Chapter 2 Double Life, Single Bed

# Chapter 2

## Double Life, Single Bed

Three days passed before Piper could bring herself to return to her mother's house for their traditional Sunday dinner. She had ignored Julian's texts—each one more concerned than the last—claiming a sudden flu had left her bedridden. In truth, she'd spent those days staring at the photograph until its details were seared into her memory, alternating between disbelief, rage, and a strategic calm that surprised her.

The colonial-style home where she'd grown up now felt like unfamiliar territory as she walked up the brick pathway. Through the bay window, she could see Marion moving about the kitchen, elegant as always in her cashmere sweater, unaware that her daughter now carried the weight of their shared betrayal.

"Darling, you look terrible," Marion said as she opened the door, genuine concern in her eyes. "Is that flu still hanging on?"

Piper forced a smile. "Getting better. Just tired." She followed her mother into the warmth of the kitchen, inhaling the familiar scent of rosemary roast chicken—her favorite. Had her mother always been this attentive, or was it guilt?

"I was thinking of inviting some colleagues for dinner next weekend," Marion said, stirring the gravy with practiced movements. "That new professor from the English department—what was his name? Julian something?"

Piper's hand froze around her water glass. Her mother's voice had remained casual, but there was a slight hesitation before she said Julian's name—a microsecond of consideration that would have been imperceptible to anyone who wasn't looking for it.

"Julian Bennett," Piper supplied, watching her mother's face carefully.

"Yes, that's it." Marion's lips pressed together briefly, a nervous tic Piper had observed whenever her mother was concealing something. "He gave that wonderful lecture series. Quite impressive."

"He is," Piper agreed, her voice deliberately light. "Actually, we've been seeing each other. For weeks now."

The spoon in Marion's hand stilled. "Oh? You never mentioned..."

"Didn't I? I could have sworn I told you about the man who's been sending me limited-edition perfumes and playing violin outside my window." Piper tilted her head. "He's quite romantic. Intense, even."

"How... nice for you." Marion turned away, but not before Piper caught the flash of something in her eyes—jealousy? Fear? "He seems a bit old for you, doesn't he?"

"Age is just a number when there's a genuine connection," Piper echoed Julian's own words back into the room. "Don't you think?"

Throughout dinner, Piper continued her subtle interrogation, dropping Julian's name into conversation like small grenades. Each time, Marion would touch her neck or adjust her silverware—nervous gestures that confirmed what the photograph had already told her.

Later, when Marion went to answer a phone call, Piper slipped into her mother's study. She'd always respected her mother's privacy, but that boundary, like so many others, had been shattered by Julian's betrayal. She moved quickly to the antique desk where Marion kept her personal correspondence.

The second drawer was locked—unusual for her typically open mother. Piper remembered the old trick from her teenage years, pressing the hidden release mechanism underneath. The drawer slid open to reveal neatly organized files, a checkbook, and beneath them, a bundle of handwritten letters tied with a simple blue ribbon.

She recognized Julian's elegant script immediately. Hands trembling, she unfolded the topmost letter.

*My dearest Marion,*

*Last night remains etched in my senses. You are like a fine red wine—complex, intoxicating, knowing exactly how to make a man surrender to pleasure. I find myself thinking of you at the most inappropriate moments, remembering the softness of your skin against mine...*

Piper folded the letter, nausea rising in her throat. The date at the top was just two weeks ago—while Julian had been in the most intense phase of pursuing her. The evidence was undeniable: while telling Piper she was his soul connection, he had been writing erotic letters to her mother.

"Find what you're looking for?"

Piper spun around to find Marion standing in the doorway, arms crossed. Her expression was a mixture of anger and shame.

"I wasn't—" Piper began, then stopped herself. "Actually, yes. I found exactly what I suspected."

Marion's defensive posture softened slightly. "What are you talking about?"

Piper withdrew the photograph from her pocket and placed it on the desk between them. "He's playing us both, Mom."

Marion stared at the image, color draining from her face. "Where did you get this?"

"Does it matter? What matters is that the man I've been dating—the man who told me I'm the only woman who's ever understood him—has also been seeing my mother."

"It's not what you think," Marion began, the classic defense of the caught.

"Really? Because I think it's exactly what it looks like. Julian Bennett is manipulating both of us, and for some reason, you're letting him."

Marion sank into her chair, suddenly looking older than her fifty-two years. "It's complicated, Piper."

"Uncomplicate it for me."

But Marion only shook her head, refusing to meet her daughter's eyes. "I think you should go. We both need time to process this."

Piper left her childhood home with more questions than answers, Julian's letter burning a hole in her pocket where she'd slipped it before confronting her mother. The drive back to her apartment was a blur of conflicting emotions—betrayal from the two people who should have protected her heart, not shattered it.

