The Lie That Traps (Lies and Truths Book 1)

13. Izabella

IZABELLA

The food the server delivers looks amazing, but I can’t eat with my stomach twisted into this many knots.

“It’ll all be okay, I promise,” the curly-haired boy says.

“Of course you think it’s going to be okay, because this bullshit doesn’t affect you,” I mutter, flopping back in my seat and sighing dramatically. “What’s your name?” I ask. “I’m sorry, I know Gulliver told me earlier, but I don’t remember which one you are.”

He smiles like my annoyance amuses him, and I notice the dimples that appear in his cheeks. “I’m Kip Tudor.”

“Okay, well, Kip, I’m glad you think it’s all going to be okay, but that’s because you have no idea how fucked I actually am because of your friend’s prank.”

The smile falls from his face, and he tilts his head to the side. “I’ve never met an identical twin before,” he muses, ignoring my agitation.

Pursing my lips, I arch my eyebrow at him, and he chuckles lightly.

“I don’t get how you’ve both been here this whole time, and no one has noticed there’s two of you. Has everyone just been assuming you were Penelope?” he asks, his voice sober now and missing any trace of amusement.

“If you didn’t know any different, would you assume I was her?” I ask, my words skirting a little too close to the truth but never actually admitting that we’ve encouraged the lie that I’ve been forced to perpetuate the belief that she was an only child.

“I suppose I would,” he says with a small grimace. “But then I had no idea Penelope even had a sister.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Yep, I have two older brothers and a younger sister,” he tells me easily.

“And do all the other students here know who your siblings are?”

“I’d be surprised if they didn’t. Maybe not my oldest brother because he graduated five years ago and he lives in Paris now. But my other brother and sister, yeah, I imagine everyone here would either have met them or at least know who they are. GAA is a small school, Izabella, and we’re all part of the same social circle because our parents all do business together. So how is it we’ve never been at the same party, business dinner, cotillion, or some other event?” he asks, leaning into me slightly.

“She’s antisocial,” a deadpan voice says, and I twirl around to find Gulliver standing behind me, his imposing body blocking the rest of the room from view as he glares down imperiously at Kip.

The blond boy who took Gulliver’s seat when he left moves back to his own chair, and Gulliver sits back down beside me, handing me my backpack. “I wouldn’t worry about calling your mom. My dad’s going to speak to her.”

“Is he going to explain that this was all just a stupid joke?” I ask hopefully.

“No, he’s going to invite them for dinner tonight so we can all celebrate our engagement together,” he says with a grin.

“What?” I cry, pushing out of my seat and standing on wobbly legs. “This is ridiculous. How the hell am I going to explain all of this nonsense?”

Before I can take a step away, Gulliver curls his arm around my waist and yanks me into his lap again, his hand cupping my face so he can press his lips to my ear. “Calm down, sweet Izzy. I’ll settle everything with your awful family eventually. But for now, I need you to play along for a little longer.”

Kip barks out a laugh, pulling our attention. “Dude,” he chides playfully like this is just the funniest thing in the world. “A family dinner might be taking this a bit far.” But his tone is playful. All of them think this is hilarious, but they have no idea of the implications it’ll have for me. They don’t care that I’ll be the collateral damage left in the wake of their games.

“Taking what too far?” Gulliver asks. “All I’m doing is inviting my closest friends and my beautiful fiancée’s family to come together to celebrate our engagement,” he says with mock innocence.

Turning his attention back to me, he presses a trail of kisses down the lobe of my ear to my neck, stunning me into silence with his gentle touch. A part of me knows I shouldn’t be letting him do this. I shouldn’t be going along with this farce or letting him touch me and kiss me like this. But until he scooped me out of the car this morning and forced people to actually see me for the first time in years, I’d forgotten how good it felt to just be me and not some weird, half-hidden reflection of my sister.

