by Gemma Weir
“Oh my god,” he says, his eyes wide as he takes me in. “You really are identical, but not at the same time.”
“Carrigan this is Fitzwilliam Van De Burg,” Carson Says. “Fitzy, this is Carrigan Archibald.”
“Well it is lovely to meet you,” the man says, walking forward, his hand held out for me to shake.
I take it and he squeezes lightly, almost affectionately which is surprising. “It’s nice to meet you Mr. Van De Burg.”
“Oh please call me Fitzy,” he says jovially, before looking up at Carson and scowling. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Tally’s sister?”
“I can’t believe you thought I’d be hugging Tally while I was naked,” Carson says with a laugh.
“Well,” Fitzy says, clearing his throat.
My eyes widen as I remember that I’m only wearing Carson’s shirt. Oh my god, Carson is naked and I’m just in his shirt. My hair a bird’s nest and it literally couldn’t be any more obvious that we just had sex. “I should go,” I say, refusing to look at anything but the floor as I point roughly in the direction of the bedroom.
“Go shower and I’ll make dinner,” Carson says, pulling me to him and forcing my chin up so he can kiss me, as my cheeks burn red with embarrassment.
“No, I’ll call a cab,” I argue.
“Go take a shower Priss,” he orders, in that tone I just don’t seem to be able to disobey. “Then we can eat before Fitzy helps you with some clothes.”
As soon as he releases me I dart away, shutting and locking the bathroom door the moment I’m safely inside. My heart is racing, my head spinning with everything that’s happened in the last couple of hours. Carson told me he likes me, or maybe he only likes me when we’re having sex.
Honestly, I’m not sure and I’m not sure why I’m okay with that. Maybe it’s that I think I like him too. Who am I kidding, I know I like him, if I didn’t I wouldn’t keep letting him invade my life the way he is.
Without my parents I’m floundering, but Carson grounds me. He tells me what he needs, what he expects and I need those rules, I need that guidance, because when I’m doing as he tells me I feel calm and safe.
My hands are shaking as I turn the shower on. They shake the whole time that I wash, leaving my hair smelling of Carson’s shampoo. Carefully I unlock the bathroom door, and wrapped only in a towel, I creep into his bedroom. Just like he said he would, he’s left a white button-down shirt out for me to wear, but as I slide it over my head I’m all too aware that I’m still naked beneath it, my handful of underwear in the dresser at the hotel.
The shirt reaches almost to my knees, but I still wish it were longer. Grabbing the hairbrush Carson left out, I brush my hair, dragging the tangles free, and then quickly twist it into a braid that hangs over my shoulder.
Sinking down onto the bed, I seriously consider calling a cab and running, but I know I won’t. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave him, even though I know I should.
His words earlier completely disarmed me and now I’m caught, lost to his web, helpless, but a willing victim.
19
Carson
Both Fitzy and I stay silent until we hear the shower turn on.
“What the hell are you playing at?” Fitzy hisses.
“What do you mean?” I ask, playing stupid, like I have no idea what he’s talking about.
“That,” he hisses, pointing in the direction of the bedroom, “is Tally’s sister. Her evil,” he emphasizes the word, “twin sister.”
“I know who she is,” I reply, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling two cold beers out, handing one to a consternated looking Fitzy.
“Does Tally know? Does Arlo know?”
“No. But it’s not what you think. Carrigan is the reason the will is broken.”
“It’s not what I think?” he whisper-shrieks. “I think you’re sleeping with the enemy.”
“She’s not the enemy, at least not anymore. She fixed everything, Tally’s free, the Archibald’s are gone.”
“And Carrigan did that?” he asks slowly.
“Yes, she did it to save them both. Now their parents have fucked off overseas and they’ve banned Carrigan from the house, she literally has nothing. No clothes, none of her things, nothing. Tally and Arlo asked her to move in with them, but she’s prickly. More than prickly, honestly she’s a bitch, but…” I trail off, unsure how to explain her, and this thing between us.
