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Chapter Text

If there was one word that described Zoey Clarke, it was practical. Naturally, she’d heard a smattering of similarly defined words over the course of her life. Grounded. Level-headed. Pragmatic. But even her third grade teacher had noted in her report card, “Zoey is very bright and focused in class. She’s practical in her approach to problem-solving and eager to learn new subjects. However, she can seem shy and withdrawn and needs to work on building relationships with fellow students.”

If she was being honest with herself, those same words could describe her today, as an adult. She still liked to think of herself as bright, focused, practical, and eager to learn. But she never had been very good at connecting with other people. Perhaps that was why she was so good at her job. Computer code was a language that she understood. Interpersonal relationships, on the other hand? Remained a mystery to her.

Which wasn’t to say she was entirely antisocial. She was loyal in her friendships, few though they were. There was Mo, her best friend – and neighbor across the hall – and Eddie, Mo’s boyfriend. Eddie was what Mo referred to as the “strong, silent type,” and Zoey figured she’d known Eddie for three months before she’d heard a word out of him. However, when she got through his initial reserve, she’d quickly found him to be funny, charming, witty, and genuine, with a romantic streak a mile wide when it came to Mo. Seeing the two of them together, Zoey couldn’t imagine anyone ever making her best friend happier. In fact, the pair were currently incommunicado, Eddie having spirited Mo away to spend the holidays on a cruise with his family. Mo had been equal parts excited and terrified that their relationship was taking that next, crucial step, and Zoey hoped his nerves had subsided and they were having a wonderful time.

Last but not least in her affections, there was Tobin, who she’d met in first day orientation at SPRQ Point. His laid-back personality had initially set her on edge, and it had taken a couple of years for her to realize he used humor to hide a warm, generous heart. Over time, he’d become like a little brother to her, his presence so familiar she almost couldn’t remember what her life had been like without him in it. Eventually, Zoey had abandoned SPRQ Point to form a company of her own, recruiting Tobin to join her a few months later. Reality Bytes was her baby, and Zoey knew all they needed was a little luck, and she’d put their names on the map.

Which brought them to the issue at hand. “You’re the one who’s always saying we need to get our names out there. Well, this is your chance!” Tobin was arguing, thrusting a large envelope toward her. “Are you really going to turn this down?”

“Yes!” she replied, shying away from the envelope as though it were a venomous snake. “This isn’t what I meant!” Taking a step back, she gestured vaguely with one hand. “I meant we just need the right person to take an interest in our tech. I did not mean I wanted to participate in some ridiculous contest in front of, you know, other people.”

Tobin rolled his eyes at her. “You can’t hide behind your computer forever.”

“Oh yeah? Try me!” Grabbing the envelope out of his hand, she ran her finger along at the elaborate R seal pressed into the high-quality paper before turning and tossing it into the trash. “We aren’t doing this. I’m not doing this,” she declared with an air of finality that she hoped Tobin would take seriously. “Anyway, the contest starts on Friday. That’s nowhere near enough time.”

To her frustration, he didn’t seem ready to let it go. “We’d fly to New York on Thursday. Then you’d have three days to do some sightseeing or buy duty free Christmas gifts or something. I’m sure if we look hard enough, we could probably find some really boring lectures or seminars going on in New York that you could attend over the weekend. The actual contest isn’t until next week. That’s plenty of time!”

For just a second, she felt her resolve begin to waver. She did love a good seminar. But, no. Her aversion to making a public spectacle of herself outweighed her love for lectures and agendas and color coded notes. Barely. “I’m still not doing it,” she declared, turning back toward her desk.

She stopped in her tracks when she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder, and she turned to see his eyes filled with concern. “I know this is a little out of your comfort zone, but…you’ve never been good with new people, but you used to at least try. You’d try new things, take chances every once in a while. Ever since you broke up with Simon, you’ve closed yourself off from the world. I’m worried about you, Zozo.”

“Don’t call me Zozo,” she protested weakly, though she knew he wouldn’t listen and, in all honesty, she didn’t mind the affectionate nickname. “Look it’s…it’s not that easy. Simon and I were together for three years. I thought we’d get—” she let her voice trail off, giving her head a firm shake. She had to stop thinking about Simon and the future together that had apparently had never been as clearly mapped out in his mind as it had been in hers. “Christmas was a special time for us, you know? It just isn’t that easy to put that in the past.”

His voice was gentle, his eyes kind, as he pressed, “I know, but it’s been almost a year. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

Her eyes dropped to her keyboard as pictures of the future she’d once thought she’d have paraded through her mind. “I can’t. Not yet.” Pressing his lips together, he gave his head a small, sad shake and turned away, leaving her to the ghosts of her unrealized dreams.

A few hours later, she juggled her cup of coffee in one hand and her takeout dinner in the other as she pushed the door to the café open with her hip, her thoughts turned to the To Do list she was already mentally preparing for the next day. She didn’t register the identity of the man on the other side of the door, reaching for the handle, until she almost barreled into him.

“Simon!” she gasped, jerking back with enough force to slosh some coffee onto her sleeve. She barely noticed, however, as she silently prayed that she looked more put-together than she felt. Part of her wished she could run a hand over her hair to make sure it was in place, but that would only betray her anxiety, so perhaps it was best that her hands were full.

For one moment that probably lasted only a couple of seconds but felt like an eternity, their eyes met, and her heart skipped a beat. Then he smiled, and she remembered why she’d fallen for him to begin with. God, he looked good, in his white turtleneck sweater and dove grey slacks. But, then, he’d always looked good.

“Zoey! Hey!” he said, reaching out to place a hand on her arm as he shifted the two of them to the side to get out of the doorway. “You know I was just thinking about you the other day. You look…wow. You look amazing. How’s your family?”

Zoey felt like a lovesick teenager as she blushed and smiled, basking in the warmth of his gaze. She wasn’t the superstitious type, never putting much stock into so-called “signs.” But maybe she’d been rash in casting them aside out of hand. Running into Simon like this – at Christmas, no less, when they’d shared so many wonderful holidays together – couldn’t just be a coincidence. Was the universe trying to send her some kind of sign that they belonged together?

“Babe, there you are! Sorry I’m late,” a woman called, jogging up behind him. “I can’t believe how bad traffic was getting out of work today!”

Simon turned at the lilting voice with its soft English accent, his smile widening. The woman who approached was stunning, and she didn’t need to run her hand down her hair to make sure it was in place. Zoey doubted it would dare mar her physical perfection by being otherwise. Heedless of her thoughts, Simon leaned in to press a kiss against the stranger’s lips. “Not a problem. I just got here myself,” he reassured her.

Lost in their own little world, Zoey might as well have not even been there, for all that they took notice of her. Just when she was wondering if she should discretely back away, the woman detached her lips from his and turned to face her with a polite smile. “Oh, I’m sorry. We’re being incredibly rude. I’m Jessica,” she introduced herself.

She was even more beautiful upon reflection than she’d seemed in that first, quick glimpse Zoey had gotten of her before Simon had blocked her face with his head and his lips and his tongue, and Zoey’s heart dropped to her stomach. Both gave a ferocious twist that left her feeling slightly nauseated when a gust of wind whipped around them, blowing her perfect hair into her even more perfect face, and Zoey saw the glint of a diamond band on her finger when she lifted her hand to brush her hair back again.

“I’m – I’m Zoey,” she introduced herself in turn, pressing the hand holding her coffee cup against her stomach.

She expected some sort of reaction from Jessica upon hearing the name of Simon’s ex, but from the blank look on her face, Zoey could tell that she’d never heard her name before. How was that even possible? They’d been together for three years and he didn’t find her significant enough of a footnote in the story of his life to mention her to his fiancée?

“Do the two of you work together?” Jessica asked politely.

“We used to,” Zoey offered, just as Simon explained, “No, uh, we used to date, actually.” She’d always thought their relationship was a bit more serious than that sounded, but what did she know? She’d also once thought she’d be the woman with Simon’s engagement ring on her finger, and look how that had turned out.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Your mom keeps texting me to ask what kind of dessert we want for Christmas dinner. If you don’t text her back soon, she’s probably going to send us home with six pies and I’ll never fit into my pants again!”

Trying to hide her aching heart, Zoey forced herself to smile and attempted to keep her tone light as she replied, “I doubt that!” Jessica could probably throw back ten pies and still look as flawless as she did now. Damn it.

As though her voice had reminded him of her presence, Simon turned back to face her as he looped one arm around Jessica’s waist. “So, uh, are you doing anything for Christmas?” he asked awkwardly.

“Who, me? Oh. Um. Yes, actually,” she lied. She normally spent Christmas with her mom, but she was flying to Chicago to spend the holiday with Zoey’s brother David and his wife Emily. Zoey had been invited as well, of course, but she’d demurred, reluctant to take that much time away from work. “I’m…going to be in New York. The Women in STEM Leadership Council holds an annual coding competition. It’s funded by the Richman family. Very exclusive. Invitation only. And I’ve been invited to participate! So, uh, you know, I should really get going. I have a lot of packing to do.” Backing away, she added, “It was nice to meet you, Jessica. See you around, Simon.” Somehow, she managed not to let her smile fall until she’d turned away, and her face was no longer in view.

Chapter Text

Zoey was running on airport food and too many cups of coffee when she collapsed on the queen-sized bed in her hotel room, letting her body sink into the plush down comforter with a sigh. She had about a half hour before she could check in at the registration desk to verify her arrival for the competition, so she pulled out her phone and ran through everything she knew about the contest.

Though held under the banner of The Women in STEM Leadership Council, it had been the worst kept secret in tech circles for years that the annual competition was funded entirely by Andrew and Abigail Richman. They’d finally acknowledged their part in the competition, agreeing to allow their names to be included on the invitations, but they revealed very little information about their involvement in the Council otherwise. For a couple that was often in the headlines, Zoey had been able to find surprisingly little concrete information about them.

What was public knowledge was that Abigail and Andrew Richman came from a long line of politicians and old money. Some said that, next to the Kennedys, the Richmans had once been the closest the country had come to American royalty. Which is why it had caused quite the stir when, as newlyweds, the pair had eschewed the political sphere and launched their own tech company instead.

Their change in direction hadn’t moved the two out of the spotlight, and they’d been the undisputed rulers of the New York social set for almost a decade, until the unthinkable happened. Once blessed with two sons very close in age, their eldest child died unexpectedly at the age of eight. What should have been a very private time of mourning became a garishly public affair, with paparazzi going so far as to crash the funeral to take photos of the grieving couple. In response, Andrew and Abigail took their surviving son, Maxwell, and retreated from the public eye.