Since he shouted my name—my name—on the steps and started this dangerous game we’re playing, I hadn’t admitted, even to myself, how tired I was of being invisible. I know by tonight all of this will be over and I’ll sink back into my sister’s shadow again, but for now, I really want my own identity. I want to be Izabella Rhodes. I want to be seen, to be recognized, to be worthy.

So, I don’t fight him when he reaches around me and cuts off a piece of my lunch, then holds up the fork for me to eat from. I don’t fight it when he touches me like we’re really in love, or when he walks me to my next class and kisses me in the doorway where everyone can see.

For the next few hours, I enjoy hearing my name on people’s lips, and I bask in the stares, looks, and whispers. It doesn’t matter that no one actually speaks to me, or that they’re probably being mean, or gossiping about mine and Gulliver’s stupid fake engagement. All that matters is that when they look at me, they see me and not my sister.

When the final bell rings, I’m almost a little sad that the school day is over. I take my time packing away my belongings like normal, because even though everyone at school knows about me now, I still doubt Penelope will want me to ride home with her.

Jolting backward, I stumble when Gulliver suddenly appears in front of me. Snapping his hand out, he stops me from landing on my butt, then scoops all of my things off my desk and drops them into my backpack, throwing it over his shoulder along with his own bag.

“Come on, sweet Izzy, let’s go,” he says, entwining his fingers with mine.

I let him pull me out of the classroom, enjoying the way all eyes seem to turn to us as Gulliver walks by my side, a wide smile etched across his beautiful face.

“My car won’t be here for another thirty minutes,” I admit quietly.

“You’re riding with me,” he says simply, arching an eyebrow and daring me to argue.

“I need to let Mark know.”

“Who the fuck is Mark?” Gulliver asks, whirling around to look at me.

“My driver,” I reply in confusion at his weird reaction.

“So, text him, or better yet, tell him in person,” Gulliver says as he starts to jog through the hallway, pulling me along behind him.

A surprised giggle falls from my lips as we dash through the school, Gulliver weaving us in and out of people until we burst into the bright sunlight. My smile and any hint of laughter dries up when I spot my sister chatting with a group of people at the curb.

“Hey Penelope!” Gulliver shouts so loud I doubt there’s anyone who didn’t hear.

Her head snaps up, and she spins around to look at us, her lips pinching into an angry snarl when she spots me.

“Let your driver know that Izzy’s riding with me, will you?” he calls, pulling me into his side and holding me tightly against him.

“Why can’t Izzy tell him for herself?” she asks, practically spitting the nickname Gulliver has called me a few times.

Trying to pull myself from his grip, I step forward when our town car rolls to a stop barely two feet from where Penelope is standing, but Gulliver tightens his hold on me, stopping me from moving.

“Don’t be a bitch, Penelope. We’ll see you later. We’ve got an engagement to celebrate.” Waving at her with a smirk, he turns us in the opposite direction, leading me to a shiny Range Rover parked at the front of the lot.

As we approach the car, it beeps, and Gulliver releases me to step forward and open the passenger door, waiting for me to climb in before closing it behind me. While he circles the car, I take a minute to look at the inside, appreciating the novelty of being in the front seat rather than the back seat of our family’s town cars.

Opening the driver’s door, Gulliver climbs in, smiling at me as he settles into the seat and presses a button on the dashboard. The car’s engine starts, and a moment later, we pull out of the school and onto the street.

“Do you want a coffee? I’m going to pull through a drive-through coffee place,” Gulliver says, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“Err, yeah, that would be great. I’m probably going to need it to deal with my family,” I say, then instantly regret my words.

“I find vodka works better for family drama,” Gulliver quips as he pulls into the drive-through lane and up to the window, turning to look at me. “What do you want?”

“Can I have a hazelnut latte macchiato, please?”

“One hazelnut latte macchiato for the lady, and a double shot Americano for me, please,” Gulliver says, handing over a bill and waving away the change when the server tries to give it to him. A moment later, the server returns with two to-go cups and hands them to Gulliver, telling him which drink is which as he does.

