by Lili Valente
I expect it to be fairly unpleasant, in fact.
But in no version of reality do I expect to stumble upon her the first time I pull off the road for coffee and a Berliner.
When the door to the shop opens behind me and a slim blonde steps inside, wrapped head-to-toe in a giant gray scarf, a fluffy white hat plopped atop her head like a dollop of whipped cream, I’m certain my eyes are playing tricks on me.
I blink—twice—but the woman’s heart-shaped face remains the same.
It’s Elizabeth, in the flesh, her cheeks flushing pink as her gaze connects with mine. I’m fifteen centimeters taller and probably twenty kilos heavier than the last time we met, but she recognizes me instantly.
The anxiety tightening her features leaves little doubt about that.
“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say, my voice surprisingly calm considering my pulse is suddenly beating double time. I thought I was ready to confront her, but now that she’s standing in front of me, looking so beautiful and familiar, I just want to buy her a coffee and spend the afternoon catching up.
I don’t want to be the bad guy, but like it or not, that’s my role in this drama.
“Hello, J-Jeffrey,” she stammers, her flush deepening. “What a surprise. But I’m n-not Elizabeth. I’m S-Sabrina.”
I arch a challenging brow.
I don’t want to mention the stutter—the one Elizabeth genuinely struggles with and Sabrina has been faking—but if she leaves me no choice…
She takes a breath, hugging the leather-bound book in her arms to her chest as she adds in a steadier voice, “It was t-too quiet at home after Lizzy left for the engagement festivities.” She smiles, and the sun shines brighter through the gauzy curtains in the shop window. “So I decided to take a holiday. The hiking trails are incredible here. Do you like hiking, too? Is that why you’re here?”
So we’re going to play that game…
Frowning, I chew the inside of my lip, debating my next move. I could continue to call her out as the wrong twin, but with no way of proving that she’s not her sister, that could quickly end in a stalemate. And seeing as people frown upon tossing princesses over your shoulder and toting them back to your castle these days, I’m going to have to find some other way to convince her that returning to Gallantia with me to sort out the Twin Swap Disaster is the honorable thing to do.
Assuming she has a sense of honor to appeal to.
The Lizzy I met years ago seemed to have principles and compassion, but I wouldn’t have pegged that girl as the sort to send her twin to the altar in her place. There’s a chance I was wrong about what sort of person she is. Standing here, staring into her eyes might feel like spotting the shoreline after months at sea, but the truth is I don’t really know her well at all.
“You should do something about your face, Jeffrey,” she whispers after a beat.
“My face?” I echo, my forehead furrowing.
“Yes. If I didn’t know better, it would be terrifying. You look like you’re planning to kidnap me, chop me into tiny pieces, and feed my organs to your pet weasels.”
My brows shoot up at how far off base—but still troublingly close to home—she is. Clearly, I need to work on my poker face.
“I have no designs upon your organs, Elizabeth,” I say, forcing a smile.
“Sabrina,” she corrects again, this time without hesitation or stutter.
But I’m not fooled. This is the same girl I played cards with until the wee hours of the morning years ago. She’s grown up and even more beautiful, with glossy hair so soft-looking it begs to be touched and plush lips I can’t stop glancing down at, but she’s Elizabeth.
I just have to find a way to prove it.
“Would you like to have dinner?” I ask. The longer I spend in Elizabeth’s company, the better the chances she’ll say something to incriminate herself. And good food and a bottle of wine never hurt when it came to loosening a liar’s tongue. “I’m in town for a few days to hike, as well. I’d love to catch up while I’m here. We’re going to be family soon, after all.”
Her eyes tighten around the edges, but she smiles. “Dinner sounds wonderful, but I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” She sniffs and swipes at the tip of her pink nose with the tissue clenched in her fist. “I think my allergies are just acting up, but if I’m wrong, I’d hate to give you a cold and ruin your vacation.” Lips puckering, she holds the tissue aloft between us. “Which reminds me, I should wash my hands before I order coffee. If you’ll excuse me?”
