Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80576 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“You want me to lie to everyone? To lie to our family?” I pause and think about the poor woman who was holding my hand, thinking I was Apollo. “You want me to have Daphne believe I’m her dead husband?”
His eyes and the firmness in his jaw answers this question for me. “You know your brother better than anyone. You can do this. And you always have the head injury to fall back on if you come across a situation you don’t know how to handle or get asked a question you aren’t sure how to answer. You’ll fake amnesia if it means you’re no longer going to prison.”
His words are sinking in. “You want me to go to his house, his bed—Jesus fucking Christ. He has a wife. Am I supposed to just—”
“Fuck her. Yes. Their marriage is shit, by the way,” my father interrupts. “So fix that. You are going to need Daphne by your side to help you with this ruse. And besides… Godwins don’t divorce.”
“This is insanity.”
My father stands to full attention. His shoulders are back; his spine is stiff. “From this moment on, you are Apollo Godwin. Ares is dead. The name Ares is dead, and I will never call you by that name again. You will not respond to that name ever. Apollo,” he dictates. “Apollo Godwin.”
He’s serious. This is serious. My father wants me to become my twin brother. He wants me to embrace this mistaken identity. He feels this is my only choice unless I want to be locked in a cage forever.
And fuck me… He’s right.
Chapter
Four
Daphne
“Sorry, sorry,” I say to Apollo as I drive over another speed bump in our gated community too fast, causing the car to jolt more than I intended.
I don’t know why I’m treating him as if he’s fragile and can break any second. Every bump we hit on the road has me apologizing and glancing over to see if I caused a grimace or if I added to his pain level in any way. When the doctor released him from the hospital, I was relieved but also worried that I wouldn’t know what to do or how to care for him. The doctor gave him orders to take it easy and allow his wife to “love on him.” Ha. Like that would happen. Clearly, the doctor doesn’t know who Apollo Godwin is, and that he doesn’t allow anyone to do anything for him. But I was still willing and eager to do whatever the doctor said. The man nearly died, was in a coma, lost his brother, and now he gets to come home as if nothing happened and he was in tiptop shape.
But how could that be? How could he walk away with a few wounds and a gash to the head while his brother and the pilot died? Apollo should have died. Any mortal would have. But then again… He is a god among men, and maybe Zeus himself has kept him on earth with us mere mortals for some reason yet unknown.
As we pull up in the driveway and I park, I rush over to Apollo’s side so I can assist him out of the car. Although not a patient man, he’s beaten me to it and is already out. I don’t know if I should offer my arm or—Apollo marches toward me and swoops me into his arms, cradling me against his chest.
“What are you doing?” I squeal, not resisting in fear that I’ll hurt him. “Apollo!”
“I’m showing you I’m not a piece of fine china. A few cuts and bruises are not something to worry about.”
He carries me to the house and pauses before the front door. “Keys.”
Feeling as if I weigh a thousand pounds, I quickly fumble with my purse, find the keys, and open the door, all while he holds me against his chest. He then turns the handle and kicks the door the rest of the way open. Acting as if I weigh nothing, and not even winded in the slightest, he then walks across the threshold with me still in his arms as a groom would do to his bride on their wedding day. Something he never did on that day, however, so this act is even more alarming.
“Put me down before you hurt yourself!” I hold on to his neck as if that will help lighten my weight. He turns on the light in the foyer as if what he’s doing is completely normal. “You’ve lost your mind.”
“That may be,” he says as he continues toward the kitchen. “But my head is the only thing that may not be one hundred percent. My body is fine. I’m fine. So stop acting like I’m not.” His eyes lower to mine and he adds, “Got it? Stop treating me like I’m weak. I’m not.”