However, while the pair might have turned their backs on public life, the public hadn’t reciprocated the sentiment. On the contrary, their newfound elusiveness only added to their mystique. Tabloids remained fascinated by the family, reporting (and inflating) their every move. Eventually, the Richmans had stepped out of semi-retirement and back into the spotlight, this time to draw attention to various causes and charities that had their support. While Abigail and Andrew remained media darlings, the public’s love affair with the family had gradually transferred to their son, Maxwell. He had headed more than one Most Eligible Bachelor list, and details of his various exploits, as well as the beginnings and endings of his numerous relationships, were splashed across the front page of gossip rags.

She was about to close her browser when she remembered that Abigail always presented the prize to the winner of the competition, and there was a good chance Zoey would embarrass herself by not recognizing one of the country’s most famous faces. So, with a slight frown, she pulled up a recent photo of the family. Along with the picture, she saw a headline announcing that this particular bachelor may not remain for much longer. Maxwell was to be married to fellow socialite Sophia Cunningham on New Year’s Day, although no paper yet had secured a recent photo of the Bride-to-Be, who was apparently camera shy.

Gazing critically at the elder Richmans, Zoey noted the practiced smiles of those who had long been used to putting forth a certain image for public consumption. She also noticed the protective arm Andrew had around his wife, as well as the way her body was turned slightly to the side, away from the camera’s eye.

On Abigail’s other side was a man about Zoey’s age, who she assumed to be the future groom in question, and she gazed at his image with a critical eye. Though he strongly resembled his father, she noticed he had his mother’s eyes. She supposed she could also see why gossip rags assumed more than one heart had been broken by word he was soon to be permanently off the market, with his windblown hair that looked like it probably had the tendency to curl. But his smile was tight, his posture rigid, making him appear serious and reserved. Stodgy, even.

Though Zoey supposed he could be as stodgy as he wanted; it had nothing to do with her. If she was lucky enough to be a top three finalist in the coding competition, she might get close enough to Abigail Richman to be able to pick her out of a crowd. She was highly unlikely to get a glimpse of either Andrew or Maxwell.

With a quick glance at the time, she realized that the registration desk should be about to open, and so she put all thoughts of the Richman family out of her mind as she rushed to grab Tobin and head downstairs. When they had finished taking care of business, she planned to grab a bite to eat that didn’t come out of a Grab and Go cooler at an airport terminal.

A little less than an hour later, Zoey was almost faint with hunger, but she had ignored the rumbling in her stomach and stopped on her way to registration just long enough to grab a tall cup of coffee. Now she was walking through the venue, having confirmed her attendance, to ensure that she had everything she would need for the competition. She didn’t know yet what the challenge would be; they would be presented with the assignment the morning of the contest, and she and Tobin would have six hours to formulate a project and write sufficient code to prove its feasibility. But even without the particulars, there were some basics she knew she would need, and she had known she wouldn’t sleep well until she’d made sure everything was in place.

Although Tobin had been patient enough at the start of the tour, he had grown increasingly exasperated as he, too, was hungry for a proper meal. He called out to Zoey to hurry and she turned to promise him she needed just two more minutes and she would be ready to go. However, fatigued from her flight, faint from hunger, and shaky from an excess of caffeine on an otherwise mostly empty stomach, Zoey didn’t notice the edge of the table until she crashed into it, bruising her hip and spilling her cup of coffee down her chest. Muttering a soft curse, she brushed ineffectually at the stain before throwing Tobin a rueful sigh.

“Okay, okay. I know, you’re dying for food. But I can’t go around like this. Why don’t you head to the restaurant and grab us a table, and I’ll just run up to my room to change? It’ll only take me a couple minutes, I promise.” Her friend begrudgingly agreed, and so she raced to the elevator bay, stabbing the button repeatedly with one finger as though her insistence would rush it along. The doors slid open, and Zoey raced inside, only belatedly realizing the woman inside was trying to exit at the same time.

The two collided, Zoey staggering backwards a couple steps and reaching out to steady the stranger, who had made a soft sound of dismay as she listed to the side. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, stooping to retrieve the pair of sunglasses the other woman had been lifting to her face to slide on at the time of the accident. “I was in a hurry, and I didn’t see – oh my god.”

Her apology broke off mid-stream when she straightened and caught her first full glance of her elevator companion. In many ways, looking into this stranger’s face was like looking into a mirror. The stranger looked a bit more put-together, perhaps, with her makeup somewhat more deftly applied and her hair perfectly quaffed, without a strand out of place. It went without saying that she also didn’t have a huge coffee stain on her blouse. But other than that, they could have been twins.

Neither woman seemed to notice as the doors slid shut behind them, trapping the two together in the enclosed space. The elevator itself didn’t move, since neither of them had hit the button, but they didn’t notice that either. They were too busy staring in amazement at each other. “Who…are you?” Zoey finally managed.

“Sophia Cunningham,” the other woman greeted her, her gaze sweeping across Zoey’s features like she still couldn’t believe her eyes. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t immediately put her finger on why. “And you are?”

“Zoey. Zoey Clarke,” she replied, before letting out a soft cry of astonishment as she finally remembered where she had read the name. “I was just reading about your engagement in the paper!” Realizing how that might sound, she flushed. “I don’t – not like this was planned or anything. I-I’m part of this coding competition. Women in STEM? It’s sponsored by the Richman family, so I just—”

“I understand,” Sophia cut her off. “So you’re a coder?” At Zoey’s nod, she pressed a finger to her lower lip. “Perhaps you can help me. As you say, I’m getting married to Maxwell on New Year’s Day. I’ve been trying to think of something to give him as a gift, but I don’t know anything about computers. Would you be willing to take some time to talk over some ideas?”

Sophia’s voice was smooth and confident, with the faint traces of an accent, particularly in her vowels. It colored her speech very little, as though she had acquired the accent through years spent studying overseas, as opposed to being the result of her upbringing. It was lovely, plucking at the edges of Zoey’s consciousness as she tried to identify its exact origin, distracting her momentarily so that her response was delayed. “What? Oh! Yeah, no problem! I need to get something to eat, and then I was going to do some window shopping, but I’m sure my friend would be happy to go without me when I tell him I have an appointment with—”

“No, please, you can’t tell him about our meeting.” At Zoey’s look of dismay, Sophia explained, “Our engagement has attracted so much publicity, but I want this to be…private. There are some things that should remain between a husband and wife. Don’t you think?”

“Who, me? Uh…sure. I guess so,” she replied, her brain still too preoccupied by the eeriness of the sight in front of her to be operating on all cylinders.

Sophia smiled in appreciation of her agreement, pulling a small notebook and pen out of her purse as she explained, “I’m staying with Maxwell’s family until the wedding, but they have plans this evening, so they won’t be at home. Could you come by about six o’clock? I’ll send a car for you, since their house is about an hour from the city. This is the address, just in case.” Before Zoey could balk at the distance, she rushed to say, “I know it’s a bit of a hike, but I would really appreciate your help.”

“Um, sure,” Zoey replied numbly, taking the piece of paper and slipping it into her pocket. She hadn’t really been looking forward to braving the New York crowds to do Christmas shopping anyway. “Wait, this isn’t going to interfere with the contest, will it? I don’t want it to seem like I’m cheating or anything.”

Sophia shook her head. “I have absolutely nothing to do with the competition, and if everything goes according to plan, Abigail will never even know that we’ve met. I promise.”

Relieved, Zoey nodded. “All right, then. Let me grab some food and I’ll come see you.” Forgetting about her stained shirt, she hit the button to open the elevator doors and stepped into the hotel lobby. Meanwhile, Sophia slid her sunglasses into place and lifted a scarf to cover her hair, and then the two women exchanged secretive smiles as they parted ways.

Chapter Text

“Okay, so what sort of thing were you thinking about getting for your fiancé? Depending on what it is, I may not be the person to ask, but I can probably point you in the right direction—”

Her companion grimaced slightly as Zoey took a seat. Though they were meeting in Sophia’s bedroom, the room in question was bigger than Zoey’s entire apartment in San Francisco. “I have to be honest with you. I didn’t really ask you here to ask for your help with a wedding gift. I have something rather…different in mind.” A frown of confusion creased Zoey’s brow as Sophia struggled to find the words to explain. “It is true that Maxwell and I are to be married on New Year’s Day. It’s for the best, and I’ve always known what is expected of me. But I…” Her voice trailed off as she considered how to continue. “You have to understand. My entire life has been laid out for me from the moment I was born. Or even before, since my mother was still in her first trimester when they enrolled me in a very exclusive, very private preschool. I’ve never known what it is to lead a normal life. Before I get married, I would…I just want to know what that’s like.”

This explanation clarified nothing for Zoey. “You want me to explain to you what it’s like to…be…normal? Because I’m really not sure I’m the right person for the job.” She always joked that she’d gone into coding because she was uncomfortable with basically everything, so she was probably the last person in the world who should tutor anyone on leading a so-called normal life.

Sophia shook her head. “Not exactly. I want to be you.”

Zoey let out a disbelieving chuckle, looking at her companion as though she was waiting for the punchline. “Okay, well, that’s officially ridiculous. I have a competition on Monday, and don’t you think someone would notice? I mean, your fiancé would surely realize something weird was going on.”

Sophia was undeterred by her skepticism. “It would just be for a couple of days; I promise you’d be back in time! And as for Maxwell, he’ll be in Seattle the next two days on business. You won’t even see him! You would just be expected to have breakfast with his parents in the morning, and you’d have the rest of the day to yourself. I could find out what it’s like to not have every minute of one’s life planned out, and you could—”

When her voice trailed off once more, Zoey prompted, “I could—?”

“If there’s anything I can do for you, all you need to do is ask.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, she leaned back in her chair. It truly was the most absurd suggestion she’d ever heard. On the other hand, Sophia’s suggestion reminded her that there was one thing she wanted, but it had seemed too out of reach for her to even think about before. “I don’t suppose you know anyone at the New York Conservatory of Dance? I have a friend, Eddie, who was admitted to the program, but he’s had to defer admission. The tuition is a little steep, and he just wasn’t able to afford it.”

Sophia gave her a thoughtful smile. “The school president is an old family friend. I could give him a call. I’m sure they have a few scholarship opportunities available.”