“Of course.” I step back, and she moves around me, headed for the restroom at the rear of the café. “What are you having? I’ll order for you. My treat.”
“Oh, no,” she says over her shoulder, with another dramatic swipe of her nose. “It’s fine. I’ll order in a few minutes. I don’t know what I want. I never know until the last minute. I’m so indecisive.” She laughs and flutters her tissue my way. “See you at the wedding. Until then, take care of that brother of yours, and my sister, too. I’ve got a good feeling about this match.”
Before I can respond, she ducks into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
Exhaling through my nose, I cross to stand by the community bulletin board near the entrance, pretending to read the notices about sunrise yoga in the square and used furniture for sale while I wait for her to emerge. If she thinks she’s getting rid of me that easily, she’s crazier than this sister-swap would lead one to believe.
Long minutes pass with no sign of her. The bathroom door remains closed while half a dozen patrons place their orders and settle into the wooden tables scattered throughout the café or pop outside to sit on one of the benches in the front garden. Finally, a woman with a laptop tucked under her arm heads for the lavatory. I expect her to try the door and find it locked, but the knob turns easily in her hand.
Before I realize it, I’m in motion, grabbing the door before the woman can close it behind her.
She jumps and demands to know “What’s the matter with you?” in Rindish.
“I’m sorry,” I reply, my stomach sinking. “I thought my friend was inside.”
But Elizabeth isn’t my friend, and she isn’t inside.
The bathroom is empty, and the window on the far wall wide open. The princess has made a run for it, confirming my suspicions.
She’s Lizzy.
And now she knows she’s being hunted.
4
Elizabeth
I tumble through the bathroom window into a rosebush with inch-long thorns that catch on my scarf, jabbing through my linen dress into the skin beneath. Hissing in pain, I finally free myself from the bush only to lose both clogs on the way out of the muddy back garden.
“Princes,” I mutter, fishing my shoes out of the muck with a stick and shoving my now soaked sock feet back inside with a shiver.
It feels like princes have been causing me grief my entire life, but I know that’s not true. It’s only been since I was five, when my parents got the bright idea to promise me in marriage to a boy I’d never met.
“But it’s all going to work out just fine,” I remind myself as I hurry through the parking lot behind the cafe and jump the fence into a pasture filled, thankfully, with sheep instead of something more menacing.
I’d really prefer not to be gored to death by an angry bull.
There are more pleasant ways to die, and I still have unfinished business. I have a collection to complete, a happily ever after to arrange, and final affairs to put in order. I’m so close to ensuring that everyone I love is taken care of, and I refuse to let Prince Jeffrey throw me off course.
Yes, his deep, scary voice makes me want to confess and beg for mercy.
Yes, his eyes are as intense—and beautiful—as I remember, and if things were different, I would probably enjoy gazing into them over dinner.
But things are the way they are, and confession is dangerous.
I’m eighty percent certain Sabrina is destined to marry Andrew and that nothin
g I can say or do will interfere with that, but I’m not taking any chances. Sabrina is a huge piece of my heart. I need this happiness for her. I need to know she’s loved and cherished and supported before our next birthday rolls around.
I clamber over the fence on the other side of the pasture and hustle toward my rental cottage at a jog.
Of course, it’s possible I’ve spent all these years worried about nothing. The curse might not come true. If that turns out to be the case, and I’m proven to be the most gullible fool in the history of fools, I’ll be so relieved I won’t care.
I wish for that relief every morning when I wake up and every night before I go to bed, but I also plan for what I’m almost certain will happen. Everything else the woman who kidnapped me predicted has come to pass. It would be foolish to think my death will be the exception to the rule.
Which means I have seven months.
Six months and eight days, to be exact.
