The Designated Twin

8. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Lorelei

I’m done with the lies.

At least the ones I can be done with. I won’t rat my sister out because it isn’t her fault he showed up in my safe space and went in for a hug. It is her fault, however, for shoving me into his arms then shipping me off onto yet another date I don’t belong on with Prince Finley Andersson. Like I’m a puppet on her crazy strings. But I will have that conversation with her later and tell her I’m finished with the switch and help her make a plan to be truthful with him.

Finley isn’t family, though, and I have zero qualms about untangling his little web of lies. If he really wants Lucy, then he will have to be honest with her. The same way I’m going to make her be honest with him.

“Where would you like to go for lunch?” Finley’s voice is scratchy and nervous; his long fingers are paler than usual as they clutch his steering wheel. I look longingly back out the window as we merge onto the highway.

“Books and Beans,” I reply. At least he has the decency to ask where I wanted to go since he practically kidnapped me this afternoon.

Okay, I know that’s not true, but I’m a little frustrated at the moment. I wanted to spend my afternoon with a murder mystery, tea, and Frizzle while Grandma Netty and Lucy gossiped about the town’s latest happenings.

If we go to Books and Beans, I can sip tea. Salvage a fragment of this day.

He doesn’t respond, so I sneak another glance. He keeps side-eyeing me, our glances awkwardly catching.

I sigh. “What? Is that not acceptable for you?”

“No, it’s—” he clears his throat. “What I mean to say is yes, it’s very acceptable, and two, I’ve never had a woman actually tell me where she would like to go. You are something else, Lucy.”

I cringe at his use of my sister’s name. I want to shout, “I am not Lucy! I am Lorelei! Free me from this madness!”

But instead, I flip the script. “Just checking, Your Highness.”

His grip on the wheel is further secured as he presses his lips into a tight line. I celebrate my small victory with a suppressed smile and the crossing of my arms.

It feels good to allow myself to be frustrated without making excuses for someone… and to show it for once. A lot better than bottling it in and shoving it down to keep the peace. Hopefully I’ll get it all out before confronting Lucy (whom I find it hard to be mad at because she’s such a sensitive soul) and Finley will assume it’s because he didn’t tell me about his status. Then in a few days, Lucy can reach out and apologize for overreacting and they can be on their merry way.

Happily ever afters and all that romantic mumbo jumbo.

“I guess you want to talk about it now,” Finley says, though it sounds more like a question.

Not really. I just want to go home and let you have this conversation with my sister. “It would be better to talk in a private vehicle than in a coffee shop where ears can overhear.” Duh.

“Right.” Silence envelops us, only the quiet rumble of the engine and tires on asphalt. I angle myself towards him as much as I can while buckled in.

“So start talking, His Royal Highness, Prince Finley Andersson of Korsa.” I can’t even attempt to hide the contempt in my voice. Not because he’s a prince or that he withheld the information, but because I. Am. Not. Lucy. My emotions are becoming a cloudy haze that’s getting harder to wade through. The switch labeled “functioning human” is in mid-flick. So much for becoming unstuck. The messy situation has been like quicksand to my sanity.

He inhales, and I swear I can see a glisten of sweat coating his forehead. Then again, he has unnaturally great skin. Lucy’s probably jealous of his fair, glassy complexion.

“My name is Finley Folke Andersson, and I am the second-born son to King Erik and Queen Sylvia Andersson, the ruling monarchs of Korsa.”

Tell me something I don’t know…

“And what is a prince doing galavanting around Juniper Grove, Mississippi, anyway?”

Hadley said because he wanted to carve his own path and life. He also said he was interested in Lucy when she told him about her before he moved down here.

“Please do not panic, and please do not presume that I’m asking your hand in marriage,” he begins, and my breath hitches. He doesn’t give me time to react. “While I’m the second-born, my brother Johan, the crown prince, is sick, and he will formally abdicate his position in three months, which means I will become the crown prince of Korsa.”

I don’t realize we have parked in front of the coffee shop, but Finley doesn’t turn the car off. He does, however, unbuckle his seatbelt and pivot, pegging me with intense, pleading blue eyes. I’m still stuck on crown prince. Chills run down my spine as a wave of lightheadedness washes over me.

