THE WRONG TWIN

Chapter Two - The Slip

The dinner ended at half past nine, and Sophie spent the last twenty minutes of it convinced that everyone could hear her heart from across the table.

Julian hadn't said anything else about the Aston Martin, or about stalling, or about anything that might have been a test in disguise. He'd simply gone quiet in the particular way of someone recalibrating, watching her now with a new kind of attention — not suspicion exactly, or not only suspicion. Something closer to curiosity, which was somehow worse, because suspicion she could have deflected. Curiosity meant he was going to keep looking.

When the Calloways finally rose to leave, Edmund kissed her mother's cheek and pressed Sophie's hand between both of his, telling her how radiant she looked, how lucky his son was, how the wedding planner had sent over the final seating chart and wasn't it marvelous how quickly the months had gone. Sophie smiled and nodded and said all the right things, the way she'd been saying all the right things for two and a half hours, and felt something in her jaw beginning to ache from the effort of holding her sister's expression in place.

Dessert had ended nearly an hour ago, but the conversation had dragged on the way these dinners always did — Edmund recounting some story about a merger gone sideways in Singapore, her mother laughing in all the right places, Sophie nodding along while privately cataloguing every small thing Julian noticed and didn't say anything about. He'd watched her hands more than once, she realized. Watched the way she held her fork, the way she folded her napkin, small unconscious gestures that apparently differed enough between sisters to be worth tracking. It made her wonder how long he'd been quietly building this list, and how much longer she had before the list became too long to explain away.

Julian lingered at the door after his father had already stepped out into the cold.

"Walk me out," he said. It wasn't really a request.

Her mother, hovering nearby with the particular brightness of a woman desperate for things to go well, practically pushed her toward him. "Of course she will. Go on, darling"

The night air outside was sharp enough that Sophie felt it immediately in her throat. The Calloways' car idled at the end of the drive, headlights cutting twin beams through the dark, and Edmund was already settled in the back seat, scrolling through something on his phone, granting them what passed for privacy.

Julian didn't move toward the car right away. He stood at the bottom of the steps with his hands in his pockets, studying her with the streetlight behind him casting half his face in shadow.

"You've been off all night," he said.

Sophie kept her expression carefully neutral, the way she imagined Charlotte would — faintly amused, faintly bored by the accusation. "Pre-wedding nerves. I believe that's allowed."

"Charlotte doesn't get nervous." He said it simply, like a fact rather than a compliment. "She gets bored. She gets impatient. I've never once seen her nervous, not at the engagement party, not at the dress fitting, not when my father grilled her about prenuptial terms for forty-five minutes over lunch." His eyes didn't leave her face. "Tonight, you've been nervous since the moment you came down the stairs."

"Maybe I'm finally developing a personality," Sophie said, and immediately regretted it — too sharp, too much her own voice and not Charlotte's careful, measured deflection. She watched something flicker across Julian's face, an almost-smile that he caught and smoothed away before it could fully form.

"Maybe," he said.

For a moment neither of them spoke. The cold pressed in around them, and somewhere down the street a dog was barking at nothing, and Sophie became acutely aware of how close they were standing, of the particular quality of his attention, like he was reading something written in a language he'd only half learned.

"I should go in," she said finally. "My mother will worry."

"Sophie."

She didn't move. Couldn't, for a second — every instinct in her body screaming at her to react, to deny it, to laugh it off, and underneath all of that, a strange and terrible relief, the relief of finally being seen as herself after hours of being erased.

"I'm sorry?" she managed.

"Nothing." Julian's mouth curved, not quite a smile. "Force of habit. You two used to switch places at school, didn't you? I remember Charlotte telling me about it once, years ago, at some dinner I barely remember. She thought it was hilarious. Said you were always better at it than she was."

Sophie's pulse was a drumbeat in her ears. "We grew out of it."

"Did you?"

"Goodnight, Julian."

She turned before he could say anything else, climbed the steps two at a time, and didn't look back until she heard the car doors close, the engine pull away down the drive. Only then did she let herself breathe, properly, her back against the cold stone of the doorway, her hands pressed flat against her thighs to stop them from shaking.

He'd called her by her real name. Maybe it was nothing — a slip, an old joke surfacing at a strange moment, the kind of thing people said without meaning anything by it. But Sophie didn't believe in coincidences anymore, not after three days of silence from her sister, not after a ring that fit too well and a dress that felt like a costume.

Inside, her mother was waiting in the hallway, coat half off, her composed dinner-party face finally cracking at the edges now that the Calloways were gone.

"Well?" Margaret said. "Did he suspect anything?"

"I don't know," Sophie said honestly. "Maybe."

Her mother's face went pale beneath her makeup. "Sophie, if this falls apart—"

"I know what happens if this falls apart." Sophie's voice came out harder than she intended, three days of fear finally finding an edge. "I know exactly what happens, because you've told me a dozen times. What I don't know is where Charlotte is, or why she left, or what I'm supposed to do if she doesn't come back before the wedding. Have you thought about that part? Or were we just going to keep pretending until I'm standing at the altar in her place?"

Margaret's mouth opened and closed. For a moment she looked less like the composed, formidable woman who had run this household for thirty years and more like someone Sophie barely recognized — frightened, and old, and out of her depth.

"She'll come back," Margaret said quietly. "She always comes back."

"She's never disappeared before."

Her mother didn't have an answer for that. She turned and disappeared up the staircase instead, leaving Sophie alone in the hallway with the grandfather clock ticking too loudly and the lingering smell of the evening's flowers, white roses arranged in the silver vases Charlotte had picked out herself, back when she still cared about things like flower arrangements.

Sophie went up slowly, exhaustion finally catching up to the adrenaline that had carried her through dinner. But she didn't go to her own room. She stood instead outside Charlotte's door, hand on the frame, and made herself go back in.

The room looked the same as it had hours ago — too tidy, too still, the closet doors hanging open at the same careless angle. Sophie had been through it once already, the night Charlotte first stopped answering, searching for some clue, some note, anything. She'd found nothing.

This time, she made herself look properly.

She started with the wardrobe, running her hands along the shelves behind neatly folded sweaters, finding nothing but lavender sachets and a dry-cleaning receipt from three weeks ago. She checked the pockets of every coat, the lining of an old handbag shoved to the back of the closet, the space beneath the mattress where she and Charlotte used to hide things as teenagers — diaries, cigarettes, the occasional letter from a boy their mother wouldn't have approved of. Nothing.

She was nearly ready to give up, ready to chalk the whole search up to exhaustion and paranoia, when her fingers caught on something taped to the underside of the bottom drawer — a small, unmarked key, cold against her palm.

It didn't fit anything in the room.Sophie sat back on her heels, turning the key over in her fingers, and felt the night tilt sideways beneath her.

Charlotte hadn't just disappeared.

She'd been hiding something.