“Here you go,” he says as he passes me my drink, guiding the car away from the coffee place with one hand and lifting his cup to his lips with the other.

“Thank you,” I murmur, bringing my own cup to my lips and humming with appreciation as the sweet, creamy coffee coats my tongue.

We drive the rest of the way to my house in an oddly comfortable silence. I’m angry that he’s forced me into this nightmarish situation, but I’m nowhere near as upset as I should be, and I don’t know why. As loath as I am to admit it, Penelope was right when she said that Gulliver’s prank will embarrass both my family and his when the truth is revealed.

I know there will be consequences for everything that’s happened here today, but I think that maybe the look on my sister’s face every time he’s told her we’re engaged might actually make it worthwhile.

I’ve always believed in karma, and maybe today was the universe’s payback for my sister using me. In a couple of days, Gulliver’s escapades will have been forgotten, but I won’t forget. I’ll never forget that for a moment, even if it was a lie, I had something she wanted.

When we pull up outside my house, I wish that Gulliver was a friend, then I could ask him to just drive away, to let me prolong dealing with the nightmare I know will be waiting on the other side of my front door. But we’re not friends, we’re not even acquaintances, so instead of asking, I dutifully unbuckle my seat belt and reach for the door handle.

“Wait,” he says, striding purposefully around the car to open my door for me. Reaching in, he offers me a hand, and I take it, blushing, as I let him help me from the car. My backpack is slung over his shoulder again, and I realize he must have grabbed it on his way to get the door.

Instead of handing me my bag, he shocks me when he reaches for my fingers and links them with his, like he did earlier. “Shall we?” he asks with mock formality.

“Err,” I reply.

“Sweet Izzy,” he says, smiling teasingly. “I don’t intend to just feed you to the wolves, then run off and leave you on your own.”

“Oh, I…” I stop, not really knowing what else to say. I hadn’t expected him to come into the house with me, but I’m more than okay with him being the one to explain his prank to my parents. I’ll still have to deal with my family’s vitriol, but once they know the truth, maybe they can all have a good laugh about it at the dinner I doubt I’ll be invited too. Actually, this is perfect. He can tell them this whole thing is a joke and that I was as blindsided as Penelope was about the entire thing.

Reaching for my hand, he leads me to the front door. Mrs. Humphries swings it open before we reach it, her eyes a little wide. “Miss Izabella, Mr. Winslow.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Humphries,” I murmur as Gulliver walks into the house beside me.

“Mrs. Humphries, it’s lovely to see you again,” he says politely.

“Are my parents home?” I ask.

“Yes, Miss, they’re in the living room,” she replies, her eyes wide and fearful as she closes the door behind us. Pausing in the foyer, her eyes glance toward the living room, then back to me. Her lips part like she intends to say something, then snap shut before she scurries away.

“I’ll come and help you pick out an outfit for tonight, then I’ll go and speak to your family,” Gulliver says, pulling me toward the stairs.

“You can’t go in my room,” I hiss at him.

He laughs. “Of course I can. We’re engaged.”

“We’re not engaged,” I scold, pulling at his hand, but he doesn’t release me as he climbs the stairs, hauling me along behind him until we’re both standing on the landing.

“Which one is your room?”

“You’re not going in my room,” I say, ripping my hand free from his grasp and crossing my arms across my chest.

He shrugs. “Fine, if you won’t tell me, I’ll just go room to room until I guess which one is yours.”

Striding forward, he opens the first door into a guest bedroom, then immediately closes it again. “Not that one.”

I watch as he moves from door to door, opening them and peering inside before he closes it again. When he reaches for my sister’s door, I tense, but he opens it and closes it immediately. “Definitely not yours.”

“How do you know?” I ask, curiously.

“It was pink,” he says with a shudder.

“So,” I reply, a panicked giggle bubbling from my throat.

