I tell myself the world will look brighter in the morning.
But in the morning, Lizzy seems thrilled to be dragged out of bed at six a.m. for a five-mile run before breakfast and endures another meal with Prince Charmless, the Oatmeal Bomber, with the patience of a saint.
Afterward, I drag her on a whirlwind tour of every hospital and care home in the capital in hopes that having to engage with hundreds of sickly strangers will erode her goodwill, but she is gracious and lovely to every patient we meet.
She’s quiet—she compensates for the stutter by being a woman of few words—but always kind, and in the car on the way home from our final stop, she has energy leftover to debate the merits of moving the veteran’s home to a suburb outside the capital.
“But most of the residents have lived in the city their entire lives.” She shifts in her seat, facing me as she crosses one long, toned leg over the other, making my fingers itch to curl around her thigh. The urge to touch her has been constant and unrelenting, so intense that not even spending the day with the ill and infirm could mute my awareness of how beautiful she looks in her simple navy sundress.
In fact, the suffering we witnessed only made my condition worse, reminding me that life is short and pain inevitable, and that we had all best make hay and love while the sun still shines.
But I can’t make love to Lizzy. I can’t lay a finger on her. It’s the only way to make sure I don’t end up kissing her again.
“Exactly,” I say, forcing my hands to stay fisted in my lap. “The head of the project thinks they’ll enjoy the fresh air and views. And we can build a much larger facility with bigger rooms and more recreational space if we relocate to a place with cheaper land on offer.”
Lizzy shakes her head. “But the city is what they know, Andrew. Most of them have probably never driven a car. Or even if they did, they don’t feel safe driving anymore. They depend on public transportation and walking to get around. In the city, there are buses to take you everywhere and loads of shops within walking distance. Out in the country, they’ll be trapped at the home.”
I frown. “We’d have buses to take them shopping once or twice a week and to their doctor’s appointments. We do that already. We have a driver on staff who takes them on errands and to the theater now and then.”
“But that’s on your terms,” she says, adding with a nod of her head, “I mean, the facility’s terms. But they have other options here, ways to get around without being on someone else’s schedule. They won’t have that in the suburbs. And I’m sure a lot of them have friends and routines here, too, that they’d miss.” She lifts a hand, palm facing the limo’s roof. “I mean, you should obviously do a survey and see what the residents would prefer, but my intuition says it’s kinder to leave the facility where it is and renovate the existing rooms and rec space.”
“Even if the rooms are small and the toilets beastly?”
She smiles. “Better cozy and familiar than roomy and strange. And I’m sure you can make the toilets less beastly. I have faith in you.”
“Do you?” I muse, leaning closer.
She tips her head, biting her lip as her gaze glides from my eyes to my lips. “Yes, I do. Shouldn’t I?”
No, you shouldn’t. I’m a lying, scheming rat who’s doing his best to make you miserable.
Aloud I say, “I hope so.”
All I’m really hoping, however, is that tomorrow’s day of courtly formality and meeting my obnoxious extended family will succeed where today’s plan has failed. But come noon on Tuesday, Elizabeth is in a floor-length gown standing beside me at the head of the throne room, gamely shaking hands with approximately two thousand people and their spoiled, poorly behaved children.
By the end of the day, she’s clearly worn down but still smiling and up for a pre-dinner run.
As we jog out onto the path, the suspicious voice in my head insists that only nature girl Sabrina could be in such excellent shape while the guilty voice argues that I’m being an insane bully who should give poor Elizabeth a break.
I’m not sure which to believe, but I know I have to get to the bottom of this before it’s too late. If I have the wrong twin, it would explain why my introvert-busting techniques are failing miserably. And if I have the wrong twin, all I have to do is bide my time and expose her when the moment is right.
But if I have the right twin…
If I’ve misjudged Lizzy all these years…
Well, I may have to start seriously considering the fact that there might be no way out of this engagement unscathed.
Chapter Fourteen
Sabrina
From the texts of Sabrina Mila Rochat
and Elizabeth Agnes Rochat
Elizabeth: Hey! I just read your messages. Sounds like things are going well!
* * *
Sabrina: Oh my God, Lizzy! Finally! Where the hell have you been? I’ve been texting for four days straight! I even tried calling the house yesterday.
* * *
Elizabeth: What? But I’m not at the house, Sabrina! I’m YOU on vacation in Munich.
* * *
Sabrina: Except you’re NOT me, and you’re NOT in Munich. I have no idea where you are and neither does anyone else. I was beginning to think you’d been abducted and murdered and it was my fault for not alerting the authorities that you were missing sooner.
* * *
Elizabeth: I’m not missing. I found a rental cottage in Islip Downs. I’m barely thirty minutes from home. I’ve been busy working, that’s all. Everything’s fine.
* * *
Sabrina: Everything is NOT fine. It’s not okay to check out when I’m up to my neck in royal intrigue and need your advice, Elizabeth! I was really scared for you.
* * *
Elizabeth: I’m sorry, Bree. I just lost track of time. All the days and nights are bleeding into each other. But I promise to do better. You don’t think anyone at home is suspicious, do you? What did you say when you called?
* * *
Sabrina: I didn’t say anything. Chamomile picked up. Since she’s the only one who can tell the difference between our voices on the phone, I hung up without saying anything.
* * *
Elizabeth: Oh good. We don’t want her to have to lie for us. Better if she has no idea what’s going on. So aside from my thoughtlessness, everything seems to be going well, though. It sounds like Andrew is nice, and you’re enjoying yourself and fitting in with the family.
* * *
Sabrina: I spent hours yesterday shaking the hands of five hundred members of court, former members of court, and every person in Gallantia remotely related to the royal family. At one point, I met Andrew’s twentysomething cousin. I wanted to joke that I was probably more related to Andrew than he was, considering my great-great-whatever-grandmother married a Gallantian royal in the 1700s. But I thought that would horrify you, so I didn’t.