The Designated Twin

11. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Lorelei

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Lorelei.” Finley is standing underneath an arch of chrysanthemums; it’s a collage of color and warmth as the sun shines like a beaming spotlight on the crown prince. He wears an all-white tux, his blond hair shimmering like a crown of gold.

It’s then I realize I’m walking closer without thought, as if he’s holding a string connected to me and is reeling me into him. Step by step, his eyes come into view. His beautiful, sparkling, ice blue eyes that I’d love to take a dive in on a hot summer day.

I drop my head, his eyes too intense to stare into. Suddenly, our toes have infinitesimal space between them. Slowly, I raise my head until I’m tilting my chin up to reacquaint myself with Finley’s eyes. But instead of landing on his eyes, my gaze locks with his lips. They are light pink, his upper lip a smidge thinner than his bottom.

He parts those precious lips and sighs, leaning down.

I close my eyes…

My eyes fly open, and I gasp for breath. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer in my chest. Hard enough to break my rib cage.

Probably. I think.

Frantically examining my surroundings, I find myself in my bed, tangled in my beige sheets and coffee-colored quilt, in a darkened room with a hint of sunlight peeking through my blinds.

No Finley Andersson in a tux standing under my favorite flowers about to…

Did I just vividly dream about kissing Finley?

Weird.

Well, that’s something I will never tell my sister about. I must have dreamt that because of his coquettish behavior four days ago at Books and Beans.

I shake my head clear and glance at the analog clock sitting on my nightstand. 5:29 a.m. in sage green coloring.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

5:30 a.m.

With a yawn and stretch, I untangle myself, switch on my salt lamp light, and roll out of bed. After brushing my teeth, I struggle to put on my black workout leggings, as always. Then I wrestle a bear in order to get my extra-support sports bra on. I should really invest in one of those front-zip styles. After sliding on my socks, I do deep lunges towards the kitchen and grab my water bottle from the fridge. At the door, I tie my Brooks tightly to my feet and quietly slip out of the apartment to embark on my morning jog.

The air has a crisp bite to it, but by noon, it’ll be warm enough to go for a swim if I wanted to. This is my favorite time of the day; it provides ample time to set my mind on things above and get my body moving, and I love the way the sun rises, kissing my skin good morning with its warmth.

Almost like how Finley kissed you in your dream…

I stop abruptly, my face heating to a degree that’s probably hotter than the sun at the moment. Why am I giving any thought to a dream? A dream is simply an involuntary adhesion of real life and fantasy, a mixture of images, sounds, feelings, and perceptions experienced throughout the day.

I set my water bottle down on the trunk of my car so my hands are free for an effective workout. I begin my jog down my usual route, shoving the graphic image of Finley’s lips advancing towards mine off a cliff to die. Regardless of if I wanted to, which I don’t, I can’t entertain such an outlandish notion. He belongs to Lucy, as it should be. A dream is nothing to get bent out of shape and blush in solitude over.

I round the corner of Maple Street, jogging by a long line of suburban houses that are similar yet unique. Some are bricked in various reds while others are a mixture of composite siding and stone veneer. One day. I will own a house here, settle down with my plants and cats, and possibly a nice man with a stable job who treats me well. I think I’ll fall in love one day, but I don’t like the idea of falling; that is more terrifying than when I thought I failed the LSAT because I read the email wrong. I want to float into love, to drift into it bit by bit. Conversation by conversation. Day by day. With surety, peace, and confidence.

Sweat builds on my forehead, and I wipe it with the back of my hand as I begin the jaunt back home. My runs aren’t miles and minutes long. It’s a quick fifteen-minute mile jog around the area simply to wake me up and get my blood flowing. I’ll stretch when I get home, blend a breakfast protein smoothie, then get ready to be at the office at eight.

This is the life I live; it’s simplistic, scheduled, and beautiful. And I’m finally basking in getting back to normalcy after a weekend of deceit, too many touches from the male species, and barely staying afloat outside my comfort zone.