“You’re not a pink bedroom kind of girl. Plus, it smells like someone smashed a bottle of your sister’s dreadful perfume.”

He moves to open the next door, but I stop him. Sighing, I point toward the farthest door. “That one’s my room.”

His stormy, dark eyes twinkle for a moment, and I wish I knew him well enough to interpret what it meant, but instead I just let him take my hand again and pull me along the hallway and into my bedroom.

The familiarity of the space settles something inside of me, and when he loosens his hold on me, I pull my hand free from his and step further into my bedroom. Kicking my shoes off, I unbutton my blazer and hang it over the back of my desk chair.

Lowering myself onto the edge of my bed, I watch him as he takes in my space. His eyes run over the shabbily painted walls to the shelves full of music and books. This room says so much more about me than anything else he’s seen so far, and I find myself holding my breath and bracing myself for his reaction. It shouldn’t matter what he thinks of my space, but for some reason it does.

His sigh is audible, and when he looks at me, he smiles, a genuine smile that has me smiling back. “I like your room.”

“Thank you, me too,” I tell him a little breathily.

“It’s nothing like Penelope’s room, and it’s all the way down the hall. I guess I figured identical twins would either share space or at least want to be close to each other,” Gulliver muses as he moves to look at the piles of CDs and vinyl.

“Our relationship isn’t like that,” I admit quietly. Him being in my space, close to all the things that make me, suddenly feels stifling. Even though it must be obvious that Penelope and I aren’t close, admitting it to him is the tiny pebble that topples the whole pile. I wish he’d leave; his presence is too much, and I need him out of my space so I can breathe again. “You should probably go and explain things to my parents.”

“I’ll help you pick an outfit first,” he says, ignoring my discomfort as he crosses the room to my closet.

“You don’t need to do that. I’m sure once you explain things, I won’t need to attend this dinner, so I won’t need an outfit,” I protest, standing up from the bed and moving toward the door.

“Why wouldn’t you attend?” he asks gruffly, pulling open my closet and taking a step inside.

“Why would I?” I counter, crossing the room to stand in the closet doorway.

He ignores me as he sorts through my clothes, pushing hangers to the side quickly as he paces along the rail. “Where are the rest of your clothes?” he asks.

“There,” I say, motioning to the rail full of clothes next to him.

“No, where are your dresses, your formalwear?”

“I don’t have any.”

Closing the distance between us, he looks down at me, a quizzical expression on his face. “Izzy, you’re from one of the richest families in the country, your parents are socialites, you go to one of the country’s most prestigious high schools, of course you have formalwear.”

Unable to meet his eyes, I look past him and into the closet that’s full of ripped jeans, threadbare sweaters, and cropped T-shirts. “I don’t attend formal occasions,” I admit.

“You really are a ghost, aren’t you?” he whispers. “So that dress you wore on Friday?”

“One of Penelope’s, or something my mom bought for Penelope.” I shrug.

“Okay, come on,” Gulliver says with an angry snarl, grabbing me again and rushing me from my room and down the stairs so quickly it takes all of my coordination not to fall.

“Where are we going?” I cry. “Gulliver, stop! I’m not wearing any shoes.”

Spinning around, he lifts me into the air, carrying me bridal-style across the foyer, only pausing long enough to open the front door before he whisks me down the steps and back into the passenger seat of his car.

“What are you doing?” I cry when he climbs into the car, starts the engine, and skids away from the house. “Gulliver,” I hiss. “Where are you taking me?”

“We’re getting you a dress, a closet full of dresses,” he snaps, accelerating quickly down the road.

“I don’t need a dress.”

“As beautiful as you looked the other day in jeans and a T-shirt, tonight you need something a little more engagement-appropriate, and I refuse to let you wear anything that belongs to your sister,” he snarls, zooming along the downtown streets until we slow to a stop outside a nondescript-looking building.

