damen grinned. “Good. Again, but slower.”
Carissa did not move.
That was her story.
Her exact story.
Lindsey Barron had been a law school friend. Oak Brook had been the suburb. The back window. The joke about hating everyone. The drink in his hand. The first laugh she ever gave him.
It was not just that they were rehearsing for a lie.
They were stealing her memories to make the lie breathe.
Carissa stepped into the room.
Neither of them jumped. That would have at least suggested conscience.
Instead, Damen looked up like he’d been expecting her eventually and said, “Hey. You’re early.”
Nikki gave a little wave. “We’re practicing.”
Carissa let her gaze move from one face to the other. “I can see that.”
Damen patted the couch cushion beside him as if she were joining family game night. “You can actually help. We’re trying to make sure the timeline sounds natural.”
Carissa remained standing. “You’re using my timeline.”
Damen frowned like she was being tedious. “It’s the easiest one to remember.”
Nikki examined her nails. “It’s not like you own a meet-cute, Carissa.”