Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88551 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 443(@200wpm)___ 354(@250wpm)___ 295(@300wpm)
This man is the definition of it.
His good looks, strong physique, and effortless confidence don’t fool me. If anything, I view them as his tools of destruction.
“I’m sorry about your wife,” I say as calmly as possible. “But I can’t help.”
“I don’t need your insincere apologies. Just do as you are told.”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? I can’t be your wife.”
“Yes, you can. In fact, you’re the only one who’s able to fit that role.”
“The only one? Have you seen me?”
He taps his fingers against his thighs as his gaze slides from my face to my torso and down to my foot that’s missing a shoe. I’m the one who asked if he’s seen me, but now that I’m trapped under his scrutiny, the sense of inferiority from this afternoon grips me again.
He must be seeing a monster, a smelly one at that, and while I rarely feel self-conscious about my lifestyle, I do now. The unwelcome sensation slams into me with a harshness that robs me of breath.
I begin to squirm, but stop myself.
“I do see you.” He speaks slowly, almost like he has a different meaning behind the words. The tapping of his fingers comes to a halt. “Clearly.”
“Then…you must see I’m not fit to be anyone’s wife.” Let alone his.
He reaches into his coat pocket and I expect him to pull a gun out and shoot me in the face for wasting his time. However, he retrieves a black leather wallet, opens it, and slides a picture out.
A small gasp leaves my lips as I stare at the woman in it. It’s a solo shot of her in a wedding dress. Her dark brown hair is gathered in an elegant bun, revealing her delicate throat. The dress’s neckline falls off her shoulders, accentuating their curves and her collarbone.
Her nose is petite, and the contour of her face is defined while remaining soft. Light makeup covers her fair skin, enhancing her quiet beauty. Her full lips are painted in a nude color and her eyeshadow is a similar shade.
Her eyes are a turquoise so blue, it’s like she’s peering into my soul and waiting for it to peer right back.
A small smile pulls at her mouth. It’s a mysterious one, almost like she doesn’t want to smile, or perhaps she has a different purpose behind it.
But her beauty and elegance aren't the reason for my trembling fingers.
It’s all of her.
I’m staring at a dark-haired, clean, and well-groomed version of myself. I barely remember the last time I was as clean as she is, but I do remember my reflection in the mirror at the hospital a few weeks ago, and I definitely looked like this woman, only with blonde hair.
“That’s why it has to be you.”
I startle at the stranger’s voice. While I was lost in his wife’s picture, I just about forgot that he was there all along.
“But how…?”
“How?” he repeats with a slight furrow in his brow.
“How is this possible? I was an only child, so she…” I chance another look at her. “She can’t be my twin or my sister.”
“She isn’t related to you by blood.”
“Then…how do you explain the resemblance?” Scary one, at that. She even has my freaking eye color that I’ve always thought was rare as hell.
“Do you believe in doppelgängers, Winter?”
“Doppelgängers?” I scoff. “Are you joking?”
“Do I look like the type who jokes?” The authoritativeness in his tone causes me to glue myself to the closed car door. Shit. He really is terrifying.
“N-no.”
“Correct.”
“Are you saying she and I are doppelgängers? How is that possible?”
“It’s more common than you think.”
“I still…don’t believe it.”
“It doesn’t matter what you believe. It’s already happening.”
“Already happening?”
“Yes. You will be my wife.”
“No. I didn’t agree to this.”
“Didn’t agree to this,” he muses, as if my words are somehow comical. “You believe you have that option? Who the fuck do you think you are?”
I inch farther into the door until the handle digs into my side. “I’m a free person.”
“Free? How do you define freedom? Is it sleeping in parking garages and begging for food?”
“The way I live is none of your business.”
“Don’t talk back to me again or you won’t like the way I react.” He’s so calm in issuing his threat, but that doesn’t diminish its impact. I wish I could become one with the floorboard or the door—I’m not picky.
He stares at me for a beat too long, making sure his words hit their mark, before he continues, “You’ll have a roof over your head, a warm bed to sleep in, and hot meals all day long.”
The picture he’s painting is tempting, but he is not. He’s far from tempting. He’s so frightening that even sitting beside him is giving me a sense of anxiety. I feel like I need to be in fight-or-flight mode around him. Actually, I’ll have to go with flight because the fight option will definitely get me killed.