Zoey sucked in a deep breath. In the back of her mind, she hard Tobin’s voice, chiding her that she had closed herself off from the world – from trying new things – ever since her breakup with Simon. It was the tiny push forward she needed, causing her to give Sophia’s plan more consideration than she otherwise would have done.

Maybe she was still loopy from lack of sleep and excessive caffeine, but the suggestion no longer seemed so outlandish. Or, rather, the absurdity of the proposed scheme was outweighed by the knowledge that this was the one chance for Zoey to do something for one of her best friends. She highly doubted either Eddie or Mo would be able to raise the funds for the course otherwise. Before she could let talk herself into a more rational frame of mind, she said dubiously, “All right. I guess. What could it hurt?”

Sophia let out a tiny shriek of excitement as she grabbed Zoey’s hand and pulled her to her feet, dragging her toward the nearby dressing table. “Excellent! Now, if we’re going to pull this off, there are a couple of things we’ll need to do…”

A short while later, the transformation was complete. Zoey’s hair had been trimmed, smoothed, and shellacked into place with a staggering amount of hairspray. Her makeup had been retouched, and the two women had swapped clothes as they traded the details of their lives that seemed most critical for the plan to succeed. They practiced each other’s accents and intonation, eventually reaching fair approximations of the originals.

But they lingered, knowing that the moment Sophia stepped across the threshold, they would be committed to their course of action. It was a little exciting, if Zoey was being honest. Certainly, it was the most reckless thing she’d ever done. But that also made it a little intimidating, and so she was equal parts eager and reluctant to let the other woman leave. “So,” she began slowly. “I guess this is it.”

“You can do this,” Sophia reassured her. “I believe in you. And remember, it’s just for two days. I’ll be back by—”

Before she could finish, there was a knock on the door, and Sophia and Zoey exchanged startled looks that transformed to alarm when they heard a voice filter through the solid panel. “Sophia? Are you there?”

“Maxwell!” the woman in question gasped, looking around desperately for a place to hide. “He can’t find me here!”  Then, darting toward the bed, she threw herself onto the ground and started to scoot under the heavy piece of oak furniture.

“Wait! No! I can’t do this!” Zoey hissed desperately. Then, more loudly, she mimicked Sophia’s voice as she called, “Just a moment!” It was all well and good to agree to take someone’s place, but an amusing theoretical exercise became a terrifying reality when one found one’s supposed fiancé on the other side of a door, less than three feet away.

The real Sophia’s voice was muffled as she hissed from her hiding spot. “You’ll be fine! If we’re going to do this, you’ll have to start sometime!”

Zoey was briefly tempted to reach under the bed to pull her reluctant doppelgänger back out to face the music, but another knock on the door forestalled her. “I – you said he wouldn’t – damn it!” she growled under her breath, turning to answer.

“Wait!” Sophia blurted in an undertone, giving Zoey a fleeting sense of hope that she had changed her mind. Instead, she turned just in time to see a glint of something tumble across the carpet as it was flung from under the bed. Stooping, she picked it up and realized it was an engagement ring.

“You can lift your hand with this thing on?” she demanded incredulously.

“Just put it on!” Sophia ordered, even as a third knock came on the door.

“Sophia? Is everything okay?” Maxwell called from the hall.

Zoey hesitated for one moment more, looking from the door to the bed and back to the door again. Then she shot a last-ditch glance of longing at the window, but her tentative escape plan was thwarted when she realized they were on the third floor. The fall would probably kill her. She still wasn’t entirely sure that wasn’t preferable to what she was about to do, but the way her luck was going, it would take her too long to figure out how to open the window, anyway.

Without a better option, she supposed she might as well answer the door. Sucking in a deep breath, she grabbed the handle and yanked it open. Reminding herself to speak with Sophia’s slightly emphasized vowels, she began, “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. I was ju-oh!”

She broke off with a soft exclamation of surprise when she saw the man in the hallway. Maxwell. Her supposed fiancé. She recognized him immediately from the pictures online, of course, but his photos had not done him justice.

To put it bluntly, he was one of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. He was taller than she’d expected, towering over her – though with her short stature, that wasn’t saying much. Her first thought was that her suspicions had been correct – his hair definitely had a tendency to curl, and it did so now, falling over his forehead in a way that made her fingers itch to brush it back. His lips had been pressed tightly together in a concerned grimace, a line creasing the skin between his brows, but both relaxed when he caught sight of her. But it was his eyes that drew her in, even as they intimidated her, making her fear that they would see too much.

Oh, indeed.

“Is everything okay?” he asked as she leaned forward slightly, giving a tentative sniff. Yes, he actually managed to smell as good as he looked, and Zoey felt her knees turn to jelly. Though he was (mercifully) unconscious of her thoughts, Maxwell’s eyes narrowed slightly as they swept over her, as though looking for anything amiss. Although she braced herself for the inevitable discovery that she was, in fact, not his fiancée, much to her surprise, he didn’t immediately raise the alarm. He didn’t even seem to notice, in fact, waiting instead for an explanation she didn’t even begin to have.

As the expectant pause grew between them, Zoey’s brain finally kicked back in and she scrambled to find an excuse. “Yes!” she blurted loudly before taking a deep breath and reminding herself to speak with Sophia’s more measured tones. She tried again. “Yes. Of course. I was…changing clothes. I didn’t want you to see me until I was decent.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, his head tilting to the side as he threw her a perplexed look. “Really? That looks like what you were wearing at breakfast.”

Right. She should have realized he would have seen his fiancée earlier that day. They were basically living together, after all. “Oh, it is,” she agreed with false gravity as she wracked her brain for a way out of her predicament. “I…changed back. I decided I liked what I was wearing after all.”

Surely, he would realize there was something wrong with her now. Though Zoey didn’t know Sophia well, she had no reason to believe the woman was as flighty and capricious as she was making her currently sound. She darted a quick glance toward the bed, praying for salvation, but it didn’t come.

“Ah,” he replied as though he was willing to pretend that explained everything, when Zoey suspected that he knew – as she did – that it didn’t explain anything at all. “Well, I’m sorry to, uh, disturb you. I wanted to come see you before I head out, to apologize for my absence over the next few days. I wouldn’t go if it wasn’t necessary.”

“Yes, of course. I completely understand,” she said with a smile. Little did he know that she not only understood, she was downright grateful for his absence. It was perhaps the only way that she’d manage to avoid her ruse being discovered immediately. At the thought, her gaze darted unconsciously toward Sophia’s hiding spot once more.

Maxwell had apparently followed her gaze, because she heard him ask, “Is there something wrong with the bed? If it’s uncomfortable, I could have it replaced or—”

She turned back to him just in time to see him straighten, making her afraid he intended to investigate the item of furniture personally, which might lead to the discovery of her doppelgänger. “No!” she cried, shifting to block his path. “The bed is…perfect, actually. Exceedingly comfortable.” Was she overdoing it in her attempts to mimic Sophia? The other woman was proper, but she wasn’t taking tea with the Queen formal. Normal people said exceedingly, right? “I was just thinking that, um, you should try it out sometime.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt her eyes widen in horror and a blush sweep up her chest to her face at the implication. “I-I mean…alone. You should try it out alone. Without me. Or-or anyone.” She clapped a hand over her mouth to stop it from continuing to run on without the assistance of her brain. Then, pressing her lips together, she shifted her hand to cup her chin instead, attempting a thoughtful expression to hide the dismay she currently felt.

Was that making it worse? As far as he was concerned, they were to be married, which means they would ostensibly share a bed. Would he now think his bride-to-be was telling him she didn’t want to share a bed with him when they were married? Was she unintentionally obliterating Sophia’s engagement within minutes of assuming her role? And which was worse –giving Maxwell the impression she couldn’t wait to go to bed with him right now, immediately, when there was absolutely no chance she planned to take the impersonation that far? Or leaving him with the impression his bride-to-be didn’t want to touch him with a ten-foot pole?

His eyes had flown to hers when she made her initial suggestion, and they stared at each other with a long, awkward silence until he said, “Oh. Uh, I’ll keep that in mind.” In an attempt to forestall future humiliation, Zoey kept her lips pressed tightly together and nodded. “Anyway, I– uh – wanted to apologize. Like I said.”

“It’s all right. I completely understand. Have a safe trip, and I’ll see you upon your return” she blurted with a tight smile as she closed the door in his face. At least, Sophia would see him upon his return, which meant she wouldn’t have the opportunity to humiliate herself in front of him again. Thank god.

She could only imagine what Sophia thought of her hatchet job, she chided herself with a wince. Though she was tempted to join the other woman under the bed, where she thought she might remain for the next two days, her twin scrambled out of her hiding spot and threw her a wide smile. “That was amazing!”

Zoey thought the only thing amazing was Sophia’s enthusiasm and lack of alarm in the face of her abject humiliation. “Don’t you mean a disaster?” she retorted. “I just want you to know, I wasn’t trying to seduce your fiancé or anything. I swear. I would never. I just panicked. I mean, thank god he didn’t take me up on the suggestion because I don’t know what I would have done—”

Sophia waved her hand in a nonchalant gesture. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that. Maxwell and I haven’t…that is, we aren’t…” Stymied by exactly how to explain what they hadn’t and weren’t, she sucked in a deep breath and squared her shoulders. “If you want to know the truth, while we’ve corresponded via e-mail for about six months, we only really met in person twice before our engagement. Our relationship hasn’t really progressed to that stage yet. He’s a little too…strait-laced for that.”

“I…but…I don’t understand. You’re getting married to a man you only met twice?” she asked, dumbfounded.

The other woman shrugged. “As I said, my life has been planned out for me from the day I was born. It’s a marriage of convenience, really – it’s logical from a financial and social sense for us to marry. Frankly, it makes a lot of business sense too, given the companies our families own.” Seeing that Zoey’s appalled look hadn’t abated, she rushed to reassure her, “It’s all right, you know. Neither of us is going into this with any romantic illusions. But all this to say, you probably won’t see Maxwell again, but you wouldn’t have to worry he would get the wrong impression, even if you did. Our marriage will be – ah – real, but I suspect neither of us is overly eager to take it to that level before the wedding.”

“Oh,” she replied dumbly, Sophia having just described a marriage that was unlike anything she had ever encountered – certainly one that was vastly different than that which her parents had shared.

While Zoey was still reeling, Sophia took advantage of her confusion, reaching forward to pull her into a quick hug. “You’re going to be amazing; I can tell. I can’t thank you enough for this.” She turned to leave and then hesitated. “Oh. One more thing. We should probably switch phones. You know, if we don’t want to raise suspicion.”