“Hmm,” Fitzy says, his eyes narrowing as he assesses me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says with an unnerving smile. “Did you mention you were cooking? I’m starved. And for goodness sake Carson go and put some clothes on.”
Laughing I excuse myself for a second, and walk into the bedroom, glancing at the closed bathroom door as I pull on some sweatpants and lay out one of my button downs out on the bed for Priss. I’m a little too eager to see her in my clothes again, or maybe it’s knowing she’ll only be wearing my shirt that’s got me riled up.
Retreating back to the kitchen I find Fitzy hauling a rail of clothes across the deck. “How the hell did you get that up the gangplank?” I yell, pulling more things from the refrigerator and adding them to the pile I started earlier, before I had Priss shaped desert. I start to chop the veggies, pulling a wok out and quickly throwing together a stir-fry.
“I’m a stylist, that doesn’t make me incapable,” he says, rolling his eyes dramatically.
Stirring the veggies, I add some chicken to the pan and then a satay sauce, inhaling deeply when the rich peanut scent fills the air. I freeze when the shower turns off, glancing toward the bedroom, then back to a smirking Fitzy who has taken a seat at the island across from me.
“Oh this is fun,” he says, winking playfully.
“Shut up,” I scold, refocusing my attention on the food cooking in the pan. If Fitzy wasn’t here I’d be in there with her, licking the droplets of water from her naked body before I got her all dirty again.
When the food is ready, I split it between three plates, grabbing silverware for all of us and a bottle of water for Priss. I wait a minute longer, expecting her to appear, but the door remains shut and for a moment I panic that she’s run again. “I’ll go fetch her,” I say, scowling at a still smirking Fitzy.
Crossing the galley to my bedroom, I consider knocking, but if she’s naked I don’t want to give her chance to cover up her beautiful body. Pushing the door open I step into the room and find her sitting on the end of the bed wearing my shirt. She’s twisted her hair into a simple braid that’s fallen over her shoulder and made the cotton of my shirt almost transparent beneath it. She looks young and scared.
“You okay?” I ask.
She nods, but it’s not exactly convincing.
“What’s up?”
“I’m trying to convince myself to run,” she says, shocking the hell out of me with her honesty.
“I figured as much,” I say, sitting down next to her.
“What are we doing?” she asks, her eyes begging me to explain, but the problem is I’m as clueless as she is.
“No fucking clue, but I don’t plan to stop.”
“Tell me what to do Carson,” she begs, tears filling her eyes. “I need someone to tell me what to do, because I don’t know how to be anything other than what they told me to be.”
Our eyes lock and for the very first time I feel like I understand the girl next to me. So I nod, lift my hand, and pinch her chin between my thumb and forefinger. “Come eat dinner, then let Fitzy help you.”
Docilly she nods, mouthing “Thank you,” to me, before she pushes to her feet and follows me out the room.
“Goodness me, you are so beautiful and so tiny,” Fitzy gushes, as Priss pads barefoot into the kitchen.
Her fingers move to her braid and she fidgets uncomfortably. “I look better with my hair and makeup done,” she says.
“Nonsense, you’re gorgeous just as you are. Sit, eat, then tell me a little abou
t your style,” Fitzy says, doing his best to put her at ease, talking quietly like you would to a skittish animal.
“I wear a lot of dresses,” Priss says, carefully tucking my shirt beneath her as she climbs up onto the stool opposite Fitzy’s.
“Is that because you like them, or because your mom liked them?” I question, not looking at her as I place her plate full of stir fry in front of her.
“I…” she says, her cheeks coloring pink.
“With those legs you can wear anything you want,” Fitzy says quickly, flashing me a glare before he focusses back on Priss.
Sitting down next to her, I lay my palm on her leg, rubbing my thumb back and forth over the skin on her thigh. She tenses for a moment, then relaxes beneath my touch and I lift my fork and eat with my free hand.
Fitzy begins to eat and I watch from the corner of my eye as Priss tentatively lifts her fork.