I wait as he climbs out, then circles the car and opens my door. Leaning over me, his crisp, woody aftershave teases me as he unbuckles my seat belt and lifts me into his arms as though I weigh nothing, walking us both toward a plain black door.

He presses the intercom buzzer and waits until a voice answers.

“Yes?”

“Hey, it’s Gulliver Winslow. Is Fitzy in?”

No one replies, but the door lock clicks. Gulliver pushes it open, walking into a bright white lobby. The room is completely empty except for a set of double doors at the other end that swing open dramatically as a man emerges, smiling brightly.

“Gulliver, dear, what are you doing here?” the man announces, his lips spreading even wider when he sees me in Gulliver’s arms.

“Hey, Fitzy,” he replies. “This is Izabella, and we need a favor.”

“Well, put the poor girl down,” Fitzy demands, and Gulliver does as he says, lowering me to my feet, entwining his fingers with mine again before I have a chance to step away.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Izabella. My name is Fitzwilliam Van De Burg, but you may call me Fitzy. What’s the occasion?” Fitzy asks.

“Formal family dinner,” Gulliver answers, ignoring the annoyed glares I’m throwing at him.

“Ahhh, yes,” Fitzy says, nodding decisively. “Come, come with me,” he says, spinning around and heading back toward the double doors.

I glance over my shoulder at Gulliver, but he just smiles and nods his head, indicating I should follow. “I don’t need a dress,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

He doesn’t reply, just tips his chin in the direction Fitzy went in. Sighing, I cautiously follow Fitzy through the doors and into what I can now see is a huge changing area. He motions for me to go into the changing room and then pulls a curtain around me, blocking me from both his and Gulliver’s view.

For a moment, I stand staring at my own reflection in the wall full of mirrors in front of me, but then a garment bag is shoved through the curtain and I instinctively reach out and take it.

“Try that on. I’m confident it will be perfect, but I have something else if you don’t like it.”

Hanging the bag on a hook, I carefully unzip it and reveal a deep-gray chiffon dress. Immediately, the color calls to me, and the folds of opaque chiffon beg me to touch them. A white box and a pair of shoes are pushed beneath the curtain next, and I open the box to reveal a beautiful silver-gray underwear set and Prada pumps that match the color of the dress perfectly.

Unable to resist, I pull the dress free from the bag and sigh at the full-length lace sleeves that fall from the shaped bodice that I know will fit me perfectly. Silently, I undress, sliding on the underwear, then pulling the dress over the top. Just like I knew it would, the dress fits like it was made for me, while the color accentuates my skin and the white blonde of my hair.

It’s nothing like the dress I wore on Friday when I was pretending to be Penelope, and despite how stunning this dress is, I know it’s not something my sister would ever wear.

“I love it,” I say, gasping at the sight of myself as I slide my feet into the pumps and turn from side to side to look at my reflection.

“May I come in?” Fitzy asks.

“Yes,” I reply, unable to tear my eyes away from the mirror. This isn’t the first beautiful dress I’ve worn, but it’s been years since I had anything this gorgeous, and I find myself having to blink back tears.

“Oh yes,” Fitzy coos as he smooths his hands along my waist and over my hips.

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper reverently.

“On you, yes. In the bag it’s nothing more than rags,” he replies easily.

He leaves a moment later, and I undress, carefully sliding the dress back into the bag and placing the underwear into the box before I pull my uniform back on. Once I’m dressed, I slip out of the changing room and smile widely at Fitzy. “Thank you so much. I’m still not sure I actually need a dress, but now that I’ve seen myself in this one”—I lift the garment bag into the air—“I absolutely have to have it.” Pulling my credit card from the pocket of my skirt, I look around for a credit card machine or somewhere I can pay.

“This outfit is a gift. The other things I’ve picked for you, I’ll bill you for and have them delivered in a few days’ time,” he announces, handing me a booklet for me to write my details on as he collects the shoes and underwear and slides them into a bag before handing them back to me.

