Page 14 of Replacement

The illusion is all that matters. And it’s extraordinarily delicate, like a mirror that will shatter with too much pressure.

I pretend to sleep, but I can smell William in bed beside me. His scent is different than it was this morning—still faintly expensive but not as crisp. He smells more natural now. Like a real man.

The bed shifts as he adjusts positions. I can feel him looking at me silently in the dark.

This time I don’t open my eyes.

3

The next fewdays pass without any further drama.

William gets up early every morning and heads to the office, usually before I get out of bed. He doesn’t return until close to seven in the evenings. He gets his own dinner—something quick and easy—and takes it to eat in his home office, where he only emerges to exercise in the workout room for a while, then showers and goes to bed.

He will occasionally ask a question that momentarily stumps me—like the other day when he wanted to know what I did with a pair of his cuff links—but I’ve managed to muddle through those moments well enough, often by pleading ignorance, as I had with the cuff links.

Holding on to the pretense of being Amber is easy because I hardly interact with him at all. The confrontation when he was searching for pills is the longest conversation we’ve ever had.

I should be relieved. I am. Of course.

But I’m also faintly annoyed with him.

The man needs to do something other than work. What the hell is he even thinking? How is sitting at a desk or in conference rooms every minute of the day good for someone? He’s going to work himself into a heart attack—not to mention carpal tunnel and migraines and lower back problems and high blood pressure and whatever other health issues come from constant work.

Plus he basically ignores my existence. It’s convenient for me, but he doesn’t know that. Maybe I actually want him to spend time with the woman he lives with and is going to marry.

Amber said he’s controlling. Other than his indignation over the pills and his confronting me about Amber ditching her driver, I haven’t noticed anything remotely controlling about him. Maybe the pills were the main issue she had with him.

I can hardly blame him for not wanting those pills in his home.

She also said he’s bossy, and I can maybe see that in the somewhat blunt, professional manner he deals with things. He probably hasn’t had a lot of experience being in intimate relationships. After all, he clearly has nothing in his life except work.

His manner doesn’t bother me, but his absence does. Even though I know it shouldn’t.

On Friday afternoon, he calls around five and tells me he’s working late and won’t be home until ten or eleven.

I bite back my instinctive objection and tell him sweetly that’s fine and thanks for letting me know.

I’m scowling as I disconnect the call.

The man needs a good, firm shake. Is he going to work every hour of the weekend too?

Purposefully I blow out the annoyance and clear my mind. Other than William’s aggravating workaholic tendencies, this second week has gone fine. No one is remotely suspicious of my identity. I’ve had very few tense encounters. And I’ve almost stopped looking over my shoulder and scanning every newcomer when I’m out.

I can actually sleep at night and relax when I’m alone in the apartment. It seems like forever since I’ve felt this way.

If for no other reason, taking Amber’s place is worth it simply for the reprieve it’s given me from constant fear of Montaigne.

I eat dinner by myself—ordering in from an Italian place a few blocks away—and leave the leftovers in the refrigerator in case William wants them when he finally gets home. I’ve started doing that when I have extra from my dinner, leaving a note on the container that says he’s welcome to them if he wants.

Every morning any leftovers I leave in the refrigerator are gone.

Bored and restless and irrationally lonely, I wander the beautifully furnished rooms. Try to watch some television. Try to read a book. Then finally give up and decide to go ahead and take a bath and then go to bed early.

I have got to figure out something to do to fill my time since I’m not living in heightened anxiety every minute anymore.

I run a bath in the big soaking tub and add some fancy honey-and-lavender bath oil that creates a light foam of pleasant bubbles. I turn on the sound system and leave it on the classical music it’s set to. Then I clip up my hair and drop my clothes on the floor of the bathroom before I climb into the tub.

I stretch out, submerged in the deliciously scented hot water. Close my eyes and try to relax.