Disclaimer: All characters and basic concepts used in this story are the property of their respective owners. I own nothing; they are used solely for entertainment purposes. Any copyright infringement is not intended or implied.

Credit: A special thanks goes to my dear friend pink chocolate unicorn—without you it would not have been possible. Thank you for always standing behind me; for everything you do for me :)

Chapter 3...

Victor put the traveling-bag down and looked at her. "I can offer you the bed."

She crossed her arms over her chest and wrinkled an eyebrow up. "Of course not!" She looked at the pretty couch and grinned. "The couch looks very comfortable."

"Wait till you see the bed." First he grinned like a little boy but then he realized what he said and muttered a 'sorry' in embarrassed.

She threw him an evocative look. And he gulped. "I think, I will take the couch," she insisted.

He listened to her and nodded. But he wasn't completely certain about the situation. "Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes, I am very fine with the couch." She nodded one time to give the words more power and she smiled gently at him.

He still did not like it – he wanted her to take the bed. He wanted to be a gentleman. She should not sleep on the couch.

xxxxxx

"Hey, dad," Juliet greeted as she walked into the apartment. She saw her father sitting on the couch, but she didn't see her stepmother. "Where's Siobhan?" she asked, giving him a questioning look.

"Please, sit down." He gestured at the couch next to him. His daughter sat down next to him. "So," he sighed, but he wanted to scream. What should he tell his daughter? Which part?

It was a bit hard but he decided to be honest with her. Even for him it was a hard thing. Would she believe it?

If this was in a television show, maybe it would be funny, but in real life it was really strange. Even if at the beginning, he felt like he was in a sitcom.

"So... the woman, who you liked the last few months, was not Siobhan, but her twin—Bridget. Did you know she had a twin?" Andrew watched his daughter carefully. But she seemed just as speechless as he was when he'd first learned of it.

"Wow, no, I didn't know," Juliet finally said. "You're telling me, it was not Siobhan?" She closed her mouth. Then open it again a few times before finally saying, "No matter who she really is, she is the best mother I ever had. I mean, Bridget."

He carefully squeezed her hand, offering comfort and understanding. "Juliet, what should we do now?"

"We need to get Bridget back," she said, looking at her father closely.

Andrew saw that she was serious. Her expression was serious, too; set in a way he knew meant she would not change her mind. "Are... are you sure?" he asked; he wanted to play it safe.

"Yes. And I don't mean Siobhan," she clarified. "But Bridget. We just need a plan."

Andrew pulled his daughter into his arms. Yes; he missed Bridget, too.

Xxxxx

"Good Morning," Victor welcomed the sleepy Bridget as she shuffled into the kitchen. They'd talked long into the night and they both looked like they'd just fallen out of bed.

"Morning," muttered the blond woman. Bridget had made the effort in bathroom, she was showered and had brushed her teeth, but she still looked as tired as she felt.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, watching her with a grin.

"Um... um, the night was too short." She shrugged and plopped onto a chair, eyes half-closed and smothering a yawn with the back of her hand.

"Yes, I believe you. I'm not feeling much better. Would you like some coffee?" he offered. She looked at him for a moment before she nodded. He quickly poured her a cup and hinted to her that she can take milk and sugar.

"Thank you." She smiled at him and mixed the delights to give the coffee a better flavor. Her phone rang, but she ignored it. She did not want to talk to Andrew now... Maybe in a few days.

Victor took the chance and went to her phone. He saw the ID and answered, willing to talk to him. "Victor Machado," he answered. "How can I help you?"

"Good morning, Agent Machado. Is Bridget at your place—or...? Wait. Why do you have her phone?"

Victor engaged the speakerphone so Bridget could hear as well. But she shook her head, eyes wide, and refusing to speak. He raised an eyebrow; after all, it was her phone. What should he say to Andrew, anyway?

"Yes, she's here," he finally said. "But she currently doesn't want talk to anyone. She needs some distance." Bridget kicked him lightly in the shins. He bit back a scream and threw her a surprised look.

"Thank you, Agent Machado. Please pass along greetings from us."

"Yes, I'll do that."

Andrew Martin hung up and Victor threw Bridget a look. She stuck out her tongue, making him laugh. "Mister Martin wants to log in with you, or wants you to talk with him."

"I heard, and I think I need some more distance. I'll go to a hotel."

Victor shook his head. "That's not an option, you're staying here. You're stuck with me."

She tilted her head slightly. "Are you really sure? It's not going to be a problem? I mean, because I've lied to you."

"Last time, you told me the truth," Victor said. "I can understand why you did it. And somehow, I knew all along which sister stood in front of me, if I'm being honest. Your eyes—your eyes betrayed you."

"And, in spite of everything, you've never said a word to me?" Bridget asked, skeptical. "I mean, you've seen me enough times."

"Okay, maybe not the whole time I knew it," he conceded. "But ninety-eight percent, I did—after we concocted the plan together."

Bridget huffed. "Oh, you mean when I put the fake blood in my bra and it saved me from the ball?"

"Exactly. But, now, let it go—we don't need to talk about it anymore. You are no longer the old Bridget from Wyoming. You're clean, a good mom and you've told the truth." He sighed, "But where's Malcolm Ward?"

"I also would like to know."

Victor carefully took her hand in his and stroked his thumb gently over it. "We'll find him," he said, wanting to reassure her.

She smiled bravely. "I hope so," she said. But her eyes gave her away. They glistened with unshed tears.

He quickly stood up and pulled her into his arms. He realized, as she clung to him and his shirt soaked with her tears, that he would like to know how much Malcolm meant to her. But his attention was now on the woman in his arms and he stroked her back soothingly as he spoke softly to her.

To be Continued?