“Other things?” I ask, writing down my details.

“Yes, I have a gift for clothes, and now that I’ve seen you, there are some things that you simply must own,” he says with a dismissive wave.

“I agree. You do have a gift,” I say, looking down at the bag in my hands. “But I’m afraid to admit that I rarely wear dresses.”

He shrugs. “You’ll wear what I send you.”

I laugh. “Okay then.”

“Let me take that,” Gulliver says, sliding the bags from my grip.

Handing back the booklet with all my details to Fitzy, I easily accept the hug he gives me, then step aside so he can hug Gulliver next. “Make sure you wear the gray suit I sent you last week,” he tells Gulliver, who just nods, draping his arm across my shoulders, before he leads me back out of the building.

I’m back in the car, and we’re driving toward my house before I even process what just happened. “How do you know Fitzy?” I ask, feeling a little dazed.

“He’s my godfather,” Gulliver says with a grin. “He and my mom went to school together.”

I nod. “Did he design my dress?”

“No, he’s a stylist. He dresses my mom and a few others. He’ll send you clothes every couple of weeks from now on, then he’ll probably randomly turn up at your house at the start of each season.” He laughs.

“At my house?” I exclaim, shocked.

“Yep, you’re one of his clients now. You should be flattered. The last new client he took on was a princess.”

I stare at the side of his head, unsure if he’s being serious or not, but before I have a chance to ask, we’re pulling up outside my house, and that sinking sensation fills me again. “The dress is beautiful, and thank you for introducing me to Fitzy, but once you talk to my parents, I really don’t think it’ll be necessary for me to come tonight.”

Gulliver’s lips press together into a hard line. “You’re coming to this dinner, Izzy.”

“Why?” I ask on a gasp, shocked by the intensity that’s flickering in his stormy eyes.

“Why?” he says, his brow furrowed like my question is a surprise. “Because I want you to come,” he admits easily.

I can feel myself soften at his words, but it still doesn’t make sense. “We’re not friends, Gulliver. Why is this important?”

“Because we should be. We should be friends, Izzy. We should have known each other for years. Don’t ask me to explain it, because I don’t really understand it myself, but I don’t want you to be that ghost that no one remembers anymore. So, fuck it. Come to dinner, laugh, have fun, spend one night with me, Kip, Davis, and Thorn. Let me show you how it would have been if you hadn’t been hiding all this time.”

My heart starts to pound in my chest as I listen to him speak. He doesn’t want me to be a ghost anymore. That resonates with me so much more than I was expecting. Am I a ghost? Is that what I am, living this strange half-life without my own identity? I always just considered myself pretending, biding my time until my obligation to my family was done. But have I actually given my life up completely? Am I now a ghost, invisible, an incorporeal being that no one sees or believes in?

Cool fingertips touch my cheek, startling me out of my inner musings.

“Hey, it’s only dinner,” Gulliver says playfully.

I nod, but I must not look particularly convincing because he grabs my chin and gently strokes his fingertip along the line of my jaw, his eyes dipping to my lips before he clears his throat, drops his hand, and climbs out of the car.

The moment I’m alone, I suck in a shaky breath, exhaling seconds before he opens my door. Offering me a hand to help me out, he glances down at my bare feet and curses beneath his breath. “Don’t move,” he orders, grabbing the garment bag and the bag containing my shoes and underwear from the backseat before he leans in and lifts me from the car again.

“I could have just put the shoes on.” I laugh, holding on tightly to his neck as he walks us up the front steps to the front door where an amused-looking Mrs. Humphries is holding it open for him.

“But where’s the fun in that?” he says, stepping through the door and lowering me to the floor with a flourish.

“Izabella.”

The moment I hear my mom’s voice, the playful mood evaporates, and I take a step back from Gulliver, curling my stockinged toes and hoping she doesn’t notice my lack of footwear.