“What’s in here?” she asks.
“Dinner, it’s chicken satay stir-fry,” I say stabbing a piece of chicken and bringing it to my lips.
“I—” she starts.
“Eat it Priss,” I say, an order, not a suggestion.
She faulters, but only for a second before she slowly spears a baby corn and brings it to her lips, biting carefully. When she takes a second bite, I stop watching and start eating again.
“So, dresses,” Fitzy says, clearing his throat, his gaze bouncing between me and the girl beside me.
“My mom liked me to wear dresses most of the time,” Priss confesses.
“And do you like dresses?” he asks kindly, his attention on his food.
“I,” she pauses, thinking. “I- I don’t know.”
Fitzy’s expression softens. “Well I can help with that.”
For the next several minutes we eat while Fitzy tries to get her to chat, but after a second my Priss disappears and Carrigan emerges. Her answers become practiced and polite, robotic, orchestrated and I fucking hate it.
My hand slides from her leg and I lean away from her, unwilling to pretend, wanting my girl back. Her eyes snap to me, and I can see the confusion in them. She doesn’t know she’s gone from sweet and sincere to Carriganbot and for the first time I truly see how ingrained her indoctrination is. It’s more than just manners and behaviors, this is a whole separate personality that she switches on and off and I don’t think she’s even aware.
I may not like the cold, impersonal side of her, but right now she isn’t being cruel or bitchy, she isn’t trying to manipulate Fitzy, she’s just behaving in the way she’s be taught to behave. The realization is startling and so obvious that I feel stupid for not seeing it earlier.
Tally has been telling us all along that her twin is as much a victim as she was of their parents’ malice and we all denied it, but she was right. Where Tally was ignored, Carrigan was bombarded, where Tally was forced to pretend to be Carrigan, her sister was forced into a mold of their parents’ creation. Both girls have been abused by their parents, just in completely different ways.
Carrigan isn’t innocent, just like she told us, she’s played the game, did as she was told, but just like Tally, Carrigan is much more resilient than you’d expect. The sweet girl, the one I like, the one I crave, is still there beneath the façade of polished creation, despite the girl’s parents’ best efforts to make her just as heartless and evil as they are.
Leaning down I press a kiss to her shoulder, and like my touch flipped a switch she faulters, some of the polish falling from her voice as Priss reappears. Her softened gaze looks to me and a small, sad smile hitches the side of her beautiful lips.
Carrigan Archibald is a complicated, fucked up, beautiful mess and I want her, all of her. I’m rarely a selfish person, but I’m rich enough, stubborn enough, and controlling enough to know that she’s my new obsession and whether she knows it or not, she’s mine.
20
Carrigan
When I’m around Carson I swear food tastes better. The plate full of rich nutty chicken, noodles, and veggies is delicious and before I’m even aware that I’ve done it, I’ve eaten every bite. I understand hunger far too well, but I’m not familiar with this warm feeling of fullness I get whenever I eat with Carson. It might just be that the food he eats is so bad for me that I’m bloated and full of carbs and sugar, but for the first time I’m starting to understand the enjoyment in good food.
Until him, I thought boys were simple. My mom explained how to play with them, how to tease, to coax, to lead them around with promises that I was never going to fulfil. But Carson isn’t like any of the rest of them. He doesn’t react the way he should.
When I’m the Carrigan I was taught to be, he’s cold and disinterested, but then when I feel at my weakest, in the moments that I’m too sad and pathetic and feeble to be the person I’m expected to be, he’s sweet and affectionate.
I don’t understand.
“When you’re acting like you think Carrigan Archibald ought to act, I call you Carrigan. When you’re acting like the girl who gave me her virginity, the one I want to be around, the one I can’t keep away from, I call you Priss.”
Those were his words, like I have a split personality or something, like I can control it.
Fitzy’s been asking me questions all through dinner, but I don’t know what answers they expect me to give. I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what I like, all I am is who I was told to be, but I can’t admit that.
