Mirror Image

“It’s all right.” She lagged behind so she could follow him. Wide double doors opened into a long corridor. One wall of the hallway was made of windows overlooking the courtyard. Several rooms gave off from the other side. Tate entered one of them and set her suitcase down in front of a louvered closet door.

“Mona will help you unpack.”

Avery nodded an acknowledgment, but she was distracted by the bedroom. It was spacious and light, with a saffron-colored carpet and blond wood furniture. The bedspread and drapes were made of a floral print chintz. It was a little too flowery for Avery’s taste, but obviously expensive and well made.

She took in every detail at a glance, from the digital alarm clock on the nightstand to the silver framed photo of Mandy on the dresser.

Tate said, “I’m going to the office for a while. You probably ought to take it easy this afternoon, get back into the flow slowly. If you—”

Avery’s sharp gasp stopped him. He followed the direction of her gaze to the life-size portrait of Carole mounted on the opposite wall. “What’s the matter?”

A hand at her throat, Avery swallowed and said, “Nothing. It’s… it’s just that I don’t look much like that anymore.” It was disconcerting to look into the eyes of the one person who knew unequivocally that she was an impostor. Those dark, knowing eyes mocked her.

Looking away from them, she smiled up at Tate timorously and ran a hand through her short hair. “I guess I’m not completely used to the changes yet. Would you mind if I took the portrait down?”

“Why would I mind? This is your room. Do whatever the hell you want with it.” He headed for the door. “I’ll see you at dinner.” He soundly closed the door behind him when he left.

His disregard was unarguable. She felt like she’d been dumped in Antarctica and was watching the last plane out disappear over the horizon. He had deposited her where she belonged and considered that the extent of his duty.

This is your room.

The bedroom was museum clean, like it hadn’t been occupied for a long time. She guessed it had been three months—since Carole had left it the morning of the plane crash.

She slid open the closet doors. There were enough clothes hanging inside to outfit an army, but every single article was feminine, from the fur coat to the fussiest peignoir. Nothing in the closet belonged to Tate, nor did anything on the bureau or in any of the many drawers.

Avery dejectedly lowered herself to the edge of the wide, king-size bed. Your room, he had said. Not our room.

Well, she thought dismally, she didn’t have to entertain any more qualms about the first time he claimed conjugal rights, did she? That worry

could be laid aside. She wouldn’t be intimately involved with Tate because he no longer shared that kind of relationship with his wife.

Given his attitude over the last several weeks, it came as no surprise, but it was a vast disappointment. Coupled with her disappointment, however, was shame. It hadn’t been her intention to sleep with him under false pretenses; she didn’t even know if she wanted that. It would be wrong—very wrong. Yet…

She glared up at the portrait. Carole Rutledge seemed to be smiling down at her with malicious amusement. “You bitch,” Avery whispered scathingly. “I’m going to undo whatever you did that caused him to stop loving you. See if I don’t.”

* * *

“You getting enough to eat down there?”

When Avery realized that Nelson was addressing her, she smiled at him down the length of the table. “Plenty, thank you. As good as the food was at the clinic, this tastes delicious.”

“You’ve lost a lot of weight,” he observed. “We’ve got to fatten you up. I don’t tolerate puniness in my family.”

She laughed and reached for her wine. She didn’t like wine, but obviously Carole had. A glass had been poured for her without anyone asking if she wanted it or not. By sipping slowly throughout the meal, she had almost emptied the glass of burgundy that had accompanied the steak dinner.

“Your boobs have practically disappeared.” Seated across from Avery, Fancy was balancing her fork between two fingers, insolently wagging it up and down as she made the snide observation.

“Fancy, you’ll refrain from making rude remarks, please,” Zee admonished.

“I wasn’t being rude. Just honest.”

“Tact is as admirable a trait as honesty, young lady,” her grandfather said sternly from his chair at the head of the table.

“Jeez, I just—”

“And it’s unbecoming for any woman to take the Lord’s name in vain,” he added coldly. “I certainly won’t have it from you.”

Fancy dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter. “I don’t get it. Everybody in this family has been talking about how skinny she is. I’m the only one with enough guts to say something out loud, and I get my head bitten off.”