“Where the hell?” Mom stops speaking the moment she sees Gulliver, and a brittle smile replaces her angry expression. “Gulliver,” she coos, gliding over to us and leaning in to peck a kiss on his cheek. “You have some explaining to do, young man,” she says, patting his shoulder affectionately.

Gulliver smiles sweetly at my mom, then turns to me. “How long will it take you to get ready?”

I glance between him and my mom. “An hour.”

He nods, then looks back to Mom. “What time did Dad arrange dinner for?”

“Seven thirty p.m., but really, Gulliver,” she starts.

He glances down at his watch, then back to me. “It’s four thirty p.m. now, so go grab what you need, and we can both get ready at my house. Your mom can keep me entertained while you grab your stuff.”

I stare at him, slack-jawed. “I can get ready here,” I say, reaching for the bags he’s still holding onto.

“Yes, of course, but it’ll be easier if you get ready at my house, plus then your dress will be a surprise for your family when they get there,” he says conspiratorially, like I’m in on the joke.

I open my mouth to argue.

“Izzy, get going. I need to go and pick a few things up on the way home,” he says, shooing me away, an annoyingly smug smile plastered across his perfect lips.

I should argue, insist that I need to stay and listen while he explains away the clusterfuck that today has been to my mom, but honestly, the thought of him taking the brunt of my parents’ anger is too tempting to refuse. Sometimes I think my parents forget that I don’t want my sister’s life. I don’t want the money or the obligation or anything that comes with the Rhodes name and legacy. Maybe before the inheritance I did, but now even pretending to be my sister makes me sick.

So, I walk away and let him deal with her. Today has shown me what an accomplished actor he is. I’m sure he’ll spin his antics into nothing more than teenage tomfoolery. Climbing the stairs, I can hear them chatting, but I don’t linger to listen to what’s being said. I just head for my room.

“Izabella,” my sister says as I reach the top of the stairs and find her waiting for me.

“Jesus, Penelope, just stop. He’s downstairs, explaining it all to Mom. I don’t know why he did it, I don’t know him, so if you want answers, you need to talk to him,” I say wearily, ignoring her poisonous glare and brushing past her as I walk into my room, closing the door on her outraged face before she has a chance to say anything more.

I can practically feel her spluttering indignation through the wood of my door, but I ignore her, turning my lock as I step further into my room and start to collect my makeup and hair supplies. I’m not sure I actually agreed to get ready at his place, but right now I’ll do anything that gets me out of this house.

I have a suspicion that this dinner is his way of apologizing for all of the shit he’s pulled today, and that’s why he’s gone to the effort to help get me a dress and why he’s dealing with my parents and sheltering me from their residual anger.

Tomorrow we’ll go back to being strangers, and this weird alliance will be over. I’ll go back to being a ghost, and he’ll be the prankster who proposed to one twin as a joke, just to piss off the other.

My thoughts go back to the way he behaved on Friday night when he believed I was my sister. His anger and bitter hatred didn’t seem like an act, and I believe now that he had no idea I wasn’t Penelope. He really, truly hates her, and despite my parents’ aspirations of having him as a son-in-law, I think it’s obvious that isn’t going to be happening.

Pulling my overnight bag from a shelf in my closet, I start to stack all of the products that I wear every day into the bag. Pausing, I stare down at the makeup and then take it all back out again. All of this stuff is what Penelope wears. It’s the makeup I wear to look like her, and tonight I don’t have to do that.

Excitement rushes through me as I replace the makeup with the things I use when I want to look in the mirror and see me. For the first time in so long, I get to show the world who I am. Call this a dry run for my life after high school, or maybe just a “fuck you” to sharing a face, but as I reach for my hair accessories, I’m actually looking forward to this dinner.

It might only be one night, but even if it’s fleeting, tonight, I’m no one’s clone, no one’s useless spare. I’m Izabella Cordelia Rhodes, and everyone will know it.