“Uh, right,” Zoey agreed, having to force herself to hand it over. Her entire life was in that thing. Luckily for them (or she supposed it was lucky, at least), there was no need to memorize security codes, since the facial recognition technology apparently couldn’t distinguish between them, either. And with that, the transformation was complete.

“If you need anything, you’ve got my – that is, your – number. You can also ask Thomas, your driver from earlier. I trust him, and I’ll make sure he’s filled in on everything. Otherwise, I’ll see you in two days,” Sophia reassured her one last time. Then she ducked into the hall, letting the door shut behind her, and Zoey let out a long breath.

There was no going back now. For the next couple of days, she was no longer Zoey Clarke but Sophia Cunningham, Maxwell Richman’s camera-shy fiancée. She could only thank her lucky stars (for at least the third time) that he was leaving town, for both the sake of her ruse and, perhaps, her hormones. As it was, they’d only spoken for a couple minutes, and her heart still hadn’t stopped racing from their brief encounter. She hated to think what would happen to her if she had remained in his company much longer.

Chapter Text

“Good morning! Hello, Andrew. You’re looking very well this morning, Abigail,” she murmured under her breath, practicing Sophia’s intonation to make sure she was confident in her ability to recreate it properly before heading down to breakfast. This would be the first real test of her acting skills, and she was nervous about her ability to pull it off.

The clock chimed, prompting Zoey into action; she’d been told the Richman patriarch was a firm believer in punctuality and didn’t want to mar their opinion of their future daughter-in-law more than was probably inevitable under the circumstances. Silently repeating the greetings as Sophia would pronounce them, Zoey hoped the trembling in her hand wasn’t noticeable as she opened her bedroom door and stepped into the hall.

As she headed down the main staircase, she took a momentary respite from her mental rehearsal to cast a silent thanks in Sophia’s direction for having left her a roughly sketched blueprint of the Richmans’ palatial home. Unaware of what was in store for her, Zoey had taken a moment to marvel at the size of their estate when she’d first arrived for her meeting, but she hadn’t bothered to take in too much beyond the general impression that they had a charming home that probably cost more than she would make in her entire lifetime. Now, however, she was in a peculiar situation she never could have anticipated, so every scrap of assistance Sophia could offer her in navigating this strange new world was more than welcome.

When she walked into the sunroom, where the elder Richmans apparently took their breakfast each day, she found Andrew and Abigail already waiting. “Good morning,” she greeted them brightly, her accent slipping just the tiniest bit.

Neither seemed to notice. “Good morning,” Andrew greeted her warmly.

“You’re looking lovely today, dear,” Abigail added.

With slow, measured steps more in keeping with Sophia’s practiced gait than her own laid-back stroll, Zoey approached the table and took her seat.

“So, did you have any plans today?” Maxwell’s father asked as Zoey poured herself a cup of coffee.

Abigail’s expression grew puzzled as Zoey reached for the cream (unfortunately, it was full fat and not the nonfat she preferred, but she didn’t want to be rude and ask for something else) and sugar, adding liberal doses of both to her cup. “When did you start taking cream and sugar in your coffee?”

“What?” Zoey asked, her eyes darting to her cup. Oh. Right. She was pretending to be Sophia. Perhaps she should forego cream and sugar for the sake of the charade, but not even for the sake of her agreement was she willing to make this sacrifice, since she could swear black coffee tasted like it was distilled straight through Satan’s sphincter. “Ah, yes,” she said slowly, choosing her words carefully as she concocted her excuse. “I know I usually skip both for the sake of my diet, but…I simply thought…with the wedding ahead…it seemed like a good time to treat myself.”

The older woman chuckled. “I can’t argue with that excuse!” As she reached to refill her own cup, she added, “I was thinking, if you have time today, we should finalize the plans for the wedding bouquets.”

Zoey nodded. “That sounds lovely,” she agreed. She wasn’t the artist that her mother was, but she knew something about flowers, at least.

“I know wedding plans are important, but I hope you can spare a few minutes for me.” Zoey had been taking a sip of coffee, but she inhaled at the wrong time, coughing as it went down the wrong pipe, when she heard Maxwell’s voice from behind her. “Are you okay?” he asked, stopping by her chair.

“Of course!” she reassured, wiping her mouth. “I’m just…surprised. I thought you were flying to Seattle last night.”

“I was, but I postponed the trip. I realized it would be rude of me to abandon you so close to the wedding. So, with that in mind, I’ve cleared my schedule so we can spend as much time together as possible over the next few days.” He hesitated for a moment and then added in a halting voice, “I…I thought you’d be happy to see me?”

As much time as possible over the next few days? He had to be joking, right? Hadn’t she just decided that two minutes spent in his company had been dangerous enough? And now he wanted to spend as much time as possible with her? How was she supposed to survive this?

Forcing a bright smile even though she felt slightly queasy, Zoey lied, “I am! Of course!” She winced, thinking she really needed to expand her verbal repertoire. She didn’t think she’d said ‘of course’ as many times in her entire life as she had chirped those two little words to him in the last twelve hours.

He smiled, but it looked a bit stiff and uncertain. “Great. Well, then, I’m ready whenever you are. If you want to deal with the flowers first—”

“Don’t be silly!” Abigail interjected, waving his suggestion away with one hand. “We can do that at any time. I have some phone calls to make, anyway, so I’ll catch up with you both later.” She stood to leave the table, gesturing for her husband to follow, and Zoey quickly found herself alone with her supposed fiancé.

Downing the rest of her coffee quickly – and wishing her cup was filled with something a little stronger than the morning brew – she rose to her feet and threw Maxwell a tight smile. “So…I guess I’m all yours! What did you have in mind?”

Walking with her into the hall, he explained, “I thought I could join you for your morning ride. If you don’t mind the company?”

A ride? What kind of a ride? In a car? On a motorcycle? She had no idea, but since it sounded like something Sophia usually did, she could hardly ask. “Of c-that sounds perfect,” she agreed, catching herself in time.

He relaxed slightly. “Great! Well, I guess we should go get changed. I’ll meet you in the stables in ten minutes?”

The stables? That couldn’t mean what she thought it meant, could it? It had to, since she couldn’t think of anything else rich people kept in stables other than horses, but she’d never even touched a horse up-close, let alone ridden one. But since she’d already agreed, she couldn’t think of a way out of this plan, so instead she agreed haltingly, “Yes. I will…go change. And meet you in the stables. For a morning ride. Which I do every day.”

With one last uncertain smile, she turned and headed toward the staircase leading to her room. What clothes was she expected to wear? It seemed to her vaguely that equestrians had a specific wardrobe, but she wasn’t familiar enough with the sport to know what those would be. Coming downstairs in the wrong attire would almost certainly give her away. Then she remembered that Sophia had mentioned Thomas, the Richmans’ driver, would be aware of the plan. She waited until she was out of Maxwell’s sight to dart out to the garage, hoping to meet him there. Much to her relief, he was not only there, he was willing to help, sneaking with her back upstairs to grab the proper outfit – a pair of white pants, high boots, form-fitting black coat, and what looked like a small brimmed helmet.

Swallowing heavily, Zoey adjusted the strap to the helmet, making sure it was secure, as Thomas gave her directions to the stables. Could she manage to fall down and sprain her ankle on her way outside? Was there any way she could get out what she was sure would be a disastrous excursion?

A few minutes later, feigning confidence she didn’t really feel, Zoey strolled into the stables. They were warmer than she’d expected, filled with the scent of fresh hay and horseflesh. A loud snort in a stall to her left made her startle, and she bit back her shriek as Maxwell turned to face her.

“Oh, my god,” she breathed, biting back a sigh of pleasure when she caught sight of him. How did she keep forgetting how attractive he was? She thought she looked a little ridiculous in her tight white pants, but they hugged his thighs in a way that made her mouth go a little dry. Black was definitely his color, and the dark red scarf wrapped around his neck brought a warm glow to his cheeks. Rather frustratingly, he didn’t look even the tiniest bit ridiculous in his matching brimmed black hat.

He’s engaged to another woman, she reminded herself, wrestling her wayward libido under control.

“Ready to get going?” he asked brightly, and when she nodded, he walked to the horse tethered nearby and vaulted easily into the saddle.

“Good god,” Zoey whispered, this time with dread rather than desire as she turned her attention to the groom holding her own horse. It seemed…larger than a horse reasonably should be. She was supposed to ride that?

“Is something wrong?” Maxwell asked, causing her to cringe. She’d seen him twice and made such an ass of herself that he’d had cause to ask her that question at least four times and counting in that short time.

“I’m fine,” she said firmly, striding up to the horse. It shuffled slightly to the side, making her want to scramble backwards, but she forced herself to remain still. Sucking in a deep breath, she did her best to imitate Maxwell’s movements from a few moments before, resting one hand on the pommel and lifting one foot into the stirrup. With a little hop, she tried to launch herself into the saddle, intending to swing her free leg over the horse’s back.

She didn’t quite make it, her foot making contact with the horse’s flank instead, causing it to shy to the side with an indignant snort while she slid backwards, falling down in the dirt.

“Are you okay?” Maxwell cried in concern, jumping off the horse and racing to her side.

Taking his hand, she struggled to her feet. “I’m fine!”

“Are you sure? I thought you were a competitive rider,” he remarked, dusting off the back of her jacket.

She was? Of course she was. “I am!” she lied. “I’m just…a little nervous. Around horses,” she added, in case he thought he was the cause of her anxiety. He was, but she couldn’t let him know that. And anyway, at the moment, she estimated he was only the cause of forty-two percent of her anxiety, with the remainder caused by the enormous horse. “Ever since the incident.”

“The incident?” he asked, leaning in closer as he checked her for injury. Which only served to remind her just how good he smelled. She rested her hand on his arm to brace her weight while he looked her over, managing to temporarily distract herself by the solid strength of the muscles underneath his jacket.

Several seconds later, she realized he was still looking at her, waiting for an answer, and she scrambled to try to remember the question. “Yes. I was kicked,” she babbled, physically restraining herself from leaning in further toward him. Anyway, that sounded like something that might happen. In fact, her horse might be plotting to do so to her now, wanting a taste of revenge. Unable to stop herself from her mindless rambling, she continued, “By a horse. In the head.” In the head? she demanded silently of herself in horror. What even were the words coming out of her mouth, and how could she make them stop?