“I’ve changed my ways, Attorney Spence. Do you think the judge will see that? Do you think I will get my babies back? Not having them home for Christmas was the darkest moment of my existence, and you know better than anyone at this point that I've had some pretty dark lows…” Ms. Gretta Hanes continues sobbing into the wad of tissues she’s consistently pulled from the beige box situated on the corner of my desk. The image of her sunken, dark eyes and puffy nose tug at my heartstrings. I wish I could give her all the answers, but that’s one rule I can’t break. I can’t promise a client something that may not happen.

“I hear you, Ms. Gretta.” I stand and walk around my desk, sitting next to her in the empty chair. I’ve learned she calms with physical touch, so I take her hands between mine, forcing myself to ignore the bugs crawling under my skin, and look her in the eyes. “You know I can’t promise you results because I am not the judge. But I can promise you that I am doing everything I possibly can to present the best case for you. I do know you’ve changed, and I do know that you will mother your three children well and with your whole heart. You do not have to convince me, Ms. Gretta. I see your goodness.”

She wails again, yanking her hands from mine and slinging her arms around me in a wet, very personal embrace. Her faded pink hair invades my space, tickling my nose. I let her cry on my shoulder, patting her back gently, trying not to think about the way her touch sends signals in my brain to flee for safety.

But my client comes first, and I know she needs this.

Several moments tick by, my insides crawling and itching to have my big, beautiful bubble of personal space back.

I clear my throat and begin to break the hug once I can no longer mentally withstand the sensations invading me. “Let’s go over your personal statement one more time, okay? Then you can leave the rest of the evidence gathering up to me. We have two weeks before the ruling, so let’s get to work.”

Ms. Gretta remains in my office for another hour and a half as we work on her testimonial for reunification. This case has stolen my time and attention, taking precedence over others. While we process and litigate many family disputes, a myriad of situations tearing families apart, it’s unfortunately rare that we get to work on a case to bring a family back together. CPS makes it nearly impossible for the birth parents at times, even when they’ve shown over a year of hard-fought change.

As a girl who grew up with two loving parents, I’ve never known the pain of separation. But I watched Hadley suffer at the hands of her mother who was drunk and on drugs for most of her life. Thankfully, Hadley was able to grow up under the care of her grandmother, but not all kids are that lucky. Hadley’s mom is sober and clean, and their constant work towards reconciliation is heart-warming to watch.

I want the same for Ms. Gretta and her children. Every child deserves a mom who loves and cares for them. Even if the mother shows up late to the job. Even if the father isn’t in the picture.

Which reminds me…

I should call my mom. She and Dad have been traveling around the United States over the past six months. They both can work from anywhere as Dad is a freelance writer and Mama is in marketing. They finally decided to make the most of that.

She picks up on the first ring. “Hey, Mom. How is the Grand Canyon?”

“Hot.” She laughs, already transitioning the phone call to a video call. Her smooth, tanned face and large brown eyes fill the screen, and then behind her, Dad’s freckled, pale skin and red, curly hair come into view. He smiles broadly and waves, his hazel eyes narrowed as sunlight pours directly over him. It’s not rocket science to figure out who Lucy and I take after the most.

“I might finally tan like your mother in this sun,” Dad says, wrapping his arm around her and gazing adoringly at his wife. My stomach flutters; I’ve always loved watching the two of them interact. There is a depth of love and understanding and respect for each other that I rarely see in couples. I’m holding out for that.

Mom playfully hip checks him. “Oh, Richard. You’d turn into a lobster. Which reminds me, we should apply more sunscreen.”

I pipe up. “Make sure you are using all natural sunscreen if you have to use it. Dad, it’s better for your skin just to wear light, linen layers.”

“You got it, beautiful.” My dad has never been one to shy away from showering the three women in his life with praise and compliments.

“How’s work going, sweetie? Any big plans for the upcoming weekend?” Mom busies herself by applying sunscreen to Dad’s face and exposed neck.

“Work is going well. I have a client that I’m growing a bit attached to, but I think it will help me work hard for her.” I glance at the stack of papers I need to sort through. “As for weekend plans, I think I’m going to catch up with filing.”

Mom frowns as she caps the sunscreen. “No fun plans?”

