Chapter 3
HARPER
Benjamin, Sophia’s driver, holds open the door, allowing me to step out.
I look up at the sprawling house, with the river visible behind it.
It’s been many years since I visited the area outside New York City. Mum and Dad sometimes hired a house here in Fairfield County when Dad’s work trips stretched over the holidays, and the family suite at the hotel was too small to accommodate five growing children.
The front door opens as I approach.
An older woman steps out, her clothes and sleek silver bob immaculate. Sophia Bianchi.
After our call, I spent the evening researching the woman my mother has sent me to.
She is an icon. A powerful, stylish, and well-respected businesswoman who, during her time as CEO of the St Clair fashion house, revitalised her father’s declining luxury brand by restoring its prestige and broadening its international appeal.
For thirty years, she took the brand from strength to strength, until five years ago, when she handed the reins to her eldest son, Alessandro.
It appears he, like his mother, is a powerhouse.
Industrious, ambitious and one hell of a designer in his own right.
Under his guidance, St Clair has continued to thrive.
“Brooke,” she says. “Welcome to Riverside.” Her eyes meet mine before travelling down my body and taking in my appearance. “Why don’t you come in?”
Lifting a hand to my wig, I smooth down any wayward strands.
I shoot her a glance and meet an assessing gaze.
“Mrs Bianchi. Thank you for inviting me to your beautiful home.”
Stepping forward, I hold out my hand. I might no longer be Harper, but manners were ingrained in me from the time I could walk and talk.
“Sophia, please,” she says, taking my hand in a firm grip.
She turns, and I follow her inside. We walk through a light and airy entrance towards the back of the house, where I’m faced with floor-to-ceiling windows, offering spectacular views of the cove beyond. Drawn by the view, I move closer, captivated by the backdrop.
Sophia stands beside me.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?”
“That’s an understatement. Frazer Manor overlooks green fields and woodland. It’s beautiful, but the blue sky and crystal-clear water are something else.”
I squeeze my eyes shut as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Fuck, this is going to be impossible.
Sophia tuts before squeezing my shoulder.
“Don’t worry. We’ll work on it together,” she says.
I turn to face her, her expression serious.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I’m a hard taskmaster, Brooke. Have no doubt. I’ll not have you bring my family into disrepute. You’ll need to get your story straight. I owe your mother a favour, but I won’t accept any blowback on my own family.”
“Understood,” I say.
She motions for me to sit on a nearby sofa, before studying me again.
“First things first, the wig must go. You haven’t done a bad job of your makeup. The shading has altered your face shape, but your eyes…”
My eyes? Fuck… my contacts.
“I have contacts… I…”
She tuts again, and my heart sinks. I open my mouth to apologise, but she holds up a hand, before picking up her phone.
“Harvey, darling… yes… I have a friend in need of a makeover.” Sophia holds my gaze. “Yes, terrible breakup.” She winks at me. “Needs a new look…” Another pause. “Perfect. See you in the morning.”
She disconnects the call and places her phone on the table.
“Tomorrow morning. Ten a.m. Harvey has been my stylist since I arrived in the States, thirty years ago. He’s completely trustworthy. Believe me, the things that man has seen and heard, he could write a bestseller, but he’s watertight.”
An empty feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.
I hope she’s right.
“Don’t look so worried. He’s also a genius. Your current disguise might have worked in getting you out of the country, but you need to be able to live. If you’re going to be employed at St Clair, the wig needs to go. You can’t be fiddling with it all day. That alone will draw attention.”
My hand drops back into my lap, and I tilt my head, unsure whether I heard her correctly.
“Work at St Clair?”
“Of course, what else are you going to do with your time?”
“I haven’t really given it much thought. I just—”
For the first time in my life, I’m rudderless.
Since the sex-tape scandal, I seem to have drifted from one day to the next.
I’ve had no time to stop, think or digest what has happened.
Even last night, after I researched Sophia, I sat alone, staring at the door, listening to the sounds of the city outside, and for anything that might mean they’d found me. What has my life become?
She leans forward and pats my hand. “A job at St Clair, even if it’s mundane, will allow you to escape the confines of your apartment. Security is tight at HQ. Corporate espionage is real in our industry, especially with the St Clair profile.”
“Cheap knockoffs?” I say.
She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s not the cheap knockoffs that bother us. It’s our designs being stolen and sold to our competitors who pass them off as their own. You’ll be safe there, especially once we’ve refined your story.”
“Thank you, it’s very kind, but what if someone recognises me? It’s not like my face hasn’t been plastered all over the press. Harper Frazer’s sex scandal was not small news at home.”
I want to be as truthful as I can, since Sophia is putting her neck on the line for me.
“Let me worry about that. Once Harvey’s finished with you, even your mother will walk past you in the street.” I go to open my mouth, but she holds up her hand. “Don’t thank me yet. I expect a lot if I’m going to help you.”
“This is the part where I say I won’t let you down.”
“Good.” She nods in my direction. “Sandro, my eldest, now runs the company. We’ll visit him on Monday, before I take you to see human resources. My endorsement will be enough for them to find you a position. I take it all your references are in order?”
“They are,” I say, with a confidence I’m not sure I feel.
I can only rely on what The Seamstress promised.
“What will Sandro think?” I ask, surprised when she chuckles.
“Oh, he’ll hate it,” she says, her tone gleeful, making me wonder what I’ve stepped into. “But he’ll survive. It’s not like you’ll have anything to do with him.”
She purses her lips before smiling. “And to you he’s Alessandro. Sandro is my pet name for him,” she admits.
“Good to know,” I say, realising she’s probably saved me from making a grave mistake.
“But before then, we will need to refine your story. My son will be suspicious. He likes to think he knows everything about everything. You, a stranger, appearing out of nowhere, will pique his interest, and he’s meticulous in his attention to detail.”
“But…”
“Don’t worry, he’s my son. He will not defy me, but I cannot allow for any slip-ups. Your, or should I say, our, story must be tight. He’ll pick up on any inconsistencies.”
Unsure what else to say, I nod. I’m not sure I’m ready to meet Alessandro Bianchi. At least not before I’ve had a chance to focus on becoming Brooke. The last thing I need is another person studying me.
I don’t point it out to her. She is, after all, the only person in here I can safely approach. Her ties to my mother are untraceable, from what I could glean. Their friendship stems from a time before Mum’s life with Dad.
Luckily for me, I only have a few acquaintances who live in and around New York, and, no reason to cross paths with them. I certainly won’t be frequenting their usual places, or going out much at all, if I follow The Seamstress’s instructions. I’m small-town Brooke, not fast-living Harper.
My stomach lurches when I think of Mum, my brothers and sister, their families.
Yes, we all live separate lives, but we always have each other’s backs.
Here I am, all alone, placing my trust and life in the hands of a woman I’ve only just met.
Trust has never come easily to me, but now I have to offer it freely.
Well, Harper, you’ve brought this on yourself. After years of rebelling, it’s time to toe the line.
I turn when I realise Sophia is talking to me.
“Let’s get started,” she says, sitting back. “Tell me about yourself.”
Leaning forward, I run my palms down my trousers before beginning to recite Brooke’s life story.