Chapter 3: My Face on Someone Else

Zaria’s POV

Gerald drove with both hands on the wheel, and Marguerite kept her eyes on the window. I sat in the back with my bag on my knees, pressing my thumbnail into the strap until it left a groove.

Every time I checked my phone, there was still nothing from Aldren. I typed Did she get there? to the number on the transfer form, deleted it, then typed it again.

The house stood behind a gate that opened on its own. The driveway stretched so far that I watched the gravel pass beneath us for nearly a minute before the front doors came into view.

Gerald parked, and a woman in a gray uniform came out and reached for my bag.

“I’ve got it,” I said.

“It’s no trouble, miss.”

“It’s fine. Thank you.” I held on to it. My work shirt was inside, along with my phone charger and a photo of Odette at the lake that I kept in the side pocket. The woman glanced at Marguerite. Marguerite gave the smallest shake of her head, and the woman stepped back.

The front hall was bigger than the entire diner. The floor was so shiny that my sneakers squeaked, and I stayed in one spot, afraid to leave marks. Paintings covered both walls, all of them showing people in dark clothes with the same cold look in their eyes.

Marguerite told me to wait and went upstairs without another word.

I stood there with the smell of floor polish, flowers, and something like lemons around me. Underneath it all, I could still smell the fried onions on my jacket.

Footsteps came down the stairs, slow and even, and I looked up.

She stopped halfway down with one hand on the rail. She wore a white sweater and gray trousers, and her hair fell over her shoulders in one smooth piece. My face was looking at me from ten steps away, the same jaw, the same eyebrows, the same little dent above the left one. Her mouth was different, though, with one corner slightly raised.

“Huh,” she said.

I couldn’t say anything. My hand had gone to my own face without my permission, and I dropped it back down.

She came the rest of the way down and walked around me once, slowly, the way you walk around a car you’re thinking of buying. When she stopped in front of me, she picked up my right hand and turned it over, her fingertip tracing the pale line across my palm.

“What’s this?”

“A knife. At work.”

“You cut yourself at work.” She put my hand back at my side. “They said we looked alike. They didn’t say you’d look like this.”

“Like what?”

“Tired.” She smiled, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “I’m Kira. You can skip the introduction. I know who you are.”

Marguerite called us into the dining room. There was a table for twelve with three places set at one end, and a pot of tea nobody touched. Kira sat sideways in her chair with her legs crossed, filing her thumbnail while Marguerite talked. Gerald stood by the window with his back to us.

“There’s a marriage,” Marguerite said. “It was arranged before either of you was born, between our family and the Ravencrests. It cannot be broken without consequences we can’t afford. Kira has decided she won’t go through with it.”

“I told you, I have no interest in being locked in some castle with a man who barks at people,” Kira said without looking up from her nail.

“So you need someone to go instead.” My stomach dropped so hard I had to press my knees together under the table. “Someone with the same face.”

“Don’t say it like it’s a punishment,” Kira said. “He’s rich. The house has a staff of forty.”

“You want me to stand in front of a stranger and say I’m you.”

“For a marriage, yes,” Marguerite said. “You will wear her clothes, you will use her name, and you will do exactly what she would have done. It won’t be forever.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

I put both hands flat on the table. “No.”

Nobody moved. Kira’s file stopped halfway across her thumb.

“I’m sorry. I’m grateful for what you did for my grandmother, I really am. I’ll pay you back every dollar, I don’t care how long it takes. But I won’t do this.” I pushed my chair back, the legs scraping against the floor, and stood. “I’ll go get my bag.”

“Sit down, Zaria,” Gerald said.

“I said no.”

He took out his phone and tapped the screen. He held it at chest height, pressed the speaker button, and a woman’s voice came through, bright and professional.

“Aldren Private Clinic, this is Dana.”

“Dana, it’s Gerald Fenn. About the new admission this afternoon, Marsh. Please discontinue her treatment until further notice.”

“Of course, Mr. Fenn. Do you want the oxygen included?”

“Everything.”

“Wait,” I said.

“Understood. I’ll inform the ward.”

“Wait, wait, please, don’t.” My chair was on its side behind me. Through the speaker, I heard a machine start to beep, a sharp, steady tone I knew from the third floor of the hospital, and then a thin, dry cough I would have known anywhere.

“Grandma? Grandma, can you hear me? Stop it, please. Tell her to stop.”

“Mr. Fenn?” Dana said. “Do you want me to proceed?”

“Yes,” I said. My fingers were digging into the edge of the table, my nails pressed white against the skin. “Yes. I’ll do it. I’ll do what you want. Just put it back. Please put it back on.”

Gerald looked at me for a moment, then lifted the phone. “Resume. My apologies, Dana. There was a misunderstanding.” He ended the call.

I stood there breathing through my mouth. Marguerite poured herself some tea, then smiled for the first time since I’d met her.

“Good,” she said. “Tomorrow, we begin.”

I walked out into the hall and leaned against the wall. The marble was cold through my sleeve. Footsteps came behind me, and Kira stopped close enough that I could smell her perfume. She leaned in until her mouth was almost at my ear.

“Don’t get comfortable in my life,” she whispered. “It won’t last as long as they think.”