Sabrina, Zan, and I will all turn twenty-six on December eighteenth. We’ve already made plans to celebrate at a ritzy ski lodge in Switzerland. Zan reserved a suite with a hot tub on the balcony that faces the slopes so I can watch my sisters swish through the snow while I drink hot cocoa in the warm water and read a book like a reasonable human being who understands that zooming around with sticks strapped to your feet and expecting not to get hurt is plain silly.
Especially if you’re as athletically challenged as I am.
Jogging the half-mile back to the cottage is enough to leave me gasping for air. I cling to the doorknob for a moment, fighting for a deeper breath and cursing my drippy nose.
I wasn’t lying to Jeffrey, at least not entirely.
I have been fighting a case of the sniffles.
Maybe it’s allergies—the spring flowers are bursting out all over the mountains, turning every Alpine hillside into a work of art—but it might also be a cold. I’m sure my immune system isn’t functioning at peak performance levels. I’ve been working day and night to finish my collection in time to meet the submission deadline. I’m exhausted, physically and psychologically drained, and my fingers are so bruised that simply looking at a beading needle is enough to make them ache.
But I’m nearly done. I just have to power through for a few more days, and then I can rest and recuperate.
But first I have to get the hell out of here.
“Thank you, Jeffrey,” I mutter as I wedge the crooked key into the lock and jiggle my way inside. “Thank you for the joy of packing up and finding another place to work right when I’d sorted out the toaster oven.”
Toaster ovens are trickier than I expected.
Cooking for myself is a challenge I hadn’t bargained for when I packed my bags for my first solo trip out into the big wide world…ever.
I’m not your typical spoiled princess—my parents have been on the verge of financial ruin more times than I can count, and my childhood home is literally falling down around us—but somehow Mother and Father have always managed to afford a cook. Steady work is hard to come by in our village, so I’m sure that’s part of it, but with Rafe’s mother, Regina, love also played a role. She loved my sisters and me and wanted to make sure we grew up eating healthy meals.
Not for the first time, I wonder if she would still love me if Rafe and I hadn’t kept our relationship secret and she knew I was the one who broke her son’s heart years ago, but I put the thought out of my head.
I did what was best for Rafe. He went on to become a decorated military officer and to marry a lovely woman and start a family. And now I’ll do what’s best for my sisters and my parents, and when December comes, I’ll face my birthday with a clear conscience.
Coughing into a fresh tissue, I finish packing and pull out my cell, placing a call to Zan as I do a final sweep of the cottage to make sure I haven’t forgotten my phone charger, my favorite scissors, my head, or any other necessary supplies.
I expect to be sent to voicemail—Zan is a very busy woman—but she picks up on the second ring.
“Hello there, you. What’s up?” she asks in a sweeter-than-usual voice. Zan is a wonderful person, but “sweet” isn’t usually her thing. She shows her love with honesty, integrity, and fierce, occasionally painful, displays of devotion. “How are you holding up? Decided to give Prince Assface the boot yet?”
“Well, I…” I break off with another cough, hacking until I’m so winded I collapse into an armchair by the window to catch my breath. “Sorry. I’m a little under the weather.”
“Right,” Zan says dryly. “You know you only get sick when you’re sad.”
“That’s not true.” I fight back another cough, swallowing. “I also get sick when I work too hard.”
“You’re working? Are the Von Bergens okay with that? I assumed you’d be so busy with the engagement extravaganza that you wouldn’t have a moment to yourself. That’s part of the reason I haven’t called to check in.”
I pluck at a loose thread on the chair’s seat. “And because you think arranged marriages are awful.”
“Nightmarish is a better word. Or horrific. Antiquated, barbaric, offensive, and foul also work.”
I smile. “I love you dearly.”
“Same,” she says brusquely. “Say the word, and I’ll be on the first plane to Baden Bergen to spring you from your tower.”
“That’s very sweet.” I take a deep breath. I’ve done my best to keep my schemes to myself, but I’m running out of options. It’s time to come clean with Zan and hope she can be trusted to keep this secret the way she’s kept all my others. “But I’m not in Baden Bergen. Sabrina is.”
“What?” Zan asks flatly.
