7. Izabella
IZABELLA
My sister is going to kill me.
No, my entire family is going to kill me. For a while, the feeling of freedom and excitement at ignoring Penelope was exhilarating, but now it’s faded, and all that’s left is the reality that I ignored her, and now they’re going to kill me.
Keeping my gaze fixed firmly on the floor, I rush along the hallway until I reach the imposing double doors that lead into Green Acres Academy’s impressive library. Pushing into the expansive space, I nod to the librarian and make my way straight for the private study room I have my detentions in. Right now, I should be in class—either mine or Penelope’s—but I’m not, and the reality of that is starting to dawn on me.
If she has a test and fails it—which she would, because honestly, I don’t think she even studies for half of her classes anymore—then her grade point average will fall, and all of this will be over. This charade we’ve been playing for the last three-and-a-half years would be over. She’ll fail, she’ll lose her inheritance, and it will all be because of me.
A thrill rushes through me. Ignoring my sister’s texts today could mean the end of my great-grandfather’s reign of control. Ignoring those texts could change my family’s entire future.
A manic giggle bursts from my throat, and I lift my hand to stifle the sound. Wouldn’t it be painfully bittersweet if the reason my sister lost billions of dollars was because I ignored her text message? What would my parents do? What would my sister do if her life wasn’t solely directed by a dead man’s wishes? Who would she be if she wasn’t being forced to play by his rules?
Exhaling slowly, I lower myself into a chair and drop my backpack to the floor at my feet. There’s another twenty minutes until the end of the period, and it’s better to hide out in here than risk being found wandering the corridors.
When the bell rings, a wave of nausea washes over me. My cell is still turned off in my backpack, where I plan to leave it. I know there’ll be fallout for my moment of rebellion, but whatever damage my act of defiance has done, it’s too late to change it now.
By the time the last bell of the day rings, all of my bravado has evaporated, and I’m brimming with nerves at having to go home and face my sister and parents’ wrath. Today is the first time I’ve ever ignored my sister’s demand for help. It’s not the first time I’ve thought about it. I’ve spent three years dreaming of what they’d do if I just refused to be a part of their games anymore. But every time I’ve planned to actually act on my intention of saying no, I’ve been hit with so much guilt that I’ve just done what I was asked, rather than feel like I was letting them down.
As the other kids in my class rush to pack up their stuff and leave, eager to get home, I hang back. Penelope likes to make a grand exit, so our driver picks her up from the front of the school and takes her home before he circles back for me thirty minutes later.
On the days I don’t have detention, I sometimes waste time in the library, and other times I hide among the seats in the sports stadium. Today I need to be outside, so I quickly move to the doors that lead out of the main building and follow the path that will take me to the bleachers.
GAA focuses more on academic excellence rather than sporting achievements, but we do have an impressive lacrosse team that competes and wins a lot. The team practices most days, but I doubt they’ve ever seen me sitting on the far side of the stadium.
Climbing the steps, I stop about halfway up the bleachers and walk about a third of the way along the row. Shrugging my bag from my shoulders, I place it on the ground, then push down the folding seats on several of the chairs and lay down across them.
Staring straight up at the sky above me, I let the soft white, wispy clouds soothe me into a temporary calm. The cooling air that warns fall is on its way makes goose bumps prickle across my skin, but I don’t move, wrapping my arms across my chest as I watch the clouds form pictures in the sky.
When I hear the familiar sound of the coach calling for the players to take a break, I know it’s time to go. Usually, I have an alarm set on my cell, but as it’s still turned off, I’m relying on the fact that practices run on the same schedule every day.
Sitting up, I exhale slowly. I don’t want to go home. People who live normal lives, with normal families and normal jobs, assume that it must be great to be rich and to never have to worry about paying bills or affording the things they want, and it is. But no one considers that having money comes with its own set of issues.
When you’re born into wealth, your entire life becomes about maintaining and increasing that wealth. How you live your life, who you marry, and who you are becomes about how rich you are, and it’s exhausting, especially when control over your own life is taken from you.
