Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
JULIET
Aweek later, the last rays of sun filter through the curtains of my bedroom.
Hang on, this is Carolyn's bedroom, I remind myself.
I've been perched on the vanity for what feels like hours.
I set down the curling iron and carefully loosen the last roller from my hair, unwinding the loose curl slowly, feeling it bounce free with a satisfying spring.
I run my hand through the waves, my fingers combing gently to loosen and separate them so they cascade down my back in soft, voluminous layers.
Then I take a deep breath and stand. The mirror in front of me reflects a stranger.
I stare at myself, really stare, my breath catching in my throat as I take in the transformation.
I can't believe that is me staring back—Juliet, the barista from Nolita, who used to pull on a pair of jeans and a tank top for a night out.
Right now, I look like the actual Carolyn, polished and poised, every inch the wealthy socialite with her flawless makeup—smokey eyes, nude lips glistening with gloss, and loose curls framing my face like a halo.
The dress is a vision, a masterpiece of elegance laced with undeniable sexiness, and it’s pretty astonishing how it molds to my body as if it was made for me—or rather, for Carolyn, but tonight, it feels like mine.
It's a floor-length gown, the kind you'd see on red carpets or at high-society galas, crafted from midnight-blue silk that shimmers under the light like liquid fire.
The fabric is so smooth it whispers against my skin with every subtle shift.
The bodice is scattered with delicate crystals and fitted, hugging my curves with a pleated detail that accentuates my waist, and the plunging neckline reveals just enough cleavage to be tantalizing without being overt.
Then, there is the thigh-high slit on one side that adds a spicy edge to it, allowing a glimpse of leg with each step, the hem pooling elegantly on the floor.
I twist slightly, watching how the silk clings.
The dress is breathtaking, truly—the way it transforms my figure into something regal and seductive, the blue contrasting against my fair skin and bringing out the deeper shades in my contact-lensed eyes.
It makes me feel exposed, and yet empowered, like a seductive siren ready for the greatest battle that can be between a man and a woman.
For a while, as I tilt my head and watch the light play off the gown's sheen.
I feel like Carolyn, not Juliet—the orphan scraping by in a cramped walk-up, but a woman who belongs in this world of luxury.
Beautiful and wealthy, with credit cards that never get declined and a chauffeur waiting downstairs to take me wherever I want to go.
And she has a husband, a totally gorgeous hunk of a man.
A secret thrill goes through me. It is warm and intoxicating, and my heart flutters as I smooth a hand down the silk, feeling the cool glide over my ribs, but it's laced with a pang of something deeper, a reminder that this is borrowed, fleeting.
Fake Carolyn—that's who I am tonight.
And soon at the charity gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, I will be mingling with the elite of the city under crystal chandeliers, sipping champagne and watching them bid on art for causes they only half-care about.
At that moment, there is a knock on my door, jolting me from my reverie.
My pulse spikes, a rush of extra nervousness flooding my chest because I suspect it's Blake.
We agreed to meet by a quarter to seven downstairs, so why is he coming to my room rather than waiting in the foyer for the car?
Am I late? My hands tremble slightly as I walk to the door, the gown swishing around my legs.
I open the door and usher him in with a soft "Come in," my voice breathier than I intend. He steps inside, filling the space with his mighty presence. The air shifts immediately to throbbing anticipation.
He holds a velvet box, his icy-gray eyes locking onto mine in a way that makes my stomach twist. "I have a necklace for you," he says, his voice low and velvety, pausing as he takes me in, his gaze sweeping down the gown in a way that sends heat prickling across my skin.
My heart pounds as he moves behind me toward the mirror, the box opening with a soft snap. He lifts the necklace, and it is breathtaking.
“Oh,” I gasp.
It’s a platinum chain, delicate yet substantial, dripping with a cascade of pear-shaped sapphires that catch the light and glitter with a brilliance that makes my breath hitch.
The central stone is a gorgeous solitaire flanked by smaller stones.
It's exquisite, the kind of heirloom that screams old money and timeless elegance.
“Turn around,” he says coolly.
For a second, I can’t move, then I nod and obey.
The metal feels cool and heavy as he places it around my neck.
His fingers brush the back of my neck as he fastens the clasp.
The fleeting touch is electric, sending shivers racing down my spine, my skin tingles with his warmth, the fine hairs standing on end.
I feel his breath against my hair, close enough that the scent of his cologne—rich tobacco and citrus—wraps around me, making my mouth dry and knees feel weak with desire.
Our eyes meet in the mirror, his gaze is dark and intense, desire burning raw and undeniable, mirroring the heat pooling in my core.
My reflection shows flushed cheeks and parted lips.
There's hunger in his stare, a pull that draws me in, and I see it echoed in my own eyes, that forbidden spark igniting despite the danger he represents.
I look away quickly, breaking the connection, my hand fluttering to the necklace as if to steady myself; the stones are cool under my fingertips.
I feel confused, and my mind spins as he steps back. The air between us still hums with that unspoken tension. Carolyn had told me in no uncertain terms that Blake and she didn’t have sex anymore, that their marriage was cold and distant, with indifference and separate bedrooms.
But there is a lot of ardor here.
It is radiating off him like heat waves from a fire, wrapping around me until I almost can’t speak. It makes my throat tight, and my words are caught in the whirlwind of my thoughts.
His expression is unreadable but charged, and then he heads out, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving me alone in the sudden quiet.
My legs are suddenly unsteady, and I sink onto the vanity chair.
Oh, dear God. What on earth is going on with me?
Why am I affected like this? The rapid thud of my blood echoes in my ears, and my breath comes out shallow.
I seriously need to calm down before I faint.
I press a hand to my chest and take slow deep breaths.
Come on, Juliet. Grow up. You’re not a kid. He’s just a man. A very sexy man, but just a man. His image pops into my head.
He had looked absolutely breathtaking in his tux, the black wool tailored to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to his waist, his dark hair slicked back, making his jawline sharper, and his icy-gray eyes look even more piercing, like they could see straight through me.
Suddenly, it hits me.
I'm falling for him.
The realization is like those monster storm waves that crash relentlessly into the sides of cliffs. It’s terrifying. He belongs to Carolyn, not to me. It’s crazy, but the line is getting blurred, the edges of this impersonation are fraying… and I don't know how to stop it.