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“Fitzwilliam Van De Burg has agreed to dress Izabella?” Trudy says slowly, like she can barely understand the words she’s saying.
“Yes,” I reply simply, turning and heading to the door. Once I reach my car, I hang her dress in the back and place the other bag on the floorboard, then I reluctantly return to the house where Trudy is waiting for me.
I cringe when she hooks her arm through mine and leads me toward the living room. This woman is a leech. I don’t know much about her background before she married Barnaby, but if I had to guess, I’d say she married up, because everything about her screams gold digger.
The thing people don’t realize about the wealthy is that no matter how much money you have, you can always have more, and there’s really no such thing as having too much money. Even the lowliest student at our school is still a multi-millionaire, but with money comes power, and with old money comes prestige. And what’s better than being rich? Being richer, more powerful, and more prestigious.
Trudy is prattling on, but honestly, I’m not listening. The door swings open, and Penelope saunters in wearing a dress that’s so tight it leaves nothing to the imagination, and I’m amazed by how unsurprised I am. As if on cue, Trudy leaves the room on the pretense of ordering our drinks, leaving Penelope and me alone.
She looks up at me from beneath long, dark eyelashes and smiles coyly. “What you did today was cruel.” Pouting, she moves slowly toward me.
“How so?” I ask, my voice monotone and disinterested as I lean back in the chair and cross my legs at the ankle.
“I know you did it to hurt me. We should never have let my sister go to that dinner in my place, it was wrong of us, but she insisted, and she can be so persuasive.”
Keeping my expression blank, I watch as she lies so easily to my face, and I wonder how I could ever have thought that Izzy was Penelope. They might look the same, but everything about the twins is the polar opposite.
My skin actually starts to crawl as she spreads her legs and moves to straddle me. Reaching out, I grip her arms tightly, stopping her from getting any closer.
“What’s the matter?” she asks seductively. “I know you asked for a peek at what you’d be getting if you agreed to the engagement. The will says I have to be a virgin, but there are still plenty of things we can do while keeping my virginity intact. I want you, Gulliver. I always have. Let me show you how good it would be.”
Silently, I look at her, wondering if this was her idea or her mother’s. Hell, it might even have been her father’s. Either way, it’s repulsive. Pushing her back, I keep her at arms-length from me and look up into her beautiful face, waiting until her focus is entirely on me. “Penelope, you’re behaving like a common whore. I’m engaged to your sister. Are you really that jealous of her?”
She pales, lurching back from me as though I struck her. Her eyes widen, and her cheeks flush as she turns and rushes from the room, leaving nothing but the awful lingering stench of her perfume behind her.
Grimacing, I inhale sharply. To some guys, a beautiful girl basically offering herself on a platter would be a dream come true, but every time I have to deal with Penelope, I’m left feeling dirty and a little disgusted.
Reginald Rhodes the Second, the girls’ great-grandfather, was ninety-six when he died. The man was a genius, a true aficionado at making money and building an empire—so much so that colleges use his business empire as a case study. But I wonder if he’s turning in his grave at the descendants he left behind. His son—Izabella and Penelope’s grandfather—accomplished nothing more than enjoying his father’s success, and Barnaby Rhodes has followed in his own father’s footsteps. Perhaps it makes sense that Reginald would leave his fortune to the next generation, but it’s the rules and restrictions he’s put in place that have soured and rotted his heir.
I’m pulled from my thoughts when Izabella walks into the room, a small overnight bag clutched in her hands. A smile spreads across my lips as I take in what she’s wearing. A simple white T-shirt, denim shorts that show off her long legs, and black Chuck Taylors. I can’t help the chuckle that falls from my lips when I consider how hard Penelope had to try to be sexy when her sister could do it without any effort at all.
My body moves without thought, and I’m out of my chair and taking the bag from her fingers so I can capture them in mine a moment later. “Do you have everything you need?”
She nods silently, her eyes a little somber.
“Okay, let’s go,” I say, squeezing her hand lightly as she lets me tow her back to my car.
She comes with me so easily, so trusting, so oblivious that I have zero intention of telling anyone that this engagement is fake any time soon. Izabella Rhodes is my ace card, and I’m nowhere near finished playing with her yet.
15
IZABELLA
Brushing my hands down the front of my dress for the hundredth time in the last five minutes, I examine my reflection in the full-length mirror before me. When we got to the Winslows’ mansion, Gulliver got me a drink, then led me up to a gorgeous suite and told me to relax and get ready. That was an hour-and-a-half ago, and now I’m showered, dressed, and ready to go.
The person staring back at me in the mirror is both achingly familiar and a total stranger. To me, even though Penelope and I are identical, we look different. But as I stand here looking at my reflection, all I see is me, and it’s both freeing and terrifying. I just don’t seem to be able to look away.
The dress Fitzy picked is so beautiful, I don’t feel worthy to wear it. The skirt swishes just above my knees, and the front plunges low between my breasts but is made modest by the embroidered lace overlay and sleeves.
Instead of the poker straight style my sister chooses to wear, I’ve styled my hair in soft waves that frame my face and soften my angular cheekbones. My makeup is minimal, except for my bright red lips that pop vividly against the color of my dress and the white blonde of my hair.
I feel beautiful, and I don’t ever want to leave the bubble of this room, but I suppose this dress and the way I feel will act as armor while Gulliver tells everyone that this whole day has been a clusterfuck of his creation.
A knock at the door shatters my fortress of solitude, and I swallow back the urge to ignore whoever is on the other side. Reluctantly, I turn away from the mirror and cross the space to the door, pulling it open.
“Wow,” Gulliver says breathily, his eyes raking over my body from my head to my toes.
“Do I look okay?”
