The Double

One thing I knew without any doubt: Christina had been telling the truth about not loving him, and he hadn’t loved her, either. Because if they’d had any feelings for each other at all, the arrangement wouldn’t have worked. They would have snapped within days and grabbed each other.

Konstantin had found the one person in the world who could handle a relationship without emotions. Christina had been perfect for him.

The problem was... I wasn’t Christina.

27

Konstantin

I THRASHED UPWARDS through black water, my hands clawing at ice that wouldn’t give... and woke disoriented and panting, sucking in the warm, dry air of the bedroom until the ache in my chest went away.

The dreams were back. That made no sense. They should have gone again, now that Christina was back.

I turned to look at her. She was still asleep, lying sprawled on her back, her arms up beside her head, open and trusting as a child. That was different, too. Before the accident, she’d always gone to sleep curled up on her side, like me, and stayed turned away from me until morning.

I allowed myself a moment to stare at her, knowing it was weak. God, she was beautiful. More beautiful, since she came back to me. The face was the same but there was an openness to her. As if she no longer had any secrets from me.

I slid out of bed. It was still early and I didn’t want to fire up the shower and wake her so I threw on a robe and marched out into the hallway, heading for my study. I almost walked into Victoria, Christina’s young, blonde maid, carrying an armful of dresses. “All Miss Rogan’s clothes from Milan are pressed and ready, Sir,” she told me. “Is she awake? Can I go and hang them for her?”

She was smiling. Victoria never smiled, not when she was anywhere near our bedroom. Christina had always been viciously cruel to her: nothing was ever good enough or quick enough and she’d reduced the poor girl to tears many times. I think it was jealousy, because Victoria was pretty.

And yet now Victoria actually seemed happy. I took the dresses from her and said I’d pass them on, then slipped quietly back inside our room and stared at Christina again.

She’d changed. She’d become gentler, kinder, more innocent.

And what was unsettling was how much I liked it.

28

Hailey

I WOKE, rolled onto my side, and groped around blindly. Where are my glasses?

“What are you looking for?” asked a Russian voice that vibrated right down my spine.

I sat bolt upright, the memories landsliding down on top of me. The mission. The mansion. My new face. Konstantin.

He was standing next to the bed, wrapped in a soft white robe that set off his tan. The inner edges of that strong chest were visible through the vee in the front and all I wanted to do was run over to him and push up against him like a cat, sliding my head inside his robe and resting it against that hard, warm muscle. God, what’s happening to me?

There was a robe for me, too, and we wore them down to the dining room for breakfast. I stared at the flawless white tablecloth and gleaming silver cutlery, at the waiter who stood ready to take our orders. We can order anything we like?! My usual breakfast was coffee and an energy bar, eaten at my desk.

Konstantin ordered eggs, bacon, sausage and toast. I was about to do the same when I realized I had no idea what Christina normally ate.

To my relief, the chef asked, “Your usual, Miss Rogan?”

I nodded in relief. “Yes, please.”

He blinked and cocked his head, as if me saying please was a surprise, and then hurried away.

A waiter brought Konstantin The New York Times and he shook it out and disappeared behind it. Papers at breakfast: awesome. I’m a news junkie and I hadn’t caught up in days—

The waiter handed me a glossy fashion magazine. Oh.

Konstantin’s breakfast arrived: a groaning plate loaded with at least four eggs, a teetering stack of bacon, a pile of thick sausages and half a loaf of toast. My mouth started to water.

Then the waiter set a smoothie in front of me. Not above my place setting, where a drink would go. Right where the plate would be. That was my breakfast.

And it was green. Not the bright, cheerful green of apples and kiwi fruit and other tasty things. An ominous gray-green halfway between avocado and kale.

I looked up at the waiter, thinking maybe he was messing with me. But he wasn’t smiling: in fact, he looked scared. “It’s just how you like it, miss,” he reassured me. When I just stared at him, he started to go pale and I had to quickly smile to make him relax. God, were all the staff terrified of me?