When she arrived home, she found Julian waiting outside her door, a bouquet of peonies—her favorites—in his hands.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, his voice carrying just the right note of hurt concern. "I've been worried sick."

Piper looked at him—really looked at him—for the first time since receiving the photograph. The concerned crease between his eyebrows, the way he held the flowers like an offering, the perfect stubble that made him look both distinguished and vulnerable. Was any of it real? Or was it all a carefully constructed image designed to manipulate?

In that moment, Piper made a decision. She would not confront him—not yet. She would play his game, learn his moves, understand his strategy. If Julian was using her to get to her mother—or using her mother to get to her—she would discover why.

"I'm sorry," she said, summoning tears that weren't entirely fake. "This flu knocked me out completely. I didn't want you to see me like this."

Julian's face softened with such convincing relief that for a moment, Piper almost believed him. "You could have pneumonia and I'd still want to be with you," he said, pulling her into an embrace. "Don't shut me out, Piper. Whatever you're going through, we face it together."

His arms felt like home, and that was the most terrifying part. Even knowing what she now knew, her body still responded to his touch, still craved the security he falsely promised.

Over the next two weeks, Piper became an actress in her own life. She laughed at Julian's jokes, melted into his kisses, and pretended not to notice how often his phone buzzed with messages he wouldn't check in front of her. She started keeping a journal of his inconsistencies—times that didn't add up, stories that changed in subtle ways with each telling.

"I've been thinking," she said one evening as they lay intertwined on her couch, a documentary about art forgery playing in the background. "You should come over this weekend. Stay the night. I want to cook for you."

Julian traced lazy circles on her arm. "I'd love that. Though I should warn you, I'm a terrible overnight guest. I snore."

"I don't mind," she said, kissing him softly. "I want to know all your flaws, Julian. The real you, not just the perfect version you show the world."

Something flickered behind his eyes—caution, perhaps, or calculation. But it was gone so quickly that if Piper hadn't been watching for it, she would have missed it entirely.

"Friday, then," he agreed. "I'll bring the wine."

Friday arrived with a sense of foreboding. Piper had prepared Julian's favorite meal, set the table with candles, and even put fresh flowers in the bedroom. The perfect romantic evening—the perfect trap.

Dinner passed in a blur of wine and conversation. Julian was at his most charming, telling stories about his travels in Europe, asking insightful questions about her research. If she hadn't known better, Piper might have fallen deeper under his spell.

Later, when Julian excused himself to take a shower, Piper moved quickly to his overnight bag. Her hands shook slightly as she unzipped the side pocket where she'd seen him tuck his valuables. Inside was his wallet, a small leather notebook, and—her heart stopped—a velvet jewelry box.

For one irrational moment, she thought it might be a ring. The thought made her stomach turn. She opened the box slowly, revealing a delicate silver necklace with a small sapphire pendant. Beautiful, expensive, tasteful. Attached was a small card in Julian's handwriting:

*To Marion. Can't wait to taste you again.*

Piper closed the box and returned it to the bag, her mind racing. This wasn't just an affair. This was calculated cruelty, a game where mother and daughter were unwitting pawns.

She was still sitting on the edge of the bed, composing herself, when Julian emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets clinging to his chest.

"Everything okay?" he asked, noticing her expression.

Piper smiled, the most convincing performance of her life. "Everything's perfect," she lied, standing to kiss him. "I was just thinking how lucky I am to have found you."

That night, as Julian slept beside her, Piper stared at the ceiling, planning her next move. The necklace in his bag wasn't just a gift for her mother—it was evidence. But evidence of what? What was Julian's endgame?

She slipped out of bed at 2 AM, restless and unable to sleep beside the man who had so thoroughly deceived her. As she made her way to the kitchen for water, she heard a phone vibrating. Marion's ringtone.

From the darkened hallway, Piper watched as her mother's name illuminated Julian's phone screen. She held her breath, waiting to see if the call would wake him, but Julian slept on, oblivious.

Instead, she crept closer, listening as the call went to voicemail and her mother's voice, soft and urgent, filled the silence:

"I can't meet you tonight—my daughter is home... Yes, I miss you too."

The glass in Piper's hand trembled, water spilling over her fingers as the full weight of their deception pressed down on her. It wasn't just Julian betraying her—it was her own mother actively participating in the betrayal.

She returned to bed, lying rigid beside the sleeping form of the man who had turned her life into a twisted game of mirrors and lies. Tomorrow, she would see Dr. Felicity. Tomorrow, she would begin to untangle this web.

But tonight, in the darkness, Piper made herself a promise: when this was over, both Julian and her mother would understand exactly what it meant to underestimate her.