THE TWIN IN HIS BED

CHAPTER ONE “I need you to pretend to be me.” The words hit me harder than the rain splattering against my kitchen window. I gaped at the woman before me. A woman I hadn't seen in eleven years. My exact replica. My twin sister. Except Arla Morrison looked nothing like the girl who had disappeared before sunrise, the morning of our eighteenth birthday with stolen cash and broken promises. She looked expensive now. Untouchable. Dressed in a cream cashmere that could pay my rent for five years, diamonds whose price certainly cost a kidney glittered against perfectly manicured finger, while my lights flickered like they were seconds away from dying. She carried an elegance I couldn't relate to. Meanwhile, she sat in my tiny kitchen, like she hadn't left. Like this was a regular tête-à-tête. Like she still belonged here. Like she had not let me discover she was alive through a society blog announcing her marriage into one of the richest families in Europe two years ago. “What are you saying?” “It's just for a week,” she continued as though she had not suggested the most outrageous thing on the planet. Pretend to be Mrs Holland while she disappeared to Scotland with a man she was in love with. “A week is more than enough to get caught!” I snapped. “I can't fool your husband!” Arla rolled her eyes as though I was being dramatic. She was being unreasonably ridiculous! “Look, Carlton is away on a business trip, and is not due to return till next Friday. I'll be back before then,” she said in an exasperating tone. “But…” “You're not fooling my husband, Ellesmere. Just the house staff.” A bitter laugh tore through me. “You're insane.” Arla exhaled softly. “It's a temporary arrangement. And—” “No. You're insane to think you can disappear for eleven years without a single word or sign of life, then return asking me to commit fraud.” “No one will know.” “No.” She blinked back as though that was the least answer she expected. “No?” she repeated. “No,” I said again. “I will not have you drag me into this rubbish idea for your convenience.” Her expression cooled by a fraction. “I'll pay you thirty five thousand dollars for your time,” she said. “Five thousand for each day.” I almost choked on my spit. Thirty-five thousand dollars?! My rent. Mother’s medication. The surgery consultation. The electricity bill folded beside the kettle. Food that didn’t come from discount shelves. God. Money surely grew on trees for some people. “You’ll just stay in the mansion, the staff would barely notice. They just feed you, help you pick certain outfits and style your hair if you need them,” she continued as I began to imagine what thirty-five thousand dollars would do for me and our sick mother. “You’ll answer the house phone or my phone anytime Carlton calls for you, that's all you need to do for the seven days.” “And if he comes home?” Jesus! I'm not really considering this, am I? “He won't,” she said dismissively. Carlton sticks to schedules obsessively. Besides…” She shrugged lazily. “—he notices routines. Not people. And, we are identical, he wouldn't detect anything.” Identical? That was enough to refuel my initial anger. “We are not identical, and the answer is still NO.” To hell with her 35k and the amazing things it would do for me. Arla’s jaw tightened slightly. “Carlton is never going to find out because you do not exist,” she said again, calmly—more composed this time. I flinched as though I had been slapped. “I told him my family died in a house fire, and he doesn't even know I had a twin. He believes I am the only child of our parents.” I let this new revelation wash over me. Her words had sent shards of glass into my heart, and it hurt so much. It made a whole lot of sense now. What sane man would marry a woman without known origins? After this thing, there was no way I was even helping her, even if she gave me 300k. “I won't do it.” “You can, and you will,” she said resolutely. My brows furrowed at the finality in her tone. She reached into her handbag slowly, like she had all the time in the world. I immediately hated that movement. A thin, brown envelope appeared between elegant, diamond clad fingers. “I was hoping you'd cooperate willingly.” Chill slid down my spine. Arla placed the envelope carefully on the table before us, beside a stack of overdue house and medical bills. “What's this?” “Evidence that you forged prescriptions, twice, last year.” My world stilled. “You were desperate,” she continued softly. “Mama needed treatment. I understand.” My mouth dried instantly. “How did you—” “The pharmacist reported it.” Fear crawled violently in my stomach. “I handled it,” Arla said before I could fathom the huge problem I had gotten into. I looked up to her in horror. “You forged hospital authorisation signatures three times,” she said quietly. “That's prison time, Ellesmere.” “Our mother could have died! I did what I had to do.” “I know,” she said gently, but that only made it worse. Then suddenly it clicked. I stared at her. Really stared. And it made sense. I understood exactly why she brought this up now. “You wouldn't…” “One week to live large, and walk away with thirty-five thousand dollars sounds like a generous deal.” Rage exploded sharp and hot in my chest. “You’re blackmailing me with what I did for OUR mother?” “I asked for your cooperation.” “You asked to use me!” “With your permission of course.” “Arla Morrison!” “One week, then everything returns to normal,” she whispered unflinchingly. But we both knew that was a lie. Nothing would ever return to normal if we crossed this line. Not for me at least. Knowing who Arla was and what she had become, I would forever be at her beck and call, and she would never hesitate to use me. “Why not run away with your lover if you love him that much?” I asked bitterly. Arla laughed softly. “Are you crazy? I would never leave Carlton for any man.” She adjusted her gloves. “Daemon is just a fling.” A fling you're willing to blackmail your sister for. Shows how little I meant to her. I looked away from her to the rain streaked windows, then back to the table where blackmail and unpaid bills lay. “Who's going to take care of mama when I'm away?” “I hired a nurse already.” A bitter laugh left me. “You came here deciding it was a done deal, didn’t you?” She rose gracefully to her feet. “I don't need your permission,” she said calmly. “I own you, Ellesmere.” She tapped on the envelope between us. “This is only a small part of what I have. Be grateful I informed you first.” She walked towards the door. An angry tear dropped before I could stop it. “You're not even going to see mama?” I called after her. Arla paused at the door. For one hopeful second, I thought she might turn around. She didn't. “I'd suggest you check the envelope, in case you want confirmation of how severe this is.” And then she was gone, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume, an envelope that continued to warn me, and the feeling that my life had just been split into a before and an after.