Lucy! Dang it.

The knot in his throat bobs up and down. “Furthermore, my father’s reign will come to an end in less than a year. I was home celebrating his fifty-ninth birthday, which was the day before I left to come back here over a week ago. Our Laws of Succession state the monarch must retire from his position on his sixtieth birthday.”

What does this have to do with marriage? And again, why is a crown prince, who will be a king in less than a year, wasting time in Mississippi?

My stomach continues to rumble like tea coming to a boil, and now I think I’m the one sweating. He opens his mouth, but I interrupt. I need him to get to the point. “I don’t understand why you’re here trying to date my—er, me, when you are about to become king.”

Shifting eyes and nervous swallows churn my stomach like thick butter. He closes his eyes, his shoulders rise and fall. Then the future king fixes me with a crystal blue stare as if he is analyzing my soul. “I cannot take the throne as a single man. The Laws of Succession state the ascending monarch must be married.”

“You want to marry my—” I cut myself off before I finish the sentence.

His brows furrow, but then his expression smooths. “Remember what I said at the beginning: I am not asking for your hand in marriage, Lucy. I am, however, asking to date you for the next three months because I think I could ask you to marry me.”

My stomach lurches. “I’m going to vomit.”

I fight to unbuckle my seatbelt, swinging open the car door and stumbling out of the low-riding vehicle. I hightail it into the coffee shop, barely making it into the restroom before tossing my breakfast protein shake into the sink.

A few minutes later, I rinse the sink and use the disinfectant stashed in the cabinet under the sink to clean. There is absolutely no sense in making an employee clean after me because I can’t stomach the news that a crown prince and future king potentially wants to ask for my sister’s hand in marriage… and he thinks I’m her!

And I’ve done an atrocious job at impersonating Lucy…

The thought sends another wave of nausea rolling through me, but I swallow it down this time. Pressing my hands flat against the counter, I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My hair is frizzing around the edges due to the sheen of sweat coating my face, my typically pale complexion an extra shade of ghost with splatters of freckles. I look like I’ve been through the ringer, but I guess that’s what holding onto lies does to a person. Lucy WILL come clean this week.

“But for now,” I scold my reflection, “you will go back out there and will be the best version of your sister that you can possibly be.” Because if Finley truly thinks he wants to ask for her hand, who am I to take that dream from her?

She’s going to flip out when I tell her…

Smoothing down my hair, tightening my ponytail, and rinsing my mouth out, I scan the restroom one last time to make sure it’s adequately cleaned then contort my features to resemble what I believe would be my sister’s shocked yet sorrowful expression. Unintentionally masking those around me has always been a speciality of mine. Time to really put it to use and be intentional. Very, very intentional.

When I open the door, Finley is standing a few feet away with an astute posture, his feet shoulder length apart, stable, and his hands clasped in front of him. His shaggy blond hair falls in front of his face, making him look like the rogue prince that’s captured headline after headline.

Right.

I should talk to him about that. Lucy may not mind, but I do. And now I am on a mission: Make Sure This Man Will Thoroughly Love and Adore My Sister.

It’s a working title. I should leave the titling of things to Lucy May, the romance writer.

“I didn’t think the thought of a future marriage with me would be that revolting to you.” His voice quivers, causing him to sound genuinely hurt. Maybe he’s standing so confidently to mask it?

“No—it’s not revolting. Just… unexpected,” I say through a small smile, trying to keep my hand on the string in my brain that is labeled “Lucy.”

He physically relaxes, his shoulders dropping a notch and his hands unclasping, falling to his side. “You spew history facts in uncomfortable situations and you vomit when taken by surprise.” He laughs. Laughs! “Noted.”

Lucy would never… “No, that was a one-off thing. A rather big surprise, wouldn’t you agree?” I attempt another soft smile, but I think it comes off more like a grimace because Finley’s thin lips turn downward.

“You’re right,” he says simply. He fixes a smile on his face. “Can I treat you to tea and something to settle your stomach?” He holds out a hand, and I know that if I take it at this moment, it means I am solidifying Lucy’s intentions to allow him to date her.

I still have many questions, especially regarding his dating history. But I do trust Hadley, and I don’t believe she would try to drive my sister into the arms of a man who would hurt her.

