Instead, I put on a look of concern.
"Mom, Dad, I think Clay had too much to drink. He doesn't seem well."
Julia and Garry Vance, ever doting on their son, were on their feet in an instant. A swarm of Vance relatives, eager for any bit of excitement, followed close behind as I led them all upstairs.
The moment we reached the guest room door, the sounds from inside were unmistakable.
Every face in the crowd went rigid.
They rushed to block the door, to cover it up, but I was faster. I pushed it wide open.
"Clay? Are you feeling okay?"
The door swung back. The two figures tangled on the bed sprang apart, scrambling to yank the sheets over themselves.
Through the wall of stunned relatives, Roberta caught my eye and flashed me a triumphant smile.
The hallway erupted.
"Oh my God, that woman. Isn't that the makeup artist from this morning?"
"So Lydia was telling the truth the whole time. I can't believe..."
Garry's face turned a deep, furious red. "Clay! Look at what you've done!"
Julia charged past everyone and seized Roberta by the arm, dragging her off the bed. "This is all your doing! You little tramp, you must have slipped my son something. You made him think you were Lydia!"