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Staring straight up at the sky above me, I let the soft white, wispy clouds soothe me into a temporary calm. The cooling air that warns fall is on its way makes goose bumps prickle across my skin, but I don’t move, wrapping my arms across my chest as I watch the clouds form pictures in the sky.
When I hear the familiar sound of the coach calling for the players to take a break, I know it’s time to go. Usually, I have an alarm set on my cell, but as it’s still turned off, I’m relying on the fact that practices run on the same schedule every day.
Sitting up, I exhale slowly. I don’t want to go home. People who live normal lives, with normal families and normal jobs, assume that it must be great to be rich and to never have to worry about paying bills or affording the things they want, and it is. But no one considers that having money comes with its own set of issues.
When you’re born into wealth, your entire life becomes about maintaining and increasing that wealth. How you live your life, who you marry, and who you are becomes about how rich you are, and it’s exhausting, especially when control over your own life is taken from you.
Reaching for my backpack, I slowly make my way back down the bleachers and toward the front of the school. When I spot our town car idling at the curb, I falter and genuinely consider just walking away. Two days ago, Mark offered to help me run away from my life and my family. I could take him up on his offer. I could get as much money as I could from my credit cards and just start over somewhere new. I could reinvent myself. I could choose a new name, and then I could tell people what it was. I could be me. Just me, and never pretend to be anyone else.
A bitter scoff falls from my lips. It’s pathetic that part of my fantasy for my new life would be being able to tell people my name. I haven’t introduced myself to a single person in over three years. Three years. How is that even possible? How have I gone for literally years without ever having to tell anyone who I actually am?
“My name is Izabella Rhodes,” I whisper to the air around me. “I am Izabella Rhodes,” I say a little louder. “I’m Izabella fucking Rhodes, and I’m sick of no one knowing I fucking exist!” I shout as a tear I didn’t even know had formed rolls slowly down my cheek.
“Hello, Izabella,” a deep male voice says.
Spinning around so quickly my vision blurs, I find myself looking up into the dark, angry eyes of Gulliver Winslow, my sister’s soon-to-be fiancé.
My lips part and my mouth moves, trying to form words, but no sound comes out because I have no idea what to do. Should I laugh off what he overheard, or pretend I didn’t just scream my name out loud because I’m stupid and assumed no one was around to overhear me?
His smile is chilling, and I swallow as a shiver of fear pulses through me.
“Izabella,” he says, scoffing lightly. “Izabella.” My name rolls off his tongue again as his eyes rake over me, taking me in from head to toe. “Identical,” he murmurs so quietly that I know he’s saying it to himself rather than me. “How?” he asks.
Opening my mouth, I prepare to lie to him, to laugh and tell him I’m Penelope, that I’m practicing a scene for an acting lesson, or some other bullshit that would justify what he just overheard. But before I can say a word, his eyes harden, and he darts forward, wrapping one hand around the nape of my neck and the other around my chin, holding me in place.
“Whatever lie you were just about to tell me…don’t. I know Penelope; I know the way she moves, the way she acts, and you don’t move like her, you don’t act like her. So, cut the fucking bullshit. Who the hell are you, Izabella?”
“Her twin,” I whisper, the truth rolling off my tongue before I can stop it.
His eyes widen, and his full lips part. “Twins,” he says on a gasp, then he laughs, the sound low and bitter. “Twins, of course. But…fuck? What the fuck?”
“Identical twins,” I rasp, my voice no more than a whisper.
“Miss Rhodes.”
I recognize Mark’s voice and instinctively move to turn toward the sound, but Gulliver’s grip on me tightens, stopping me. “I’ll just be a minute, Mark,” I call, my gaze locking with Gulliver’s again.
“Tell him you’re going to get a ride with me,” Gulliver hisses.
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you fucking can, and you will. I want answers, Izabella, and I’m not letting you go until I do. So, you can either come with me, or I’ll come with you. Your choice.”
I consider his demand for a long second. I could go with him, but I have no idea what I would say. Where or how I would even start to explain all of this. “You can come with me,” I blurt, and I can see the shock in his expression. He wasn’t expecting me to say that. Hell, I wasn’t expecting to say that either. But this isn’t my problem, it’s Penelope’s and my parents’. Gulliver is their first choice husband-to-be, so they can be the ones to explain all of this madness away, and I’ll do what I always do, I’ll step away from the spotlight because none of this is about me, it’s about my sister.
Gaze locked with Gulliver’s, I wait for him to see the resolve in my eyes, but instead of releasing me, his grip on me tightens. “I have to get back,” I breathe.
His pupils dilate, and his expression morphs from furious to quizzical. Staring at me, it’s clear he’s searching for something. I’m not sure if he finds his answer, but his hold on me loosens, and I move away, stepping toward the open car door.
Clearing my throat, I risk a glance at Mark and find his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists at his side. When he looks at me warily, I try to offer him a reassuring smile, placing my hand on his arm and squeezing lightly. “Gulliver’s going to be joining us,” I tell him quietly, hoping that my voice doesn’t quiver.
A part of me is expecting Gulliver to refuse to get into the car, so when he slides onto the seat beside me, I move as close to the window as I can get. His huge frame fills the car, and I feel breathless the entire journey back to my house. Neither of us speaks. It’s as if he’s sensed that I wouldn’t answer any of his questions and is resigned to waiting.
When we pull into our driveway, my heartbeat speeds up and nausea pools in my stomach. Both of my parents’ cars are in the driveway, and I try to swallow down the fear that I’m sure must be obvious on my face.
By now, my entire family must know that I ignored Penelope and didn’t take her place in class. That on its own would make them furious, but they’re going to lose their minds when they find out that I accidentally outed myself to Gulliver Winslow. He knows I exist; he knows there are two of us, and I think he knows it wasn’t my sister who had dinner at his house the other night.
By the time the car slows to a stop, I can feel my entire body shaking.