“You know me, Mom. Work is fun.”

Dad takes the phone from the stand Mom had propped it on. “But there’s so much more to life than your career, Lorelei. Don’t forget to be you, not just Attorney Spence.”

“Well, I—” I snap my mouth closed, realizing I was about to tell my parents that I went on not one but two dates this past weekend. But I don’t think Lucy has told them about Finley, and once again, I have a secret that’s not quite mine to tell.

“What, honey?” Dad asks.

“Nothing. Lucy has a date tonight, so I’ll watch a documentary or something.”

“Well,” Dad says, and then Mom grabs the phone.

“We know you love those, so do that! Just don’t touch work tonight while you watch the show. Take a break, sweetie.”

I grin at my doting, child-like parents. They amaze me with their bubbly attitude (which Lucy totally inherited. I’m more like Dad’s mom, Grandma Netty.) I know they love me and are looking out for me, so I vow to myself that I will watch a documentary tonight while I have the apartment to myself.

We chat for a moment longer before hanging up so that they can call Lucy and question her over not telling them about her date. (Yes, we tell our parents everything.)

Oops. Sorry, my little by-a-minute sister. I grin to myself, thinking this feels like slight payback for everything she’s put me through.

I submerge myself back into work while checking out the streaming platforms for a good documentary to watch tonight. What am I in the mood for…?

“Ted Bundy? That’s what you want to watch while you’re all alone? Jeez, Lor. I sometimes wonder how we are twins.”

I roll my eyes. Me too, Lucy. Me too.

“How do I look?”

My sister spins, her pastel yellow sundress billowing around her. She’s tamed her natural curls, and they cascade in waves over her shoulders. Her straight bangs add just the right amount of girlish flare, perfectly suiting her personality. Her bruise is light enough to effectively cover with makeup.

I smile thinking about how she’s kind of like the female version of Finley. “He’s going to love the real you.”

Her shoulders droop. “Do you really think so? Because from what I’ve heard so far, it seems like he likes the real you, Lor.”

Something stirs in my stomach at her words, but I dismiss the uncomfortable feeling. Instead, I stand and give my sister a hug that she looks like she’s in need of. Lucy is the one person I can freely hug without getting the icks. I even feel icky sometimes hugging Mom and Dad and Hadley.

Though when Finley hugged you at church, you sank into his arms, my brain decides to vividly remind me as I wrap Lucy in my arms.

But that was because I had to pretend to be my sister, I argue back like a deranged lunatic.

“Sure, he likes some things about me. But that’s not going to hold a candle to what he will discover about you tonight.”

Lucy relaxes a little, but she pulls away. “Will you go over everything y’all have talked about with me one more time? I need to know a little more regarding the philosophical and historical talk. Also, do you think I should dress a little more like you?”

I sigh, not wanting to rehash everything I’ve tried hard to distract myself from. But my sister needs this, and I want her to have the best date in the world with Finley tonight. That way, when she comes home tonight, all smiles and high on insta-love, I can officially discard Finley Andersson from my head the same way I toss out a rot-rooted plant.

That man has been taking up way too much space lately.

“You don’t need to look like me. Remember? I went on that first date dressed like you.”

“True,” she says. “But I still need to go over everything again. Make me book-smart like you.” She beams, a little life flowing back into her energy.

“Sit,” I tell her, pointing to the couch before I walk to my room to grab a book, preparing to give the highlights of this classical work to Lucy.

Once I return and sit next to her, I crack open the book and begin. “This is my favorite book. It’s called Common Sense by Thomas Paine. Paine was a Founding Father and a revolutionary. He wrote this book in 1776, and it speaks to the need for independence from Britain. But the deeper meaning…” I trail off as Lucy’s eyes glaze over.

Snapping in front of her face, she startles and focuses back on me. “Sorry,” she says sheepishly. “Please continue.”

I do, and as I inform her of the ideological gem that is Common Sense, she nods her head and asks questions, very much proving my sister is smart. She would just rather gain knowledge of other things and apply it in different manners than I do. She’d rather read Pride and Prejudice whereas I prefer books like the one I’m discussing. She wants to learn how to craft worlds and characters and explore the nuances between emotions and reason whereas I’d rather learn historical facts. Both are valuable skills, one not to be honored higher than the other.