“In the head?” he asked, his concern escalating into alarm. “When did this happen? I thought you went for a ride every day!”

She inwardly winced, only belatedly remembering that he’d mentioned that before. “I do! It happened yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” he repeated, as though she was horrifying him to the point that he was reduced to parroting her own words back to her. “Why didn’t you tell someone? We should call a doctor—”

Tightening her grip on his arm, she assured him quickly, “I’m fine, really! I saw a doctor yesterday. It wasn’t really a kick; it was more like a…graze? It barely touched my…” Whatever the word for her little helmet thing, she doubted it was ‘little helmet thing’ but it was almost certainly something Sophia would know. Changing course mid-sentence, she said, “M-me. It barely touched me.”

Bracing his hands on either side of her face, Maxwell tilted her head back, gazing deeply into her eyes. Which meant she was gazing into his, and she felt herself sway slightly, moving closer to him once more. Much to her chagrin, she realized a moment later that he wasn’t looking for a romantic moment; he was checking her for a concussion. “Look, we don’t have to do this. We can do something else if you want.”

Blushing at her prior misunderstanding, Zoey pulled away, needing to put some distance between them before she humiliated herself completely. “What? No! This sounds great!” Great? Did rich people educated overseas say things were great, or did they describe things as lovely or smashing or…or…cheerio or something? He didn’t act like she’d said anything amiss, though with the number of times he’d been concerned about her health – both physical and probably mental – in the past twelve hours, she didn’t know how she’d necessarily notice if he did. “I definitely want to do this.” She definitely did not.

Maxwell looked torn. “All right. If you’re sure,” he said dubiously. Walking her back to the horse’s side, he rested his hands on Zoey’s hips. The unexpected contact prompted her into a tiny little shriek as she spun, accidentally elbowing the horse as she turned. The poor animal almost certainly hated her now, letting out a soft, indignant snort.

Shocked by her reaction, he dropped his hands and stepped back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was going to help you up.”

“I-I know,” she reassured him, ducking her face so he wouldn’t see her blush. “I wasn’t upset. I was just…surprised. It’s fine. I’m fine. This is fine.” She had to stop saying fine. Fine and of course were two things that she had to jettison from her vocabulary. As quickly as possible.

Turning around again, she rested her hands on the saddle and waited, this time prepared for the feel of Maxwell’s hands against her hips. She gave a little hop and he lifted her easily, holding her steady as she swung her foot across the horse’s back and settled into the saddle. With gentle hands, he guided her foot into the stirrup and remained by her side until he was assured she was steady. She’d figured she’d have been more distracted by his touch if it wasn’t for her mind-numbing terror at finding herself so impossibly high off the ground. The horse shifted beneath her and she had to press her lips together to muffle the sound of her whimper of fear. Max shot her another quick look, but when she forced her lips into a weak smile, he took the reins from the groom and passed them up to her. “Okay?” he asked one more time.

Zoey gave a sharp nod, her smile so tight she was afraid her face would crack. He put a comforting hand on her knee and, for just a second, she almost let herself forget her imminent demise. Then the horse shifted beneath her again, and she tightened her knees around its sides, holding on for dear life. This wasn’t the time to allow herself to be distracted by Maxwell’s good looks and the curious things he did to her heartrate and ability to breathe. It was the time to pray she didn’t fall and kill herself from now until she got back on solid ground again.

Walking back to his own horse, he vaulted back into the saddle and took the reins from the groom, leading her slowly out into the snow-filled yard and across the field. She let up a tiny prayer of thanks when he kept the gait slow and steady, demonstrating a surprising level of consideration of her real anxiety, even if he was mistaken as to its cause. She let up a slightly more fervent silent prayer of thanks when her horse naturally fell into step beside his own, since it meant she didn’t have to try to figure out how to steer.

They’d been riding for only a short while when he drew them to a stop next to a lake. It was frozen over, flanked on two sides by a grove of ice-covered trees that sparkled in the morning light. He slid off his horse and Zoey was trying to figure out the best way to gracefully follow suit when he came around to her side, lifting his arms to assist.

Resting her palms on his shoulders, Zoey let him help her off the horse, her body falling against his as she slid to the ground. Her knees were jelly when she hit the ground, and she didn’t know if it was from the unaccustomed exercise or if it was caused by his presence. Even when she had regained her feet, however, he didn’t release her, and she found herself unable to let him go in turn, her hands remaining on his shoulders. “Thank you,” she breathed.

“My pleasure.” His face was so close, it would take the tiniest tug to pull him down to her for a kiss. To her disappointment, however, he straightened abruptly and dropped his hands instead. Leading her around the horse, he strolled toward a small white gazebo standing on the bank nearby. “I wanted to bring you here. It’s not at its best at this time of year, but it’s one of my favorite places on the estate.”

“It’s beautiful,” she said honestly, leaning over the railing to get a better look at the lake. “Do you come here often?”

“Only when I need to think,” he admitted.

Turning back to face him, she offered him a small smile. “And what do you come here to think about?”

“Oh, you know. The usual,” he replied, giving his horse’s neck an idle stroke. “Business, mostly.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to bore you,” he said flippantly.

Zoey shrugged. “I wouldn’t find it boring!”

Maxwell remained reluctant. “It’s IT stuff. You know how that is. It’s really technical, and—”

“You don’t think I could understand it?” she asked, feeling her hackles raise. It was a mentality she’d faced her entire career, but that didn’t mean it ever got any easier. Or less insulting.

As though sensing he was wandering into trouble but uncertain where the pitfalls lay, he offered tentatively, “No, it isn’t that! It’s just…you have the whole wedding to plan, and—”

“And so I should focus on things like flowers and dresses because testosterone is necessary to understand technology. I get it.” When he tried to protest again, she adjusted her handle on the reins and said, “You know, it’s getting cold and I don’t really feel like riding anymore. I’m going to head back.”

“Sophia, wait,” he tried again, but she ignored him, focusing instead on mounting the horse without his help – and without falling and killing herself. When she actually (and perhaps even miraculously) managed it, she threw him a smug smile and tugged gently on the reins, imitating what she’d seen Maxwell do earlier to direct the horse back home. She hoped it knew where it was going because she certainly didn’t, but she supposed she could retrace their steps in the snow if it became necessary.

And at least she wouldn’t have to spend another minute in Maxwell’s smug, patronizing company. To think she’d thought she was attracted to him! No matter how attractive his face, it didn’t overcome his insufferable ego. As far as she was concerned, Sophia was welcome to him.

Chapter Text

Later that day, Zoey meandered through the house, looking for something to do. She’d met with Abigail already and had finalized the floral arrangements, and now she found herself at loose ends. After a while, she found herself the library and she strolled by the shelves, glancing at the titles as she passed.

Nothing caught her eye, but a fire was burning in the grate, and Zoey approached, stretching her palms toward its warmth. Being cold was something of a natural condition for her, it seemed. As she stepped up to the hearth, she caught sight of the pictures on the mantle and leaned in to get a closer look.

On the far left was a somewhat blurred photo of two young boys strolling through a field, their backs to the camera. The smaller one had a hold of the taller one’s coat sleeve, their heads mostly obscured by knit caps adorned with fuzzy pom-poms.

“My brother, Lee.” Maxwell’s voice came from the doorway, and she turned to face him. “He died when I was young.”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured softly as he approached.

“It’s all right. You didn’t know. Anyway, I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to apologize for earlier. I was rude and arrogant, and you were right to put me in my place.” He took a second and then explained, “The truth is, I’m not used to depending on other people. It’s been just me for a long time, and I – having someone else to turn to will take some getting used to.”

Frowning slightly, she gave him a considering look. “What about your parents? You can’t depend on them?”

He shrugged, looking at the photograph so he didn’t have to meet her eyes as he spoke haltingly, “I guess I do, but… it really destroyed my parents, losing my brother. They were…different after it happened.” His voice lowered, growing contemplative as he remarked, “It’s funny that I remember that when I barely remember him.” Giving his head a shake, he cleared his throat and continued, “I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. They’ve never compared me to him or anything. But I can’t help but think he would have been the one helping my dad run the company, if he’d survived. So I have to do my best to live up the son they should have had.”

With a sigh, he shoved his hands into the pockets and stared into the fire as he admitted, “The only problem is, that kind of work doesn’t really come that naturally to me. I like a lot of what I do, of course, but I’d rather be writing code than meeting with shareholders or – or analyzing trends reports.” Turning to face her once more, he admitted, “It isn’t that I don’t think you can understand my work. It’s just…sometimes it makes me feel…trapped. I know our engagement is…unusual, but I made you a promise. I told you I would try to make you happy, and I don’t want to ever give you a reason to regret having married me.”

Touched by his honesty, her heart aching for the grief that his words betrayed, Zoey reached out and placed her hand on his. For the first time, she thought she was coming to understand the man behind the tight smile and reserved air captured in photographs. He wasn’t strait-laced, as Sophia had said. He was simply mindful of the heavy weight of responsibility he carried every day. To think she’d once thought he might be stodgy.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. It was a pointless endeavor, since the amount of hairspray coating her hair made it spring back into place immediately after.

“You can ask me anything,” he promised, leaning slightly closer and placing his hand over hers.

Scraping her teeth against her lower lip, she tried to be brave as she asked, “Why are you marrying h-me?” His features rearranged into a slight frown of puzzlement, and she felt the hot flush of embarrassment as she cried, “I’m not judging or anything! It’s not like I can judge you when I’m doing the same thing. But…I mean…look at you! You’re…well, for one thing, you’re a stone-cold fox.”

Maxwell let out a tiny puff of disbelieving laughter. “A stone-cold fox? Really?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you don’t know you’re hot. You own a mirror, don’t you? Plus, I’ve heard a rumor that women been known to swoon when you walk by.”

A slow smile spread across his face, softening the bleak look that had shadowed his eyes. “That’s never been proven, you know,” he joked. “And, anyway, you’re not exactly bad looking yourself.”

Zoey gave her hand a negligent wave. “Sure, but we aren’t talking about me. This is about you. You’re funny, charming, surprising sweet at times, devastatingly handsome—”

“First I’m a stone-cold fox, and now I’m devastatingly handsome? Why haven’t we had this conversation sooner? It’s doing wonders for my ego.”

She rolled her eyes at him good-naturedly. “The point is, you could marry anyone you want. Why me? You barely know me!”