Reaching for my backpack, I slowly make my way back down the bleachers and toward the front of the school. When I spot our town car idling at the curb, I falter and genuinely consider just walking away. Two days ago, Mark offered to help me run away from my life and my family. I could take him up on his offer. I could get as much money as I could from my credit cards and just start over somewhere new. I could reinvent myself. I could choose a new name, and then I could tell people what it was. I could be me. Just me, and never pretend to be anyone else.
A bitter scoff falls from my lips. It’s pathetic that part of my fantasy for my new life would be being able to tell people my name. I haven’t introduced myself to a single person in over three years. Three years. How is that even possible? How have I gone for literally years without ever having to tell anyone who I actually am?
“My name is Izabella Rhodes,” I whisper to the air around me. “I am Izabella Rhodes,” I say a little louder. “I’m Izabella fucking Rhodes, and I’m sick of no one knowing I fucking exist!” I shout as a tear I didn’t even know had formed rolls slowly down my cheek.
“Hello, Izabella,” a deep male voice says.
Spinning around so quickly my vision blurs, I find myself looking up into the dark, angry eyes of Gulliver Winslow, my sister’s soon-to-be fiancé.
My lips part and my mouth moves, trying to form words, but no sound comes out because I have no idea what to do. Should I laugh off what he overheard, or pretend I didn’t just scream my name out loud because I’m stupid and assumed no one was around to overhear me?
His smile is chilling, and I swallow as a shiver of fear pulses through me.
“Izabella,” he says, scoffing lightly. “Izabella.” My name rolls off his tongue again as his eyes rake over me, taking me in from head to toe. “Identical,” he murmurs so quietly that I know he’s saying it to himself rather than me. “How?” he asks.
Opening my mouth, I prepare to lie to him, to laugh and tell him I’m Penelope, that I’m practicing a scene for an acting lesson, or some other bullshit that would justify what he just overheard. But before I can say a word, his eyes harden, and he darts forward, wrapping one hand around the nape of my neck and the other around my chin, holding me in place.
“Whatever lie you were just about to tell me…don’t. I know Penelope; I know the way she moves, the way she acts, and you don’t move like her, you don’t act like her. So, cut the fucking bullshit. Who the hell are you, Izabella?”
“Her twin,” I whisper, the truth rolling off my tongue before I can stop it.
His eyes widen, and his full lips part. “Twins,” he says on a gasp, then he laughs, the sound low and bitter. “Twins, of course. But…fuck? What the fuck?”
“Identical twins,” I rasp, my voice no more than a whisper.
“Miss Rhodes.”
I recognize Mark’s voice and instinctively move to turn toward the sound, but Gulliver’s grip on me tightens, stopping me. “I’ll just be a minute, Mark,” I call, my gaze locking with Gulliver’s again.
“Tell him you’re going to get a ride with me,” Gulliver hisses.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you fucking can, and you will. I want answers, Izabella, and I’m not letting you go until I do. So, you can either come with me, or I’ll come with you. Your choice.”
I consider his demand for a long second. I could go with him, but I have no idea what I would say. Where or how I would even start to explain all of this. “You can come with me,” I blurt, and I can see the shock in his expression. He wasn’t expecting me to say that. Hell, I wasn’t expecting to say that either. But this isn’t my problem, it’s Penelope’s and my parents’. Gulliver is their first choice husband-to-be, so they can be the ones to explain all of this madness away, and I’ll do what I always do, I’ll step away from the spotlight because none of this is about me, it’s about my sister.
Gaze locked with Gulliver’s, I wait for him to see the resolve in my eyes, but instead of releasing me, his grip on me tightens. “I have to get back,” I breathe.
His pupils dilate, and his expression morphs from furious to quizzical. Staring at me, it’s clear he’s searching for something. I’m not sure if he finds his answer, but his hold on me loosens, and I move away, stepping toward the open car door.