A knock at the door rips us from our talk, which has turned more into a delightful and informative conversation. We both shoot to our feet, and my heart does a strange stutter like it can’t determine if it wants to stop completely or flutter away.

“He’s here!” Lucy squeaks.

“Might I recommend not squeaking or squealing tonight? Remember who you are and remember who he is. He’s a crown prince, Lucy. He’s looking for a queen.”

“Right,” she says, smoothing her dress down and fluffing out her hair. “I can do this.”

“That’s the spirit, Your Highness.” I curtsey to her, winning a giggle out of her nervous expression.

The knock comes again.

I shove Lucy forward as I linger on the opposite end of the living room near the kitchen. She takes a breath and flicks an anxious glance back at me one last time. I give her two thumbs up and motion for her to open the door. She slowly relents, and then Finley stands in the doorway looking like someone who truly did step out of the royal world. He wears a navy blue tux that is perfectly tailored to his slim but fit body. His usually shaggy blond hair is styled back, creating a refined air around the crown prince. In his hands, he holds a bouquet of red, yellow, and white chrysanthemums.

“I love the bangs, Lucy. I’m glad you made that decision. You are,” he leisurely peruses her, and that knotting feeling is back in my gut, “absolutely stunning. These are for you.”

She receives the flowers with one hand while placing the other on his forearm. He beams at the contact like he’s a golden retriever puppy who’s just been told “good boy.”

“Thank you, Finley. You look beyond handsome.”

He quirks his head to the side, but then he seems to let whatever it was go.

“Here, Lor. Will you put these in the vase on the kitchen table?”

Finley’s eyes follow Lucy’s stare and land on me like lightning striking a metal rod in the sand. Even from across the well-lit room, I see something flash across his eyes. He shakes his head as if to shake off a thought.

On unsteady legs, I close the distance between me and the couple. “Hi, Finley. It’s good to see you again.” Even my voice is trembling. What is wrong with me? Am I getting sick?

“You as well, Lorelei. What are your plans while I whisk your sister away?”

I’m stuck on the way he says my name to my face, addressing me for who I am for the first time. It does something funny to my brain.

“Er, thank you,” I say without thinking.

“Thank you?”

Wait. What did he say?

Lucy nudges me, and I snap out of whatever the mess that was.

“She’s going to watch a documentary on Ted Bundy,” Lucy answers what must have been a question Finley asked.

He nods with a smile, those twinkling blue eyes focusing on me. “Fascinating. American serial killers are a different breed. I should introduce you to a few that we’ve had in Korsa.”

I choke.

“Not in person!” he corrects himself, though that’s not what I thought he meant. I’m just over here dying under his intense eyes and the offer to discover new serial killers to dissect their brains. “Just the records and how we dealt out justice through our system.”

“Our system is messed up. We could probably learn from your process. Do you realize how many innocents we have jailed over the years? It’s been—”

Lucy clears her throat, interrupting me.

“Right,” I say, flicking my eyes between the two of them. Finley looks engrossed and slightly perplexed while Lucy is frowning. Is it me or is it getting too warm in here? “Well, you two should probably be on your way!”

“Yes, let’s get going,” she chimes in, her gaze shifting between me and Finley, who still hasn’t taken his eyes off me.

Finley takes my hand and applies a gentle kiss to my knuckles as I stand there like an ice sculpture teetering on the edge of melting under the presence of a burning star.

“A pleasure, Lorelei. Thanks for entrusting me with your lovely twin.”

“Mhmm,” is all I manage to get out before finally gaining mobility and ripping my hand out from his. Not because of an ick, but because of the lack thereof.

Lucy guides Finley out the door, taking one last look at me. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

The door clicks shut, and their footsteps rescind down the stairs.

My head spins, my heart races, and judging by the sudden spike of heat in my body, I think I have a fever.

I’ve got to stay far away from Finley Andersson.

That man is carrying some sort of eternal sickness, and he’s spreading it to me every time I’m in his presence.