His smile fell as he straightened. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No!” she exclaimed quickly, because while Sophia was eager to explore a so-called “normal” life, she had no reason to suspect the other woman wanted to break her engagement. “I just don’t want you to come to regret our…arrangement or feel like it was just another obligation you had to live up to. Particularly since I think you’d be too nice to try to get out of it if you did.”

“Oh.” Clearing his throat, he glanced away, lifting his hand off of hers to run it through his hair. “You don’t have to worry about that. I won’t regret our marriage. And I suspect I’m marrying for the same reason you’re marrying me. We’re both only children, so we’ll inherit our parents’ companies someday. We both understand what it’s like to have a duty towards our families, to bear a responsibility greater than ourselves. You’ve seen the circus you’ll be marrying into, though I promise to do everything I can to preserve as much privacy as possible. And…I think we’ll get along well enough, which is more than can be said for a lot of people we know.”

“But what about love?” she asked, tilting her head to the side as she regarded him gravely. “Have you ever been in love?”

He lifted one shoulder in an awkward shrug. “Not really. Have you?”

A day before, she would have said yes. She’d been in love once, and losing it had been devastating. But right then, in that moment, she found herself second-guessing that automatic response. Simon was a great guy, truly. But had she really loved him, or had she just loved the life she thought he represented to her? Looking back on all the months that she’d mourned for him, she realized that her grief had always focused on the future she thought she should have had, rather than the past that they’d actually shared. But that future wasn’t real, and neither was her fantasy of a Simon who would have wanted it to be.

She’d been the one to end things, but she’d always thought he’d broken her heart because he’d pushed the issue by saying that he didn’t think the two were on the same page. She was only now beginning to see that he hadn’t broken her heart; he’d set her free by admitting the truth when she wouldn’t. As much as they’d cared for each other, they’d simply wanted different things.

“I…don’t know,” she admitted honestly, a touch of wonder in her voice at both the realization and the fact it had taken so long to sink in, as obvious as it seemed. “I thought I was, once, but now I’m not so sure. But just because you haven’t found it yet doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, right? What if you find it when it’s already too late?”

Maxwell stiffened slightly beside her. “I hope we’ll find…affection, of course. But you don’t have to worry that I’m expecting you to fall in love with me. There are more important things in marriage, don’t you think?”

For some reason, his words made her feel slightly deflated – though she knew that didn’t make an ounce of sense, since it wasn’t like she’d had any thought that he might be as attracted to her as she was to him. Well, that wasn’t quite right. He probably was attracted to her since he was marrying a woman who looked just like her. But it wasn’t like Zoey thought that he would prefer her company to the rich, accomplished woman he was set to marry.

Oh, this was all so confusing.

Her thoughts were wandering down a dangerous path, so she tried to rein them in. “I suppose you’re right; there are more important things. You know, my dad always used to say that burdens are lifted when you share them. I hope you know you can always share them with me,” she said gently. Then she looked away and added, “I am going to be your wife, after all.” It wasn’t her, she reminded herself once more, just to be on the safe side. Maxwell would be getting married, but it wouldn’t be to her.

He smiled down at her, his eyes softening, their expression tender. She was tempted to move in closer, to press her body against his side and lean into his warmth. “Forgive me for earlier?” he asked, his mouth so close that she could feel the brush of air against her cheek. “I was an idiot, and it won’t happen again.”

Heaven help her, but he was tempting. So, in an act of self-preservation, she mentally reiterated her self-admonishment and stepped past him, increasing the distance between their bodies. “I forgive you. This time,” she told him lightly, feeling her heart skip a beat when he grinned at her in response, the expression surprisingly lighthearted for how reserved he’d seemed in all the photographs she’d seen of him online. “So, any thoughts on what you want to do tomorrow?”

“Well, we have the Holiday Ball in the evening. But I was thinking—”

“Ball? We have a ball?” she reiterated, feeling the blood drain from her face.

Maxwell nodded. “Yes. I told you about it last week. Is there a problem?”

“No! No, of course not! I just…I’d forgotten about it, is all. I-I’m not sure I have a suitable dress.” Also, she was pretty sure balls usually had dancing, and she was not an adept dancer.

His face relaxed into a smile once more. “I don’t think you have to worry about that. You’d look stunning in anything. Anyway, I didn’t think I’d be able to make it this year, since I expected to be out of town. But since my schedule opened up, I was looking forward to the two of us going together. I suppose it can be a little dull at times, but my mom looks forward to it every year. And it’s a great way to raise a little extra money for some local charities.”

“Well, that sounds…lovely!” she said with false enthusiasm. She was really going to have to buy herself a thesaurus when all this was said and done. “You know, I should, um, turn in. If we’re attending a ball tomorrow, I’ll need my beauty sleep! Good night, Maxwell.”

His voice was a caress when he murmured in reply, “Good night, Sophia.”

Chapter Text

How could her life – or at least her heart – have changed so much in a day and a half? She pondered the question as she climbed out of bed. It was either extremely late or incredibly early, depending on one’s point of view, the heavy darkness still oppressive outside her bedroom window. Try though she might, she’d found herself unable to sleep. When she was younger and had a restless night, her mother would make her a glass of warm milk. Zoey intended to find the kitchen now, to see if the home remedy would be similarly effective when the worries that plagued her and kept her awake were a bit more serious than the quadratic equations she’d studied in school. She had never before felt so distinctly that her life was spiraling out of her control.

Two days ago, she’d been plain old Zoey Clarke, her life falling into comfortable – and comforting – patterns. She followed the rules, her world revolving around work and family, and never did anything too outlandish or remarkable. When she thought about romance, it was to marvel at the disaster zone her love life tended to be, not just with Simon but with all the men before. Now she was staying in a house that she thought had to be bigger than some castles, impersonating a socialite, and falling in love with the one man in the world who couldn’t possibly ever be hers.

Falling in love? No, it was too soon for that, she told herself. But she was definitely drawn to him. Even though it had only been a day, she felt like she’d known Maxwell forever. Would remember him forever. They had a connection she couldn’t explain. They would only ever share two incredible days together, but she had a feeling she would miss him for the rest of her life.

No point in dwelling over things that couldn’t be changed, she chided herself as she slipped her feet into house slippers, shrugged into the silky robe that matched the nightgown Sophia – and, consequently now, she – regularly wore to bed, and stepped into the hall, wincing when her thighs protested the exercise. There would be no morning horseback ride for her – muscles she hadn’t even been aware she had were still sore from her excursion the day before, and she suspected it would be a full week before she’d be able to sit comfortably again.

Maxwell. She wondered if he’d had more luck falling asleep. Had he thought about her, as he’d drifted off? Was he dreaming about her now? No, don’t go there, she reprimanded herself. Connection or no, he was still engaged to another woman. She’d promised not to tell anyone, including him, the truth about her charade, but even if she hadn’t, she’d still keep her secret. If she told him she was impersonating his fiancée – that he’d opened his heart up to a total stranger and not the woman with whom he intended to spend the rest of his life – he’d hate her for her duplicity.

Restless and plagued by thoughts that ran circles in her mind without getting her anywhere, she didn’t pay as close of attention as she should and realized a little too late that she’d turned left at some point when she should have turned right and found herself nowhere near the kitchen. Turning around, she intended to retrace her steps and try again, but the faint sound of splashing nearby caught her attention.

Curious, she turned again to check it out, realizing from the heavy scent of chlorine in the air that she must be close to the indoor pool. Were one of the Richmans having a late-night swim? If it was Abigail or Andrew, she should definitely leave them to it. But if it was Maxwell…

She shouldn’t care if it was Maxwell. She should absolutely not care if it was Maxwell. He might currently be suffering under the misapprehension that she was his fiancée, but she knew better. No reason to get her heart any more confused than it already was. But even as she told herself she should go back, she found herself moving forward, until she came across a frosted sliding glass door, standing slightly ajar, and pushed it open enough to step through.

There was indeed a figure in the indoor pool, lit from below as it speared through the water, moving closer to her with strong, steady strokes. It was too large to be Abigail, and in the darkness, she told herself it could be Andrew, but in her heart, she knew better. Maxwell.

She waited as though rooted to the spot as he approached the wall and came to a stop, water sluicing off his body as he tucked his feet beneath him and stood. Droplets flew from his hair as he gave his head a hard shake. It was at that moment that he caught sight of her and stilled, staring at her as though he wasn’t sure whether or not to believe his eyes. “Sophia?” he asked, his voice unnaturally loud in the quiet room. “What are you doing here?”

It was fortunate he’d said his fiancée’s name, because if he hadn’t, she might have forgotten her charade and spoken in her regular voice, without the feigned accent. Catching herself only just in time, she replied, “I-I couldn’t sleep. I thought I’d get some warm milk, to see if that would help, but I must have gotten turned around in the dark. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You didn’t disturb me,” he reassured her, placing his hands on the tile edge and using them to lift his body out of the water. The only lights in the room came from the pool, casting shadows that made it impossible to see his full figure, but what she could see still made her mouth go dry. Muscles rippled across his chest as he rose from the water and straightened. “I couldn’t sleep, either, and I was hoping a swim would help.”

Even though she knew he thought she was his fiancée, she still found herself struck by sudden shyness, afraid he would catch her staring. Or perhaps she was afraid of the way her heart raced at the sight of him in nothing but a pair of swimming trunks, droplets of water glistening upon his bare skin. Looking around frantically, she saw a towel hanging from a nearby hook and grabbed it, stepping closer to him only as far as necessary to hand it over.

With a soft murmur of thanks, he reached out to take it, his hand covering hers, and the two of them froze at the contact. He was still holding her hand when her eyes lifted to her face and she breathed, “And did it?”

“Did what?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Help.”

She didn’t know if she moved closer to him or if he moved closer to her, but the space between their bodies had lessened, and he still retained his hold upon her hand. “I don’t know. Unless I’m dreaming right now.”

Ever practical, Zoey pointed out, “I don’t think you’d be so wet if this was just a dream.”

His quick bark of laughter echoed through the room. “You have a point,” he acknowledged. Then his voice lowered as he admitted, “I was thinking about you, you know. That’s why I couldn’t sleep.”

That sounded dangerous. And tempting. “Oh?” she breathed. “Doesn’t sound like they were very pleasant thoughts.”

“They were, I promise,” he reassured her. “I was just thinking that…I had fun today. Well, yesterday, I guess. I had a fun day yesterday. With you.”

