Beauty in Deception

When it was finished, the man’s face was unrecognizable, just a heap of pulp, but I’ll never forget his features.

Shit.

I don’t even know his name.

I rub my eyes, trying to wipe away the mental pictures. There’s wetness. Tears. This time, the rubbing doesn’t work, no matter how hard I press my fingers against my eyelids. I’m in Evie’s bedroom. We’re getting ready for the Christmas dinner that will be held at her uncle’s house. I’m sixteen. I know because it’s a month after I returned from the finishing school. She’s wearing a white dress with diamante detail. I’m wearing the same. The clothes I wear when I’m her double stays in her enormous dressing room. The stylist takes them out for me when I have to dress up before an event. Bella said I couldn’t take them home.

This dress is so pretty I can’t stop touching it. I’ve never seen anything more angelic.

Evie catches my gaze in the mirror. “You like the stupid dress, don’t you?”

“It’s beautiful,” I say, stroking the skirt.

“Keep it.”

I look at her quickly. “Really? It looks expensive.”

“This old dress?” She scoffs, applying the mascara the stylist told her not to wear because she’s too young. “I wore it three times already. I’m growing breasts.” She pouts. “At last. I’m not going to fit into it, next year.”

So, I keep the dress. I take it home with me. Eden plays dress-up in it, adding the angel wings she cut from paper. My mom says nothing, avoiding my eyes as she tells me to clear the table.

The following morning, Bell’s guards round up the staff in the basement next to the vault. The men stand at attention with their guns. I’m scared. I look at their faces for clues, but they’re staring straight ahead. Only Number Two gives me a sympathetic look. I’m not allowed to know their names—Bell doesn’t want to encourage familiarity—so I numbered them in my head. Number Two has been there since the beginning. He’s the oldest. He’s always in the convoy that drives me, and he doesn’t tell Bell when I call my sister during the long hours I wait in the car for their parties to end. I know what’s going to happen is bad when he hardens his expression and looks away.

Bell enters like a king. The woman next to me, the housekeeper, starts to cry. We stand in a line as Bell informs us someone in the house has stolen from him. Grabbing my arm, he yanks me forward. Then he tells me to choose. I stare at his face, my heart beating in my throat.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

“Choose the person I’m going to fire, or I’ll fire the lot of them.”

I go cold. Feeling sick, I turn my head to the people who stand in front of us. They have families to feed. The housekeeper is putting her son through college. The cook is taking care of her elderly father. Wordlessly, they plead with me, their eyes begging me not to choose them.

“Choose,” Bell says, his fingers digging into my upper arm.

I shake my head.

“Choose,” he says, shaking me hard.

“Choose,” Number Two says in a gentle tone. “The sooner you do, the sooner it will be over.”

One by one, I look at their faces, these people who are staff like me. I don’t want to betray them. I don’t want to choose, but Bell’s fingers are bruising my muscles when he says, “So be it. It’s everyone, then.”

“No,” I cry out.

I drag my gaze up and down the row. The gardener is the oldest. He’s retiring soon. Thinking it makes the most sense, I point a shaky finger at him.

Bell nods. The guards march the staff out. Only Number Two, the gardener, Bell, and I remain.

And then Bell takes a hammer from the workbench.

A tremor runs over me.

“No.” I push my hands hard on my temples, pulling myself from the past. “Stop it, E—Christina.”

Fuck. I almost said Evie. I almost called myself Evie.

I take a ragged breath.

What the hell is wrong with me? I haven’t had a meltdown like this since that day. I pushed the event deep down, never daring to go back there in my memory. I thought I had banished it for good. I was wrong. I lost control. Losing control leads to mistakes. I almost gave myself away. I almost gave away the game.

Keep up the show.

Will Roman punish me? I’m so strung out I can’t even make myself care. I’m about to flop down on the nearest horizontal surface when my kidnapper walks through the door.

He heads for the same chair as last night and sits down. “Come here.”

My fight has gone cold. I have no more left for tonight. Not arguing, I go over.

“Show me,” he says, motioning at my side.

I pull the yoga pants down my hip.