The Wrong Sister

The Performance

Arwen stood in Caelum’s study, waiting for him to destroy her.

He moved to the bar, poured two glasses of whiskey and held one out to her.

She took it with shaking hands.

“Sit.”

She sat.

Caelum leaned against his desk. “I’m going to ask you a question. I want the truth.”

“Okay.” Her heart was beating.

“Are you having an affair?”

Arwen’s head snapped up. “What?”

“You’ve been disappearing and lying about where you are. So I’m asking, are you seeing someone?”

“God, no.”

“Then where were you today?”

“I told you. I got confused about the fitting time...”

“Isolde.” He set down his glass. “I checked. There was no fitting scheduled. Simone never set one up. So either you lied to her, or you lied to me.”

Arwen’s throat closed.

“I need to know,” Caelum continued. “If this marriage is going to work, even as a business arrangement, I need to trust that you’re not actively sabotaging it. So tell me the truth.”

She could tell him. Right now.

But then what? He’d call off the merger.

“I was meeting someone,” she said quietly.

His jaw tightened. “Who?”

“A friend, from before.”

“What friend?”

“Someone I needed to talk to about all of this.” She looked at him. “I needed perspective from someone who wasn’t part of this world.”

He studied her face. “Why lie about it?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d understand. You grew up with this. You’re used to the performance, I’m not.” She set down her untouched whiskey. “Sometimes I need to remember who I was before I became Mrs. Ravencroft.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Don’t lie to me again,” Caelum said finally. “I don’t care where you go or who you see. But don’t lie about it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.” He checked his watch. “We have the opera tonight. La Traviata. It’s a Ravencroft tradition, my mother expects us there in two hours.”

“Tonight? I thought...”

“I know. But Viktor Ashbourne will be there.” Caelum’s eyes hardened. “We need to remind him that this marriage is solid.”

“So it’s a show.”

“Everything is a show.” He moved to the door. “Wear the emerald necklace. The one my mother gave you. And that black gown with the low back.”

“Why that one?”

He paused. Looked back at her. “Because it makes a statement.”

-----

Two hours later, Arwen stood in front of the mirror in the black gown.

It was beautiful.

The emerald necklace felt cold against her skin.

Celeste had called earlier. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t sound fine.”

“I met with a journalist today. Evelyn Crowe. Mom. She knows I’m not Isolde.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Nothing. But she’s digging. And Viktor Ashbourne saw us together.”

“Jesus Christ, Arwen...”

“I know it was stupid. But she has information about Isolde.”

“Stay away from that journalist. Stay away from Viktor. And for god’s sake, don’t give them any reason to look closer.” Celeste’s voice had been sharp. “You’re so close. Don’t ruin this now.”

Now Arwen descended the stairs to find Caelum waiting in a tuxedo that made him look even more untouchable than usual.

His eyes swept over her.

“You look acceptable,” he said.

The same word from their wedding.

“Thank you. I think.”

“We should go.”

The drive to the opera house was silent. Caelum worked on his phone while Arwen stared out the window.

When they arrived, cameras flashed. Reporters shouted questions.

Caelum’s hand found the small of her back—exactly where the dress was lowest. His fingers pressed against her bare skin.

She tried not to react.

They moved through the crowd, smiling and playing their part.

Inside, the opera house was all red velvet and gold.

The Ravencroft box was in the center.

Marcelline was already there, elegant in silver.

“You’re late,” she said.

“By three minutes,” Caelum replied.

“Three minutes is late.” She looked at Arwen. “Beautiful dress, dear. Very bold.”

“Thank you.”

“Sit. The performance starts in seven minutes.”

They sat. Caelum on the aisle, Arwen beside him, Marcelline on her other side.

Directly across the theater, in the opposite box, Viktor Ashbourne lounged in his seat. He raised his opera glasses.

Looked directly at them and smiled.

“Don’t react,” Caelum murmured.

“I’m not.” She unclenched her hands.

The lights dimmed. The orchestra began.

Arwen had never been to an opera before. The music was beautiful and overwhelming. The singers’ voices filled the space.

But she couldn’t focus on any of it.

Because Caelum’s hand had moved to the back of her neck.

His fingers rested there, possessive.

It was supposed to be for show, but it felt real.

His thumb moved slightly, making a small circle against the base of her skull.

Arwen’s breath caught.

“Relax,” he whispered. “You’re tense.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” His thumb continued its slow movement. “Breathe.”

The first act ended and lights came up. People stood to stretch.

Viktor appeared at their box.

“Caelum, Mrs. Ravencroft, enjoying the performance?”

“Ashbourne.” Caelum’s voice was cold. “I didn’t know you appreciated opera.”

“I appreciate many things. Culture, art, beautiful women.” Viktor’s eyes moved to Arwen. “Your wife looks stunning tonight. That dress is quite something.”

“Thank you,” Arwen said.

“You’ve changed your hair since the wedding.” Viktor stepped closer. “Almost like you’re a different person.”

Caelum’s hand tightened on her neck. “Is there something you want, Viktor?”

“Just to say congratulations on the marriage, the merger. All of it.” Viktor smiled. “Though I have to wonder—did you marry her for love? Or for the Valehart connections?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

“Isn’t it? We’re all colleagues in the same circles.” Viktor’s eyes were sharp. “I’m just curious what happens when the novelty wears off, when you realize you married a stranger.”

“I suggest you return to your seat.” Caelum stood. “Before I have security escort you out.”

“No need, I’m going.” Viktor looked at Arwen one more time. “Enjoy the rest of the performance, Mrs. Ravencroft. La Traviata is such a tragic story. A woman living a lie, it never ends well.”

He left.

Caelum sat back down. His hand returned to Arwen’s neck.

“Ignore him,” Marcelline said. “He’s trying to get under your skin.”

“I know.”

The lights dimmed. The second act began.

But Arwen couldn’t focus. Viktor’s words echoed in her head.

A woman living a lie. It never ends well.

Caelum’s fingers moved on her neck. Not soothing now, but agitated.

The second act ended. The third began.

On stage, Violetta sang about sacrifice and love and death.

Arwen felt like she couldn’t breathe.

The theater was dark. The music swelled. Hundreds of people sat in silence, watching the tragedy unfold.

And then Caelum leaned close.

His breath was warm against her ear. His lips barely touching her skin.

“Who are you really trying so hard to fool?” His whisper cut through the music. “Them? Or me?”

Arwen froze.

On stage, Violetta collapsed. The orchestra crescendoed.

But all Arwen could hear was Caelum’s question hanging in the darkness between them.

His hand was still on her neck. His thumb pressed against her pulse point.

He had to feel how fast her heart was beating.

The opera ended. The audience erupted in applause.

Caelum pulled back and stood, offering his hand to help her up.

They left the theater in silence.

In the car, Marcelline talked about the performance. About the soprano’s technique. About who was there and what it meant.

Caelum stared out the window.

Arwen sat perfectly still, his question repeating in her mind.

Who are you really trying so hard to fool?

When they arrived at the estate, Marcelline went to her suite.

Caelum and Arwen walked to theirs.

At the door to the master suite, he stopped.

“I know you’re lying to me,” he said quietly.

Arwen’s blood went cold. “Caelum...”

“I don’t know what about, or why. But I know.” He looked at her. “And I’m giving you time to tell me the truth yourself. Before I find out another way.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Yes, there is.” He opened the door to his bedroom. “When you’re ready to stop performing, let me know. Until then, we’ll keep pretending everything is fine.”

He disappeared into his room.

The door closed.

Arwen stood alone in the sitting room, shaking.

He knew.

And when he finally figured out who she really was, what then?