“Right,” Fitzy announces, pushing off his stool with a bright smile. “I didn’t know your exact measurements, so some of the things I bought won’t fit, but how about we try some things on, so you can see if you like them?” he suggests.
“Okay, thank you.”
“I have a few more bits that I think might work in the car, I’ll just go grab them and the changing screen,” he says, as he disappears back outside.
When it’s just Carson and me, I feel the weight of his eyes on me and this pressure to be who he wants me to be settles on my shoulders. Sometimes being near him is easy, but other times like now it’s hard. I don’t know what he expects of me. He likes to be in charge and like earlier when I was feeling weak, I needed him to take control. But he’s not my friend or boyfriend or fiancé, he’s just someone I have sex with and I need to remember that.
Sliding off my stood, I look around the small kitchen space. At home we had staff to collect plates and do whatever they do with them, but I haven’t seen anyone here other than him on either occasion I’ve been here. “Thank you for dinner,” I say politely. “Do you have a dishwasher, or something?” I ask, feeling foolish.
“Have you ever used a dishwasher?” he asks, his lips quirking up into a smile.
“No, but—”
“Come here baby,” he says, beckoning me toward him.
Sighing I stay put, wrapping one arm around my waist. “Look Carson.”
“No,” he says decisively, cutting me off before I have a chance to speak. “I like you Priss.”
“All of me, or just the Priss parts?” I ask, shocking myself.
Reaching out, he snags my wrist, encircling it with his fingers and then slowly reeling me toward him. “I like you when you’re disarmed, when you’re not playing games, when you’re real. I like your body, I like the way you melt beneath me, and next to me, whenever I have my hands on you. I like how soft you are when you let that hard, practiced shell dissolve. I like that you let me take charge and that you like it too. I don’t want or need anything from you, I just fucking like you Carrigan,” he says, oh so softly, his lips a hairs breath away from mine.
“I—”
His lips press against mine before I can speak again and he kisses me, slowly moving his mouth against mine in a way that’s different to the others we’ve shared. This kiss isn’t about lust or want, it feels more indulgent, like he’s kissing me just because he likes me and he wants to and I don’t ever want it to stop.
The noise of a throat being cleared shatters the moment and I go to lur
ch away from him, but he doesn’t let me, kissing me for a moment longer before he slowly pulls his lips from mine, still holding me close as he turns his attention to Fitzy.
“You ready to pick some clothes?” Fitzy says, with a smirk.
“Sure,” I say, with a nod, reluctantly stepping away from Carson.
Fitzy sets up a large screen in the corner of the living room area and motions for me to step behind it. “Okay, Carson told me your size, and I’m a pretty good judge, so I think these should fit,” he says, handing me a bra and panties set made of pale blue satin, edged with soft lace.
It’s not a color I’d normally wear, but once it’s on I love the way it looks against my skin and I’m amazed to find it fits perfectly.
“Right, since we spoke about dresses I thought we could start there,” Fitzy says from the other side of the screen a moment before a garment bag appears.
Unzipping it I pull out a deep emerald green dress and slip it over my head. Fitted around my torso, it has capped sleeves and flares slightly from the waist with a triangular cut out section that reveals a small glimpse of the skin between my breasts and stomach. It’s exactly something my mom would choose.
“How does it fit?” he asks.
“It’s fits perfectly,” I say and it does.
“Can I see?” he asks.
Stepping out from behind the screen I find Fitzy waiting a few paces away and Carson sat on the couch, a beer in hand, his eyes on me.
“What do you think?” Fitzy asks, pulling my attention back to him.
“It’s nice,” I say noncommittally.
“Nice,” Fitzy says, rolling the word across his tongue. “So it’s a no?”
“No. I don’t know. What do you think?” I ask him.
His eyes go sad and he crosses toward me, wrapping me in an unexpected hug. His build is much leaner than Carson’s but still solid and firm. When he pulls back he doesn’t release me completely, his fingers running along the end of my braid. “Oh sweet girl,” he coos.