I slip my hand into Finley’s warm one, our fingers interlacing. A perfect fit, as Lucy’s hands will be. Other than the hot, star-exploding heat burning my hand, a new feeling stirs in my stomach, something I’ve never felt before.

Probably a queasy remnant from earlier. No big deal. A cup of tea and a sandwich will help it pass.

We make our way to the counter to order, and I silently panic when I notice Emma Jane’s bright ash-white hair from behind as she fulfills the order before us. Shoot. I tuck myself behind Finley, still clutching his hand, in the hopes that she won’t—

“Oh, hey, Lorelei! Who is this?” Her voice is one of shock. Rightfully so because I have never brought a man here. I’ve never brought a man anywhere.

I cough, wishing I could disappear. Lucy Spence… You owe me so much.

I peek my head out from behind Finley’s shoulder. I’m just short enough that I actually look around his shoulder instead of over it. Or maybe he’s just that tall…

“Not Lorelei. Lucy,” I gently correct.

Emma Jane’s perplexed expression has me doubling down. I try to mask my mellow voice into something more bubbly. I tilt my head and grin. “This is my… friend. Finley.” Would Lucy have called him a friend? Would she have said date? Boyfriend?

She totally would have.

Finley’s grip tightens as I attempt to pull away.

The younger barista, who graduates from Juniper Grove University this May, has always been perceptive. Lucy and I frequent this place enough that she would of course be able to tell us apart at a glance. It doesn’t help that Lucy has bangs now while I don’t. Why in the world did I decide to come here of all places?

“I am Lucy’s boyfriend,” Finley boldly states. We haven’t defined anything, Finley Andersson! Plus you’re stating your intentions with the wrong sister!

“Hm, I could have sworn…” Emma Jane stops, a slow smile spreading across her face. Then… she winks at me. “My apologies, Lucy. You two just look so much alike.”

Great. Just great. Now the barista is in on my lies. How much broader will I weave this web?

“No worries. Happens all the time,” I say with a shrug, trying to be Lucy on the outside while inside I am two seconds away from splintering and breaking.

“What can I get for you two?” she asks, still eyeing my hand in Finley’s.

We order, wait for our teas, and then Finley leads us to the dimmest corner of the room, which I’m thankful for because I’m scared my darkening whirlwind of emotions might break through my stoic expression.

The entire front side of the coffee-shop-slash-bookstore has floor-to-ceiling windows. Sunlight filters in without restraint on most days, but today, the clouds obscure the rays. Indoor strand lights are fixed to the ceiling, and there are lamps stationed throughout the shop. This is how they get around having those harsh ceiling lights, and it creates a calming vibe. It’s why I come here often, though now, this safe space of mine is also tainted.

“It must be tiring, always getting mistaken for your twin,” Finley states as he sips on the chai tea he ordered.

You have no idea how tiring it is… “We’re used to it.”

I close my eyes, bringing my mug to my nose, and inhale the lavender chamomile tea as if it will transport me away to my bed, tucking me into cozy blankets with an Agatha Christie book. But when I open my eyes, there’s only a prince staring at me like I’m the most interesting woman on this planet. I tap my feet, grounding my thoughts with each miniscule movement.

“Excuse my forwardness, but Lucy, you are exquisite.”

I clutch my plump, olive green mug, the heat burning my palms. I set it down, my hands reddened. Does my face match?

I’ve never been called exquisite before…

Lucy! My brain reminds me. He’s talking about Lucy. Isn’t he?

“Thank you,” I whisper. And then an idea hits me, a way to figure out if he enjoys Lucy’s look over mine. “I’ve been contemplating cutting my bangs like my sister. Do you think I should?”

Finley tilts his head, evaluating my face. My fire-hot face. The corners of his lips lift, then he stands; he’s at my side in one step, his tall frame lingering over me. He kneels on one knee, and I think I might die of a stroke at twenty-five. He said he wouldn’t ask for marriage!

“Finley, what are you—” but my words are cut short when his fingers pinch my hair tie and gently pull, careful to stop at snags and lightly tug, as if he’s done this before. A wavy, frizzy mess of hair springs free from its constraint. He drops his hand and gazes up at me.