Finding temptation too hard to resist, she placed her hands on his bare chest, willing herself to memorize every second of this embrace to carry as a cherished secret for the rest of her life. Heedless of the damp, she stepped toward him, until the silky fabric of her skirt brushed against his wet legs.

She was leaning in for a kiss when the corner of his mouth lifted, curving into a mischievous smile that caused her heart to stutter in her chest. “Thank you for agreeing to marry me, Sophia Cunningham.”

She froze. Her rational mind had known he wasn’t talking to her, of course, but her heart had been momentarily tempted to do otherwise. His words were like a bucket of cold water, bringing her back to reason. The future he so eagerly anticipated wouldn’t be with her. It would be with Sophia, his real fiancée. The woman he was really going to marry. The woman with whom he would spend the rest of his life.

Increasing the pressure of her palms against his chest, she shoved away from him, drawing out of his embrace. “Sophia?” he asked, confused by her abrupt rejection.

Sophia. She was only pretending to be Sophia. She couldn’t afford to let herself forget. “It’s late,” she blurted. “I should get that glass of warm milk and go to bed if I want to be worth anything at the ball tonight.”

She could still see the confusion and hurt on his face as he turned, drying himself off quickly before tossing the used towel aside and reaching for a thick white robe hanging by the doorway instead. But his voice held neither bitterness nor recrimination when he said, “All right. Well, then, let me show the way.”

“That really isn’t necessary—” she began to protest.

He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do. I know how easy it can be to get turned around in this place in the dark. And I should head up to bed, anyway, so it isn’t out of my way.”

Feeling a bit steadier now that his muscles were covered once more, she nodded, remaining silent as he led her to the kitchen. However, while neither spoke, they were close enough to one another that their arms brushed together when they walked, leaving Zoey painfully aware of each contact.

Once they had finally made their way to the kitchen, he hesitated. “Will you be able to find your way back to your room if I leave you here?” he asked.

“I’m sure I can,” she reassured him. Then, acting on impulse, she reached out and grabbed the sleeve of his robe, holding him still as she stretched up onto her toes and pressed her lips against his cheek. His skin was warm, faint stubble prickling against her lips, and she found herself regretting the brevity of the embrace as she fell back onto her heels.

“What was that for?” he breathed.

Zoey shrugged, to embarrassed at her impulsivity to meet his eyes. “I don’t know. Because it’s the holidays. Because you’re you. Because any woman would be lucky to marry you. Anyway, I shouldn’t keep you. Good night, Maxwell.”

“Max,” he corrected her. “Call me Max. Please. ‘Maxwell’ sounds so formal, and that’s not who I want to be with you.”

Smiling, she gave him a brief nod. “All right. Good night…Max,” she agreed, knowing deep down that he may be marrying another, but in her heart, he would always be her Max. She almost told him to call her Zo, like a nickname for Sophia, but bit the words back before they could escape her lips. She might be acting recklessly with her heart (and, to an extent, with Sophia’s engagement), but that would be downright suicidal.

“Good night, Sophia.”

Chapter Text

“How’s it going over there? Getting enough of the so-called normal life?” Zoey asked Sophia when they spoke the next morning, before breakfast.

“It’s wonderful!” Sophia gushed. “But I’ve been meaning to ask you something. You and Tobin. Was there ever anything—?” She let her voice trail off without completing the question.

Zoey made a face. “Between us? Absolutely not! Are you kidding? He’s like a little brother to me!”

“Really? He doesn’t seem all that brotherly to me. But what about you? I hope you’ve managed to have some fun, at least.”

“Oh, definitely,” she agreed wholeheartedly before remembering a couple of her snafus from the day before. “Though if anyone asks, you were kicked in the head by a horse the day before yesterday.”

“In the head?” Sophia asked, sounding scandalized.

Zoey rushed to reassure her. “Not hard! More of a graze, really. I didn’t realize you were a champion horse rider, so I had to come up with something to tell Max-well.” Silly as it was, she found herself reluctant to tell Sophia that her fiancé had requested he be called by the nickname. Of course, she would find out eventually. At some point over the course of their long lives together, she’d call her future husband by his name, and he would undoubtedly correct her. But for now, Zoey felt like it was a piece of him that was just hers, and she wanted to keep that close to her heart for as long as possible.

“Maxwell? He’s not in Seattle?”

“No, he cancelled his trip to spend more time with me. Well, you,” Zoey explained.

Sophia sounded genuinely regretful as she replied, “I’m so sorry, and after I promised you that you wouldn’t have to see him at all. I hope you didn’t find his company too tedious, at least!”

Her heart twisted a little at the thought that Sophia would think Zoey would regret his company. Or, worse, that she assumed as much because that was how she felt when she was with him. Surely she had to realize how wonderful he was, right?

“No, it’s been great. Believe me. I thought he might be a little uptight from the pictures, but really he’s…amazing.”

Sophia snorted. “Tobin’s the amazing one. He’s so sweet and funny. Not pretentious at all. He’s so different from all the other men I know.”

“What do you mean? Tobin’s…Tobin. He’s a great guy, sure, but he doesn’t hold a candle to Maxwell. I’ve really enjoyed his company,” she said, because ‘I think I’m falling in love with your fiancé’ seemed inadvisable at best.

She might as well not have bothered mincing words, however, as Sophia gasped, “I can’t believe it. You have a crush on Maxwell!”

“Who, me?” she stammered defensively. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Anyway, it sounds like you have a crush on Tobin!”

The woman on the other end of the line didn’t even bother to dispute that charge. Instead, she broke the long silence that fell between them with a heavy sigh. “Oh dear. What are we going to do? You do realize this is impossible.”

“I know,” Zoey admitted, shoulders sagging. “I guess we don’t do anything. Unless you want to call this whole thing off?"

"Absolutely not," Sophia cut in, her tone brooking no argument. "This is my one chance to live a normal life. I'm not calling it off early, no matter what."

She tried not to sigh audibly, torn between relief and regret - relief, because she didn't really want to leave Max yet, and regret, because that reluctance to leave him would only likely grow worse. With a firm mental reminder that she'd made a promise - and Eddie's scholarship hinged on her following through - she continued smoothly, "Right. So we don't have long before we switch back. In a month, you’ll marry Prince Charming, and I’ll board a plane back to my old life. Eventually, you’ll forget about Tobin, and I’ll forget about Maxwell, and it’ll just be this ridiculous thing we once did, that we can never tell anyone about.”

“Right,” the woman on the other end of the line agreed, sounding both dispirited and mildly dubious. “But don’t you wish things could be different? Just a little?”

“There’s no point,” she replied, feeling defeated. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that, when you live a so-called normal life, there are some things you just can’t change. And there’s no point in wishing otherwise.”

Zoey was still feeling morose when she went down to breakfast, though she tried to hide it. Max didn’t seem fooled, however, as she saw the concern in his eyes whenever she looked his way. Finally, when his parents finished their coffee and left the room, he took her hand and led her into the hall. “You seem…upset. Is something wrong?”

She shook her head. “No. Just didn’t sleep well, I guess.”

He made a soft sound in the back of his throat. “I tell you what. I know you usually go for a ride, but how about we take it a little easy today? We could just go for a walk instead, if you want.”

“That sounds…perfect,” she agreed with relief. “Let me just grab my coat.”

The morning air was brisk, the grounds so quiet that the only sound was their footsteps crunching through the snow that had fallen the evening before. Though she knew she should try to erect some emotional distance between herself and Max, Zoey found herself comforted by his presence, content just to have him by her side. “Penny for your thoughts?”

He smiled down at her. “I was thinking about you.”

“Smart man,” she teased him, looking up at him with narrowed eyes, as though she doubted the sincerity of his words.

“And what about you? What’s on your mind?”

She didn’t respond right away, letting her eyes sweep over the grounds. She was surrounded by constant reminders that they were from entirely different worlds. But after their discussion the night before, rather than make her feel insignificant by comparison, it made her sad to think of the things he had missed out on, for all his wealth and privilege. He couldn’t go anywhere without being photographed, his successes and failures chewed up and spit out by every gossip tabloid on the coast. On top of the heavy weight of responsibility he had taken upon himself, it was no wonder he came off as reserved.

“I was thinking…” she began slowly, “you really need to unwind a little.” Then, before he could ask her what she meant, she stooped and picked up a handful of snow, dropping it down the back of his coat.

Max let out a shocked cry as he jumped away from her, spinning to face her with a look of indignation that quickly turned to mischief. Zoey was ready for him when he scooped and picked up a snowball of his own, darting back the way they’d come to avoid his justifiable retaliation. She was caught by surprise, however, when she felt something strike her between the shoulder blades, specks of snow flying into her hair and against the back of her neck.

Stumbling to a halt, she placed her hands on her hips and turned to face him once more. “You know what this means, don’t you?” she asked him in a threatening tone. When he lifted his eyebrows at her in response, she yelled, “War!”

The next several minutes were filled with a flurry of activity, as the two of them hastily packed snowballs and threw them at each other. It didn’t take long, however, for them to decide even that took too much time, and they resorted to just throwing handfuls of snow at each other instead. Zoey got Max in the cheek, prompting him to chase after her, threatening revenge.

With his long legs and the fact she couldn’t run fast through her laughter, Max easily caught up with her, grabbing the back of her coat to slow her escape. Zoey shrieked, attempting to break free, but stumbling in the snow instead. As she turned to protect the back of her neck from his retaliatory efforts, her foot slipped and she fell backwards, dragging him down with her.

Zoey hit the ground hard, but she was laughing too hard to notice. “Not the face! Not the face!” she shrieked, flailing in a desperate attempt to knock the snow out of his hand. As though they weren’t surrounded by the stuff. She only succeeded in jarring his hand so the snow went everywhere, including onto the face she was trying so hard to protect.

The two of them howled with laughter as the freezing flakes hit her cheeks, and she reached out to grab some snow to return the favor. Above her, Max shifted, grabbing her hand and pinning it in place, and it was at that moment that she realized how close his face was to hers.

Her laughter broke off abruptly. “Max,” she breathed. His own mirth cut off as suddenly as hers had, and he froze, his eyes locked on hers. With one hand pinned under his and the other pressed against his chest, she couldn’t help but think of the night before, and the muscles she knew lay concealed under his clothing. Her tongue flicked out against her lower lip, tasting the melting slow there. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t do this,” she said, though she made no effort to break free.

“I don’t mind,” he told her softly, lifting his free hand to brush against her cheek. “Soph…you really are so beautiful.”