“Sabrina is in Baden Bergen, pretending to me, and I’m in Islip Downs, pretending to be her on vacation.”
“What?” There’s a squawking sound and then a rattle as if the phone has been dropped. Shortly after that, Zan comes back on the line, “Who thought that was a good idea? Are you both out of your minds?”
“No. And I’ll explain, but first, I need to tell you something important.” I lean back, gazing through the blue chintz curtains at the gravel lane outside. It’s still empty, but I’m not sure how much time I have left. “I just ran into Jeffrey Von Bergen in a coffee shop. I introduced myself as Sabrina, but he didn’t believe me. I think he’s here looking for me, to prove Sabrina and I switched places and to make sure our plan blows up in our faces.”
“What plan?” Zan lets out a ragged, humorless laugh. “What on earth is wrong with you two? Marriage fraud is a crime in Gallantia and Rinderland. You realize that, right? That you could both go to jail?”
“We won’t go to jail, Zan. We never planned to—” I break off as a long shadow edges into view at the end of the lane, followed seconds later by the jean-and-light-green-sweater-clad form of Jeffrey Von Bergen. “He’s here!” I hiss, my heart pounding as I sink into the chair until only the tops of my eyes are visible above the frame. “He must have followed me back to the cottage.”
“Call the police,” Zan says. “Now.”
I huff. “I don’t need to call the police. He’s not going to hurt me.”
“You don’t know that,” Zan insists. “He’s twice your size and stalking you. And he was always the scary brother. Better to be safe than sorry. Hang up, call the police, and call me right back. I’ll stay on the phone with you until they get there.”
“I don’t need to call the police. He’s not scary, he’s nice.” I recall the accusing rumble in his voice as he said my name and amend, “Mostly.”
“How on earth would you know?”
“We’ve spent time together.” I watch Jeffrey amble past the cottage, looking so good in off-the-rack jeans it should be a crime. The designer in me can’t help but imagine what he would look like in a suit expertly tailored to fit his broad shoulders and narrow waist. Probably delicious. Probably very delicious. “We played cards and talked for a long time after his parents’ anniversary party when we were kids.” I chew my
bottom lip. “That might be why he’s suspicious. He might remember me enough to suspect that Sabrina isn’t the same person.”
“You think? Seems like something you should have thought about before you did this stupid thing you’ve done,” Zan says, her eye roll audible in her voice. “Which is really astoundingly dumb, Lizzy. Seriously—you’re pranking me as revenge for not coming home this summer, aren’t you? Fess up any time.”
“I’m not pranking you,” I whisper as Jeffrey pauses, studying the row of cottages, mine sitting smack in the middle, with narrowed eyes. “I did think about it. I just didn’t think he would remember me. At least not the way I remembered him. I was just a kid.”
“So, he has a thing for kids. Amazing.” Zan makes a gagging noise. “Please call the police. I’m begging you.”
“Don’t be gross. It wasn’t like that. He was kind to me, that’s all.” Memories of that night flicker on my mental screen, making my chest warm with affection for teenage Jeffrey even as I will grown-up Jeffrey to turn and walk away. As much as I’d like to find out if he’s still as lovely as he used to be, I don’t have the luxury of wasting time with boys at the moment—especially boys who are trying to wreck my plans. “I’ll be fine. I’ll give him the slip and lay low until things in Gallantia work themselves out. But in case I end up somewhere without cell service, I wanted you to know that he might be onto the swap. Don’t tell Sabrina unless you have to. I don’t want her to be distracted by worry about me or the plan or anything else.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No, but I might be later. What does Chamomile put in the hot toddies she used to make when Mother was sick? Lemon and Earl Gray tea, I know, but what kind of liquor?”
“Whiskey,” Zan says. “But you don’t need whiskey. You need an intervention. Sit tight. I’ll send someone to get you. If they leave now, they can be there by ten. I would come myself, but I’m in the middle of a delicate operation and can’t leave the city.”
