Page 35 of Replacement

After a long moment of scrutiny, something on his face changes. It seems to relax. Then, inexplicably, one corner of his mouth twitches. “I understand.” He pushes my messy hair back from my face and then gently caresses my cheek with his thumb. “I can wait.”

I let out a sigh of relief, reminding myself that the softness in his eyes isn’t for me. “Thank you. I know it’s not fair to you.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He leans down to kiss me softly. “I’m a patient man. I’m going to take a shower.”

I smile at him as he leaves the terrace. Then I pick up my wine and turn back to stare out at the city.

I wonder if William will be heartbroken when he discovers what Amber and I have done to him.

One thing was certain. He deserves a lot better than he’s been given.

6

As I get back homeon a Thursday evening, I’m hungry, tired, and restless.

Earlier this afternoon, I had to go to a meeting of a museum board that Amber serves on, which ended up being the hardest hurdle I’ve tackled in the month and a half I’ve spent as Amber. Over the past two weeks, ever since the cocktail party, I’ve had several lunches with Amber’s friends and a couple of dinners with William and his business acquaintances. I’ve also started attending a trendy martial arts class with Haley.

All those activities have been easier than the board meeting, which consisted of ten virtual strangers who all know Amber well and a complicated set of conflicting agendas that I’m utterly clueless about.

The preliminary communications made it clear this wasn’t a meeting that Amber could legitimately miss. So I dressed in an ivory suit with a dark green scarf and four-inch heels, and I steeled my nerves enough to make the effort.

I successfully maneuvered through the two-hour meeting, mostly by saying as little as possible and going along with the general consensus about the issues that needed deciding. But I was brutally on edge for most of the day, so I’m exhausted when I finally get home.

Right away I take a shower and change into pale gray knit pants and a matching sweater, wishing that Amber owned something that more closely resembles baggy sweats. Then I walk down the hall and pause at the closed door of William’s study.

The past two weeks have been pretty good with William. I see him more often than I did before since he’s started coming home earlier from work and he’s had more dinners and cocktail parties on his schedule that I’m supposed to attend with him. Seeing him a lot more might have been stressful and difficult, but it hasn’t been.

At all.

Ever since our confrontation with Detective Curtis and the conversation and kiss on the terrace afterward, William seems to have relaxed in an inexplicable way. He’s evidently finally accepted the changes in my behavior. He hasn’t questioned me about acting strange, and he hasn’t appeared so distant or suspicious. I’m relieved—partly because I finally feel safer in my role, and partly because I like William and it feels better when we’re getting along.

He’ll never be an easy man. He’s guarded, ambitious, driven by the ghosts of Worthings past. Reluctant to ever be vulnerable.

He’s like me in that way. I can understand him. I’ve spent years of my life refusing to let anyone in, refusing to let anyone get close enough to hurt me. But it still vaguely annoys me as I stand in front of William’s closed office door. If one of the security staff hadn’t mentioned how early he got home today, I wouldn’t even know William is in there right now.

Surely it would make sense to at least say hello at the end of the day. But his damned door is always closed—he even locks it when he leaves. I don’t for a moment imagine he’s hiding deep, dark secrets inside. It’s simply his private sanctum, the place he can escape from the rest of the world.

And that world includes me.

Or Amber, rather.

With a sigh, I continue down the hall. I’m hungry and need something for dinner. I don’t feel like ordering in, so I search the kitchen to see what there is I can make without too much hassle.

I find some lovely fresh shrimp and decide that will do fine. I collect basil, pine nuts, parmesan, and olive oil and make some pesto in the fancy food processor. Then I put water on to boil for the pasta and heat up the stovetop grill.

I lay everything out on the counter, still feeling that strange restlessness I’ve been experiencing since I got home today.

I’m used to being alone, used to being by myself. But somehow knowing that William is working in the other room—just as alone as I am—makes me feel worse. Makes me feel lonely.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I stride back down the hall toward William’s study. There, I knock firmly on the door, my heart beating a little faster.

The worst he can do is tell me to leave him alone. Then I can be justifiably annoyed with him and enjoy the evening on my own.

“It’s open,” he calls out, his voice muffled by the door but still sounding vaguely surprised. “Come in.”

I swing the door open and stand on the threshold, staring blankly into his office.

I’ve never seen it before, and I’m genuinely surprised by how different it looks from the rest of the apartment. Instead of glossy marble, white upholstery, sleek lines, and minimalistic accessories, his home office has wide-planked hardwood floors in a dark brown, big traditional furniture, antique Asian rugs, oil paintings, and one wall covered entirely with bookshelves. The decor is so unexpected that I stand stupidly and blink at it.