Page 40 of Replacement
“Is it just the money? Is that the only reason you’re with me?”
My breath hitches as my eyes fly to his face. He’s looking at me now, something questioning, almost soft in his eyes.
I swallow hard. I don’t want to lie—it feels utterly wrong to do so at this moment—but I also have to frame an answer that works for Amber. “It’s not just the money.” I lower my eyes. “It’s so many things. At first I was… trapped. I couldn’t see any other choice. So I… I used you. I didn’t want to, but I did. But there’s more to it than that. You’re William Worthing—handsome, powerful, brilliant, sexy as hell. Who wouldn’t want to be with that man?”
I don’t dare to look up at him. Just press on. “But… but that man isn’t really a match for me. Not really. And it was when I could see the man beneath the image. The real man. Who isn’t that much different from me. That’s when I knew. That’s who I want to be with.”
It’s true. It’s foolishly, painfully true. And I have to swallow over the ache of knowledge that I’ve fallen for the man I’m deceiving, the man who still believes he’s with my sister.
Before I can fully process the realization, William puts a hand on my face and tilts it up again. I have the brief consciousness of his expression being hot, deep, overwhelming, before he leans down to kiss me.
And then I’m not aware of anything but a rush of pleasure, feeling, and excitement. My arms wind around his neck eagerly as I open to the advance of his tongue. We kiss deeply, passionately, and I moan into his mouth helplessly as he presses my body against his. He’s hot and hard and strong and hungry, and I want to feel him completely.
When our lips break apart at last, I gasp desperately and let my head fall back as his mouth trails down my jaw and throat. “Oh God, William.” My body tightens with desire even as a blur of feeling makes my eyes glaze over. I claw at his shoulders and back, trying to pull him even closer to me.
His hands slip under the jacket he gave me to wear and brush over my breasts before they slide down my ribs and waist to cup my bottom over my slinky dress. “Fuck,” he grits out, his voice muffled by my lips, which he’s claimed again. “I want you so much.”
I want him too. And I’m not sure how I’m going to keep resisting what I want so much. Maybe if—when—he says Amber’s name, I’ll come back to my senses and remember how wrong this is.
But he doesn’t say Amber’s name. He doesn’t say anything as he kisses me deeply again.
It feels like we’re alone, but we aren’t. We’re on a public terrace in view of who knows how many socialites and bigwigs. We really shouldn’t be embracing so shamelessly.
I’m almost relieved when a voice over the intercom announces that the second half of the ballet is about to begin.
I break away from William with a groan. He groans too, his eyes glazed with heated intensity and perspiration visible on his forehead. He rubs at his face, obviously trying to pull it together.
“We should wait on this,” I manage to say, praying that by the time the ballet is over I can have regained my sense of perspective and find the resolve to have a migraine. “Until a more propitious time.”
“We can always leave now.” His voice is thick but sounding more like himself. “And reach the more propitious time sooner.”
I chuckle, despite myself, at his cleverness. “I’m enjoying the ballet more than I thought. Let’s go back in.”
William agrees without objection, and we return to our seats just as the lights are dimming.
The second half of the ballet is as impressive as the first, but I have a hard time concentrating.
I have a hard time doing anything but thinking about William—about how he will never truly be mine.
7
On the following Thursday,I check my roasted chicken and potatoes in the oven, pleased to see they look perfectly done and absolutely delicious.
I’ve always generally enjoyed cooking, but I’ve never cooked as much as I have lately. But Amber’s life is so leisurely and decadent that I have to find goals to focus on and accomplish wherever I can. Cooking a variety of dishes for dinner—generally fairly simple since I use whatever Greta has stocked for the week—is one of the things I can do.
Since dinner is almost ready, I leave the kitchen and walk down the hallway. I mentioned to William that I’m making dinner, and although he gave me a murmured, indefinite answer, I assumed he would join me.
Overall, he’s been a little standoffish since the ballet last week, but he’s fallen into the habit of eating dinner with me when he’s home at a reasonable time.
His reticence the past several days has been almost a relief since it’s now obvious I’m getting in too deep with him and there are no possible scenarios where I won’t end up getting hurt at the end of this. I can’t live this lie forever. Either William will find out who I am and throw me out. Or Amber will decide she wants her life back and throw me out. Or Detective Curtis will keep snooping around and the truth will come out, in which case William will throw me out.
Or Montaigne will kill me.
I’ve spent hours trying to make contingency plans, but I haven’t come up with anything that will solve the basic problem of my life.
The ironic thing is I’ve barely thought about Montaigne for weeks now. I’ve been safe here as a different person, protected by all of William’s resources. I haven’t felt so safe since I left home, and despite all the lingering anxiety, I’m not sure I’ve ever been so happy in my life.
Ludicrous. Tragic. But true.