The Double ( or More ?) Life of The Fake Heiress

Mirabella gave Jenna’s shoulder a hearty pat and declared with a swagger, “Let’s roll. I’m feeling generous today I’m treating you to lunch.”

Jenna followed Mirabella out of the school and into a cab, where Mirabella promptly gave the driver an

address.

They arrived at the restaurant, and as Jenna got out of the cab and saw the establishment’s sign, her legs turned to lead. She instinctively reached out to clutch Mirabella’s arm.

Feeling the tug. Mirabella turned with a quizzical lift of her arched brows. “What’s up?”

Jenna offered a sheepish grin. “Mira, this place is members–only, and you usually need a reservation. You… do have a reservation, right?”

“Nope.” Mirabella tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, and amidst Jenna’s look of impending doom, her lips curled into a captivating smile. “I can get in by just showing my face.”

Jenna was flabbergasted. That was just… shamelessly bold.

As Mirabella stepped through the entrance, the restaurant manager, who had been sternly addressing a staff member at the cash register, caught sight of his boss‘ daughter. His serious demeanor softened into a benign, friendly smile, and he approached Mirabella with composed grace. “Ah Miss… you’ve arrived,” the manager nodded in greeting. Copyright Nôv/el/Dra/ma.Org.

Mirabella was about to inquire about a table when the manager spoke up again. “We’ve reserved your usual booth and private room. Would you prefer to dine downstairs or in the upstairs private room?”

Mirabella eyed the manager suspiciously–it almost sounded like he knew she’d be dining there today. She glanced at Jenna, probing, “Where would you like to sit?”

Still a bit dazed, Jenna stuttered, “Uh, anywhere’s fine, really. I have no preference.”

After a brief consideration, Mirabella decided, “Let’s take the upstairs room then.”

“Certainly, please follow me,” the manager gestured respectfully, leading the way.

Once settled in the private room, with coffee served and orders placed, the manager excused himself.

Mirabella gracefully lifted the coffee pot, pouring the steaming liquid into Jenna’s cup, bringing her back to reality. “Mira, this place…”

Mirabella lifted her cup, took a delicate sip, and cut in, “Don’t ask. Just know this face opens doors.”

Jenna could only nod and resign herself to enjoy the free meal quietly. Why complain when you could dine

on someone else’s dime?

Being the restaurant owner’s daughter had its perks–the kitchen served their food with remarkable speed, and in less than twenty minutes, their table was full.

Jenna took out her phone and snapped pictures of the spread, posting them to her timeline. She had wanted to sneak a picture of Mirabella as well, but as she raised her phone, she was busted before the lens could even focus, leaving her with just a shot of Mirabella’s hand resting on the table.

As soon as she posted the image, likes and comments flooded in. Remarkably, it wasn’t the food that drew the most attention but the artistic shot of Mirabella’s hand–slender and elegantly boned.

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Chewing her food, Jenna scrolled through the comments, clicking her tongue in admiration. “Big shots like you eclipse even the finest food,” she mused.

Mirabella, who usually abstained from her phone during meals, glanced at Jenna and shook her head, choosing not to comment.

After replying to the last comment, Jenna was about to close her social app when a notification appeared–an alert from her cousin, who had liked her post.

Not just a like, but he had also left a comment. “Nice hand.”

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