The Wrong Kind of Love

“Do you have a degree in early childhood education? Like your sister?”

I look away and swallow. “I didn’t make it through school. Too many distractions.” How many times have I let my entire life be derailed on account of love? In college, it was Corbin, who needed me to work full-time because he was having financial troubles. When I returned to school after Corbin dumped me, it was Eddie, who owned a bike shop and needed a secretary. When the hours didn’t work with my class schedule, I didn’t even hesitate. Love above all else. “Veronica is the good student. I only have a couple of semesters’ worth of general education under my belt.”

“The education was just a bonus, not a requirement.” She narrows her eyes and studies me. “You look just like her.”

I hate for her to feel cornered into giving me this job. “Listen, I don’t want to leave you hanging because of my sister’s decisions, so if I can stand in for a few days while you find a replacement . . .”

She folds her arms. “Find a suitable nanny with childcare experience who’s willing to relocate to Jackson Harbor for the coldest months of the year in a few days? Do you know what a rare find Veronica was? Do you know how hard it was to convince my son that Lilly would be safe with her?”

“I really am sorry.” I look at my hands. “I’m sure this is a nightmare for you.”

“When are you going home?”

I shake my head. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. My life was turned upside down yesterday, and I need some time before I go back there.”

She nods sharply. “Good. You can take Veronica’s position on a trial basis. I’ll need a couple of references and will have to have my lawyer run a quick background check, of course, but assuming that comes out okay, you can move in with my son and care for my granddaughter.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” I don’t have any children of my own, but if I did, I struggle to imagine trusting a stranger with them. There has to be something else going on here.

She arches a brow. “I know you showed up to this meeting, while your sister—a girl I was convinced I could rely on—didn’t. I know you’re here even though this is embarrassing for you, and I know my gut says more about a person than their résumé ever could.”

“Would you really be willing to give me a chance?” I want to throw my arms around her and thank her. I didn’t realize just how desperately I wanted an excuse to stay.

“I would.” She clasps her hands on the table and turns to study the display case of chocolates.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t really have anything to go home to right now.”

“I would,” she repeats, her gaze not meeting mine. “But my son isn’t me. It took Ethan a while to come around to the idea of Veronica. Changing to Veronica’s twin at the last minute . . .” She shakes her head. “Ethan won’t like it. He won’t respect her because she didn’t show, and you’ll be guilty by association.”

My shoulders sag. “Oh.” Then why all the fuss about the references and background check?

“It’d be easier for everyone if you pretended to be your sister.”

I laugh. “Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.” Her expression is stoic, and my stomach aches.

“I can’t. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

She looks me dead in the eyes for so long that I want to look away, but something makes me hold her gaze. “I need the favor. If I have to tell Ethan the truth about you, I’ll have to tell him the truth about my trip, and I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to keep that from my family.”

I frown at that. What’s she hiding from them? A secret lover? I shake my head. “I can’t just lie about who I am.” The idea of taking this job was crazy, but there’s no way I’m taking it and pretending to be Veronica. I don’t play those twin-swap games anymore.

“Then don’t. Nic could be short for Veronica, couldn’t it?”

I swallow. “With all due respect, ma’am, I’m not comfortable with the lie.”

“Nic?” She reaches across the table and takes my hand in hers. Her skin is cold, but her grip is firm. “I’m going to tell you something no one else in my family knows. I don’t know you, but I’m trusting you to keep this between us.”

The intensity in her gaze makes me want to run from this conversation, but I stay put. “Okay.”

“I’m very sick.”

My stomach drops. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”

“I have cancer. The kind of cancer where one must get much sicker if one wants any hope of getting better.”

I draw in a shaky breath. “I’m so, so sorry.” My apologies mean nothing—I know that—but I offer them anyway. “This must be a very stressful time for you.”