Clearing my throat, I risk a glance at Mark and find his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists at his side. When he looks at me warily, I try to offer him a reassuring smile, placing my hand on his arm and squeezing lightly. “Gulliver’s going to be joining us,” I tell him quietly, hoping that my voice doesn’t quiver.
A part of me is expecting Gulliver to refuse to get into the car, so when he slides onto the seat beside me, I move as close to the window as I can get. His huge frame fills the car, and I feel breathless the entire journey back to my house. Neither of us speaks. It’s as if he’s sensed that I wouldn’t answer any of his questions and is resigned to waiting.
When we pull into our driveway, my heartbeat speeds up and nausea pools in my stomach. Both of my parents’ cars are in the driveway, and I try to swallow down the fear that I’m sure must be obvious on my face.
By now, my entire family must know that I ignored Penelope and didn’t take her place in class. That on its own would make them furious, but they’re going to lose their minds when they find out that I accidentally outed myself to Gulliver Winslow. He knows I exist; he knows there are two of us, and I think he knows it wasn’t my sister who had dinner at his house the other night.
By the time the car slows to a stop, I can feel my entire body shaking.
“What’s the matter with you?” Gulliver asks. “What the fuck is going on?”
Ignoring him, I keep my eyes fixed on our front door through the car window, feeling like I can feel my parents’ eyes boring into me even from this distance.
“Izabella, fucking answer me,” Gulliver growls, grabbing my arm roughly and demanding my attention.
“I don’t have any answers for you,” I admit, my voice so quiet I can barely hear myself. My car door opens, and Mark’s worry-filled eyes find mine. “Miss Rhodes, Mr. Winslow,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, pulling my arm from Gulliver’s hold and sliding out of the car. Gulliver immediately follows me, and I hear the car door close behind him as I pull in a deep breath and stride purposefully to the front door.
It swings open before I reach it, and Mrs. Humphries greets me, her normally tight smile barely perceptible and giving way to slack-jawed shock when she sees who’s with me. “Miss.” She stops herself before Izabella falls from her lips. “Miss Rhodes, welcome home. I didn’t realize we were expecting company. Mr. Winslow,” she says smoothly, nodding her head once at Gulliver before turning her attention back to me. “Your parents,” she starts.
I hear the angry stomping of heels along the marble floor before I spot my mother marching toward me. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” she hisses as she appears in the hallway, her lips pursed in an angry snarl.
Almost skidding to a stop, she takes in me and then Gulliver, who is now standing at my side, and the snarl evaporates from her lips and morphs into a glorious smile. “Penelope, darling, you didn’t tell me you were bringing Gulliver home with you. What a wonderful surprise,” she coos, sounding every bit the loving mother.
Gliding straight over to Gulliver, she leans in and peppers a kiss against his cheek, her hand pressed lightly against his chest. “Gulliver, it’s so lovely to see you again. Penelope is such a tease for not telling me you were coming.”
I try not to look, I really do, but I can’t help tilting my head so I can see the expression on Gulliver’s face. For a moment, I wonder if he’ll just forget that I’m not my sister. Mom called me Penelope so effortlessly that it’d be easy to believe whatever story she’s about to give him, but instead his eyes find mine.
“Well, I’m sure if Penelope knew I was here, she would have told you, but as I’m not with her, I’m with Izabella, that’s probably why you weren’t expecting me,” Gulliver says calmly, tilting his head to the side as he turns his heated gaze back to my mom.
Impressively, Mom doesn’t show even a glimmer of recognition at my name or at the fact that Gulliver clearly knows that I’m not my sister. Instead, she throws back her head and laughs. “Gulliver, oh my goodness, what a joke. Who on earth is Izabella?” Then she turns to me and smiles a smile that’s full of amusement. “Penelope, what kind of games are you playing with poor Gulliver?”
Gulliver’s expression falters for a second, right up until the moment my sister yells from the top of the stairs.
“Is she back? Has she explained why she would be such a selfish little bitch?”
Mom exhales a sharp breath and closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she looks at me and shakes her head, as if this mess and subterfuge are all my fault. “Penelope, come down here, please. Gulliver’s here to see you.”