AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“She’s not sick, she’s not even here. So where is she?” I demand.
His eyes flash with fury, and without a word he roughly grabs my arm and hauls me toward him.
“Ow, stop!” I cry, but he ignores me, hauling me unceremoniously out of my sister’s room and onto the landing. My foot twists and I stumble, but he just keeps walking, dragging me along behind him. When we reach my door, he shoves me into my own room with enough force that I fall forward, hitting the carpeted floor on my hands and knees.
“We’re leaving in forty minutes. We will not be late, so get up and get ready. Now,” he snarls, his lips twisted into an angry line as he glares at me. Yanking the door closed, it slams with so much force that I flinch, my heart racing, adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Crawling to the bed, I lean my back against it, dropping my head into my hands. What the hell is happening? Glancing out of my window, I wonder if I could run—if I could leave and never come back. Change my name and forget I was ever Izabella Rhodes, the unneeded twin. But where would I go? My parents control my trust fund. I’m only eighteen, I haven’t even graduated high school yet, and I’m so invisible, I barely exist outside of this bedroom.
Sighing resignedly, I turn my head to look at Penelope’s dress. Just the thought of putting it on makes nausea churn in my stomach. At school, I might wear the same clothes as my sister, but it’s the same thing everyone else is wearing too. But this, this is different. Wearing that dress and going to dinner with people who will truly believe I’m Penelope is wrong, but tonight, I don’t think I have a choice.
Once I’m ready, I descend the stairs and find my parents waiting for me. Mom casts an assessing eye over me, then nods to Dad and heads for the car without speaking a word. The Winslow estate is only a ten-minute drive from our house, and when we pull up to the security gates, Mark lowers his window and looks into the small camera. A second later, the gates slowly open and we move, driving along a gravel driveway toward an impressively large and unfamiliar house.
Penelope and my parents have been to dinners and events here countless times before, but I’ve never been invited. You weren’t invited this time either, I remind myself as our car brings us closer and closer to the imposing white mansion. When we slow to a stop, mere feet from the white stone steps that ascend to the front door of the house, I have to remind myself to breathe.
The building sprawls to the left and right of the elaborate front door, which is bracketed with marble columns that seem to soar upward so high, I have to tip my head back to see where they end.
“Don’t gawk, it’s so common,” Mother hisses, venom lacing each of her words. “Remember what family you belong to and act accordingly.”
Chastised, I lower my chin, forcing my gaze away from the house and onto my hands in my lap. I’m not a welcomed guest at this dinner, and the only reason I’m here is because my sister isn’t. No one in this house is interested in me; they’re expecting to see and speak to Penelope, the polished socialite, and I can’t allow myself to get distracted by beautiful architecture when it’s going to take all of my meager acting skills to make this even slightly believable.
Before I have a chance to finish my internal reality check, the car door opens. Dad exits first, then offers Mom his hand, helping her out. Shuffling along the seat, I smooth my skirt under me, then take Mark’s hand when he appears in the doorway. Calling on my etiquette class training, I swing both of my legs out at the same time and gracefully rise to stand.
“Thank you,” I whisper to my driver.
Mark flashes me a kind, reassuring smile, squeezes my fingers comfortingly for a brief moment, then releases me and steps back.
The moment I lift my foot onto the first step, my parents flank me, mimicking my slow, careful pace as we climb the stairs to the front door.
“Donovan Winslow and his son Gulliver,” my father says quietly. “This is a low-key family dinner. Remember who you are.”
His words are both woefully unhelpful and condescendingly infuriating. A bubble of inappropriate laughter threatens to burst from me, but I manage to swallow it down, forcing my expression to stay neutral and unaffected. Remember who I am. Is he serious? I know exactly who I am; it’s everyone else, especially my family, who seems to have forgotten.
Opening my mouth, I start to ask for a little more information about exactly what I should expect tonight, but before I can speak, the front door opens, and a liveried woman stands in the doorway, a polite smile fixed on her face.
“Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes, Miss Rhodes, please come in,” the woman says politely, holding the door wide to allow us to enter.
“Thank you, Beth,” Dad says so cordially, I almost turn to check it was him who spoke.
“May I take your jackets and purses?” Beth asks, the consummate professional.
Handing over our things, we follow her as she leads us through the house and into a room that is so white, I have to fight the urge to shield my eyes. Mom has our home redecorated at least once every couple of years, but she mainly stays with the same neutral color palette and classic home and garden vibes. But this room is modern to the extreme and completely devoid of all character.
“Mr. and Mrs. Rhodes and Miss Rhodes,” Beth announces, then immediately turns and exits the room, closing the door behind her.
A man that I’m assuming is Mr. Winslow rises from an uncomfortable-looking white leather couch, smiling widely as he greets my father. “Barnaby, did you see those share prices?” he asks, shaking Dad’s hand.
“Don’t get me started,” Dad replies, rolling his eyes and mirroring Mr. Winslow’s smile.
Greeting Mom next, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to her cheek. “Trudy, I swear you get more beautiful every time I see you.”
Mom’s laugh is tinkling and light as she playfully swats his arm, grinning widely. “It’s so good to see you, Donovan.”
My heart starts to pound in my chest as he turns his attention to me, his smile brightening as he closes the distance between us, scoops one of my hands up, lifts it to his lips, and presses a soft kiss against the skin. “Penelope, sweetheart. You look like a picture of beauty. Gulliver can’t wait to see you. He’s been so looking forward to spending some time when he doesn’t have to share our attention.”
“Hello, Mr. Winslow, it’s lovely to see you again,” I say politely, hoping he won’t try to engage me in any real conversation.
“Where is Gulliver?” Mom asks, pulling the attention from me.