Instinctively I scrunch my fingers in my hair to fluff it out, though that’s the last thing I need to do since it’s already a captive of the humidity.

“While the bangs are cute, and they look nice on your sister, you should keep your hair just as it is. It’s the perfect color.” He slides his thumb and index finger over the ends of my hair, “The perfect texture.” He stands but bends towards me, reaching out that very hand to cup my face.

Why am I not backing up? Why am I not slapping his hand away? Why do I feel like I might implode if he inches any closer?

Because I’m Lucy right now. Right.

“The perfect cut to frame your lovely face,” he finishes. Though still a bent arms length away from me, his lips are way too close to mine, sending all the warning signals blaring in my mind.

Finley Andersson cannot be my first kiss. Even if by mistake.

I clear my throat and lean back. He takes the hint and straightens, smirking before returning to his chair across from me. “Don’t get bangs, Lucy.”

Not knowing what to do or say, I reach for my mug and scorch my tongue with hot liquid.

“Careful,” Finley says, sipping his own tea with an amused expression.

At that time, Emma Jane brings our sandwiches out, placing the turkey BLT in front of me and the ham croissant in front of Finley. “Enjoy,” she says with a wink, and the tone in her voice implies so much more.

I think.

To be honest, I don’t know which way is up and which way is down right now. I feel out of control, and I want to go home. But I have to try and stick through this meal. For my sister. And then, I will spend the rest of the evening decompressing and blocking the chaotic world out. I’ve got to be focused at work tomorrow. For my clients.

“Would you mind if I prayed over this meal for us?” Finley offers his hand to me, but I don’t think I can touch him anymore. It’s getting to be too much.

“Yes,” I answer, but I keep my hands in my lap under the table and bow my head. After a moment, Finley leads us in a simple prayer of gratitude for the food, the time together, and… for me. Finley thanks God for bringing me into his life…

When he says amen, I shove my sandwich into my mouth to keep from word vomiting that I am Lorelei Raine Spence, not Lucy. With every passing second, I feel sick to my stomach over these lies. I can’t even bring myself to ask him about his past. Lucy will have to shoulder that herself. I just want to eat and go home and tell my twin that she needs to tough it up and tell this man the truth.

Because I can’t touch him again. It’s like touching the sun.

I can’t continue hearing him praise me. Compliment me. Because I know I’ve done a horrible job at being my sister.

And for the love of all things, I can’t have Finley falling for me instead of Lucy. The poor man probably thinks he found a woman who is somewhere between the two of us, and that’s not who we are.

Lucy will make an excellent princess and queen. She will compliment Finley’s flirty, outgoing personality and will elevate his liveliness. If Finley was with me, I would choke off his buoyant attitude with a thick rope of rigid structure. It would be a slow death for Finley Andersson.

“Is there anything you would like to know about life as a royal? I swear to be an open book for you, Lucy. I want you to continue to get to know me just as Finley, but I also promise to give you all the information you need, the good, bad, and ugly, to make an informed decision if we continue down this path.”

I take a bite of my sandwich to give myself time to think. Lucy needs to have this conversation with him, not me. But I also have to be her right now. “Thank you, Finley. I appreciate your consideration and understanding. I think I am processing everything right now, but I promise I want to come back to this conversation in a few days on our next scheduled date.”

Lucy informed me that their next date will be driving a few hours east to Alabama to tour Bellina Gardens. Not going to lie, I’m a bit jealous of that. Why couldn’t that be the date I subbed in on? He apparently picked that date, though, because he remembered my love of flora from date one. More like an obsession, but love will suffice.

“I understand,” Finley says. He takes a bite of his sandwich, and the rest of the meal progresses as we talk through various topics such as collectivism versus individualism (we both fall somewhere in between), constitutional monarchy versus rule by republic (we both agree that both types of government are effective; it simply depends on the size, population, and diverse nature of the country), and we even talk about our favorite philosophy books. It’s an easy, stimulating conversation that reminds me of how smart and capable Finley is. He will make a great king.

And Lucy will look amazing by his side.

The rain begins to pour outside, and I swear a shadow darts past the window, but maybe it’s only a passing cloud.

Finley’s blond eyebrows knit together, then he says, “We should go.”