The Stand-In's Sweetest Revenge

The party was in full swing when I arrived. The main house was glittering with lights and filled with the low hum of conversation from Silicon Valley's elite. I spotted Connor across the room, looking dashing but stressed in a tailored suit, with Bella clinging to his arm.

She was playing the part of the gracious hostess, but her eyes kept darting around the room, a predator scanning for its prey. Her gaze landed on me and narrowed for a fraction of asecond before she pasted on a brilliant smile.

At the center of the living room, a grand piano stood gleaming under a spotlight. As if on cue, Bella detached herself from Connor, glided over to the piano, and sat down. A hush fell over the room as her fingers danced across the keys, producing a beautiful, complex melody. For a moment, just a moment, she looked elegant, talented, and almost… normal.

I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and moved toward the periphery, intending to remain invisible. It didn't work.

"Clementine! I was hoping you'd be here."

I turned to see Evans Mosley, the venture capitalist whose notoriously bad back I had practically rebuilt last year. He was beaming, clapping me on the shoulder.

"Evans, good to see you," I said.

"That spread you put together is magnificent," he said, gesturing to the buffet table, which was laden with my carefully designed, health-conscious but delicious creations. "Javier and I were just saying, when are you going to quit working for Smith and come work for us? We'll double whatever he's paying you."

"Triple," a voice behind me corrected. It was Javier Mullins, another of my high-profile clients. "Your roasted salmon with dill-yogurt sauce saved my marriage. My wife says I'm a new man."

They were my biggest advocates, living proof of my professional worth. Their praise was a constant, ringing endorsement in a world where results were everything.

Suddenly, the music stopped.

It didn't fade out; it crashed to a halt on a dissonant chord. Every head in the room turned toward the piano.

Bella was on her feet, her face flushed. She had clearly noticed that I was receiving more attention than her performance was.

"Thank you, everyone," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "It's so wonderful to be back."

She curtsied, then her eyes found me again. "I see we have another talented artist in our midst."

All eyes followed her gaze to me. I stood perfectly still.

"That's Clementine Peters," Bella announced to the room. "She's… a very dear friend of Connor's." She loaded the words with insinuation. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind sharing her talents with us as well."

A low murmur went through the crowd. Evans and Javier exchanged a confused look.

"Don't be shy, Clementine," Bella urged, her smile becoming predatory. "I'm sure everyone would love to hear you play. It would be so rude to refuse, wouldn't it?"

She was trying to corner me, to force a public humiliation. Her script demanded that the impostor be exposed as a fraud in front of everyone. She could already picture it: my clumsy fumbling at the keys, the snickers from the crowd, her "magnanimous" rescue as she stepped in to save the evening. She was practically vibrating with anticipation.

I looked at the piano, then back at her expectant face.

"No, thank you," I said clearly.

The smile froze on Bella's face. The air crackled with her thwarted ambition.

"What?" she sputtered, her composure cracking. "But… but that's not how it's supposed to go. You're supposed to try, and fail, and then I-" She stopped herself, realizing she'd said too much.

Her face turned an ugly shade of red. She looked like a child whose favorite toy had just been broken.

Just then, Connor appeared at my side, having finished his conversation. "Is everything alright?" he asked, sensing the tension.

Bella's face crumpled instantly. "Connor!" she wailed, rushing to him and burying her face in his chest. "She's being horrible to me! I just asked her to play a little song, and she humiliated me in front of everyone!"

I held up my hands. "I just said no."

Evans Mosley stepped forward. "That is, in fact, all she said, Connor. Bella was the one making things… awkward."

Connor's jaw tightened. He looked tired, so incredibly tired. The party, meant to be a celebration, had turned into another stage for Bella's personal drama.

He looked at me, a pleading expression in his eyes. He pulled out his checkbook.

"Clementine," he said under his breath. "One hundred thousand. Just play something. Anything. Please."

I looked at the checkbook, then at his exhausted face.

I sighed. "Fine."

I walked over to the piano. The entire room was watching me. Bella had detached from Connor and was now watching me with a smug, triumphant grin. She thought she had won.

I sat down on the bench. I had taken exactly one year of piano lessons when I was eight. I remembered one song.

I placed my hands on the keys and, with intense concentration, began to plink out a clumsy, one-fingered rendition of "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star."

The sound was jarring, childish, and utterly devoid of any musicality.