For just a moment, this impromptu nickname sounded close enough to Zo for her to forget herself. He might not realize she wasn’t who he thought, but she told herself he wanted her just the same. Her. Not someone else. But that alone was enough of a reminder that, no matter how much she wanted him, it wouldn’t be right for her to cross that line. She’d be taking advantage of his ignorance, and she couldn’t do that to him. Not for the sake of a kiss.

“It’s cold,” she blurted, squirming beneath him until he lifted his weight off of her. “I-I think we should go inside.”

For just a moment, he looked like he might say something – either to protest or to demand an explanation why her moods were so mercurial – but he simply swallowed and rose to his feet, holding out a hand to help her up. “You’re right, but you know there’s only one thing you can do after a snowball fight, right?” At her curious look, he explained, “Hot cocoa. I’m pretty sure there’s a law about it.”

“A law, huh?” she retorted, her laughter tinged with relief that he hadn’t pressed the issue. “I hadn’t heard about that.”

“Well…it may not have been a law in Switzerland when you attended school there. Though, now that I think about it, it really should be. But it’s definitely a law in New York,” he joked.

More than happy to play along, Zoey nodded. “All right, then. Lead the way.”

Chapter Text

“Mmmm…this is pretty good,” Zoey purred a short time later, taking a sip of her hot cocoa. “So, are there any other New York laws I should know about? Since we’re getting married here, after all.”

Max appeared to consider the question. “That depends. Did you know that it’s also a law in New York that cocoa has to be served with cookies?”

She snorted. “Okay, I’ll believe in a law about cocoa, but a cookie law just sounds made up,” she joked.

He threw her an affronted look. “It’s a real law, I swear! Scout’s honor!”

“Were you really a Boy Scout?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I don’t see why we have to let that little detail get in the way of my credibility.”

Hiding her grin behind her mug (there was no way he needed the encouragement), she made a show of glancing around the cavernous kitchen. “All right, Boy Scout, so where do you keep the cookies in this place?”

He followed her gaze, a slight frown marring his brow. “I…have absolutely no idea,” he admitted, prompting her to emit a sudden squeak of laughter she failed to entirely hide. “I guess that means we’re going to have to bake some ourselves.”

Zoey shook her head. “Okay, hold your horses there, mister. There’s something you should know about me. And I cannot stress this enough. I cannot cook. Really. I’m something of a legend for being a disaster in the kitchen.”

“Really?” he asked, and she stiffened when she realized that, for all she knew, Sophia had attended Le Cordon Bleu and was a world-renowned pastry chef. To her relief, however, he just pulled a couple of aprons out of the pantry and passed one over to her. “Then I guess it’s up to me to show you how it’s done,” he teased her gently.

“You know how to bake?” she asked in amazement, donning the apron under his watchful eye. Baking might not usually be her thing, but if it meant spending more time in his company, she was willing to give it the old college try.

“Ahhh…no. Not really,” he admitted sheepishly. “But why let that stop us? We’re both reasonably intelligent people. Google exists. How hard can cookies be?”

“Famous last words,” she mumbled with a grin, searching for a recipe on her phone while she stepped into the pantry to locate the required ingredients. When she stepped out again, her arms full, she found Max arranging mixing bowls, spoons, and a baking sheet on the island. He hurried to help relieve her of her burdens, causing her to swallow a gasp when he leaned in close, his arm brushing against her chest. She sucked in a deep breath, closing her eyes when the smell of his shampoo, mixed with his cologne, hit her like a punch in the gut.

How was it reasonable – or even remotely fair – that he should smell that good?

It seemed a good time for some inane conversation, to distract herself from her own illicit thoughts. Like how much she wanted to push Max against the wall and climb him like a tree. Nope. That way led to nothing but trouble!

As she busied herself by grabbing the eggs from the refrigerator (did the recipe even call for eggs? She couldn’t remember) she cleared her throat and asked, “So, we’ve established you don’t know how to bake. Is there anything you do know how to cook?” She put the eggs on the left side of the mixing bowl, but when Max moved to that side, she moved the eggs to the right. Since she wasn’t sure if she could trust herself yet, it seemed prudent not to risk eggs getting in between them. That was a mess she didn’t want to have to clean up later.

“I’ve taught myself a few things,” he said proudly. “And I’ve learned a few things from my dad. He’s a great cook. My mom always jokes that she could burn water, but honestly? I suspect she’s secretly a decent cook and just pretends to be bad at it. But my dad gets such joy from cooking for her, she lets him do it. He can’t bake, though, and she makes these amazing birthday cakes. Next year, you should ask her to make her lemon layer cake for your birthday. Or her coconut angel cake. Either one will make you wonder if you died and went to heaven.”

“And you didn’t ask to learn at the feet of the master?” she asked, laughing. “I’m surprised!”

He threw her a sheepish grin. “Honestly? I’ve tried. But even when I follow her recipes step by step – even when she’s standing right there helping, it never comes out the same! I don’t know, it’s like she adds a touch of magic to everything she bakes.”

Zoey nodded in agreement, a thoughtful look on her face. “It’s love,” she said in complete seriousness. When he shot her a quick look out of the corner of his eye, she shrugged and explained, “That’s what my mom says when I ask what she adds that always makes her cooking so good. She adds love.”

“That must be it,” he agreed with a soft smile. Then, giving the measurement of flour the same level of concentration as he might devote to brain surgery, he asked, “Does that mean if I cook with you, it’ll taste better than anything we make on our own?”

She felt herself go red at the implication. Unless she was mistaken, he was hinting that he was falling for her, and he was wondering if she felt the same way. “Maybe,” she whispered. She tried to focus on what she was doing – baking was basic chemistry, after all, and she’d always been good at chemistry – but she was preoccupied with thoughts of the man next to her as he leaned over to pour the flour into the mixing bowl. While Zoey added the next few dry ingredients to the flour and mixed them in with her spoon, he grabbed the sugar and measured out the required cup and a half into a separate bowl.

“So,” he began, his voice sounding slightly strained, “Um, your mom’s a good cook?”

Forgetting that she was masquerading as Sophia – and, honestly, she didn’t have a clue whether her twin’s mother was good at cooking or not – she nodded. “She’s the best. My dad wasn’t a half bad cook, either. They used to make a lot of meals together, actually. I think it was one of the little ways they showed their love for one another.” It had been in those little things they did for each other that had made her always hope to find a love like theirs one day.

“But they don’t anymore?” he asked as Zoey measured out the butter and added it to the sugar.

His question finally recalled her to her charade, and she was relieved he was distracted trying to decipher the instructions to ‘cream the butter and sugar ’ and therefore didn’t see her grimace. She’d lost her father, but Sophia’s dad was still alive. “Um…no, I guess not. Too busy,” she explained lamely.

If Max picked up on her shift in tone, it wasn’t apparent. “Oh, that’s too bad, but I understand how that can be. My mom and dad always say that it’s important to make time for the people important to you, and I hope…” He broke off, and she swore she could feel him turning toward her as she measured out the required amount of vanilla extract – and then added a good deal more when that didn’t seem to be nearly enough. Putting the mixing spoon back on the counter, she turned to face him, her heart starting to race at the look in his eyes. “I hope we always remember to make time for each other.”

She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t feel like a lie. She’d wanted to agree, but he wouldn’t be making time for her. “I – I hope so,” she finally offered, her gaze dropping to his shirt. His sweater was peppered with white, and she realized it was the flour he’d poured earlier. More from eagerness to break the tension of the moment than from her innate sense of tidiness, she reached out to brush it off, laughing when she accidentally caused white streaks to trail across his chest instead.

“Sorry about that!” she cried when he looked down at his shirt in chagrin. “You had some, uh, flour. I think I might have made it worse, though.”

“You know, I think it looks better this way,” he replied in good humor.

She didn’t know what impulse caused her to pick up some flour that had fallen upon the countertop and flick it against his chest, but when she saw his look of surprise, she started to laugh. “I was just checking! You look good in white!”

He lifted one hand, smearing some flour against the tip of her nose. “You know what? So do you?”

“You did not just do that!” she protested in mock affrontery.

Max threw her an innocent look, though she noticed that he trapped her hands against his chest before she could retaliate. “I couldn’t help myself!” Distracted by the feel of his heartbeat against her palms, Zoey screwed up her face in feigned indignation, but it didn’t have the desired effect. Rather than making Max afraid for his continued well-being, it caused him to chuckle instead. “One of these days, you’ll have to tell me your secret.”

Her secret? He couldn’t be on to her, could he? She felt the blood drain from her face as she stammered, “Wh-what do you mean? What secret?”

“You’ll have to tell me how you get to be so adorable.”

“Oh,” she breathed in relief, forcing a weak laugh. “Just comes naturally, I guess.”

He was watching her face intently, and her heart started to pound – this time in fear more than desire. He’d been teasing, but her reaction had betrayed her. Finally, his hands tightening over hers, he murmured, “You know…I don’t want to push you, but if there’s something else…if there’s ever anything bothering you…you can tell me.”

Zoey flinched. “What do you mean?” she asked, pretending to misunderstand.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But sometimes when we’re together, you seem…anxious.”

She swallowed heavily. “It’s nothing,” she lied, wincing as soon as the words were out of her mouth. No, that wasn’t fair. She might not be able to tell him the truth, but it wasn’t fair for her to pretend like his mind was playing tricks on him. “There is something, but I can’t – I don’t want you to hate me.”

Max’s expression grew concerned. “I could never hate you, Soph!” he protested, but his affirmation had the opposite effect from what he intended.

Pulling her hands out from under his, she turned her attention back to the cookie batter and mumbled, “It doesn’t matter. It’s nothing. I’m just being silly. It’s – it’s pre-wedding jitters, that’s all. I just – I know I’ve been acting strangely lately. Things will all get back to normal in a couple of days. I promise.”

She watched out of the corner of her eye as he threw her a small, puzzled frown. Finally, he sighed and turned his attention back to their task. However, as he did so, he confessed softly, “Well, if it helps, you should know…these last couple of days? I’ve liked seeing this side of you.”

She didn’t know what to say, so they worked together in silence, measuring out the cookies. As they slid them into the oven, Max said proudly, “See? That wasn’t so hard!”

He was wrong, as it turned out. Or at least as they discovered a short while later.

Their downfall, as it turned out, wasn’t in the excessive amount of vanilla or the failure to properly ‘cream’ ingredients. It was in the moment one of them – and they each protested vociferously that the blame lay entirely on the other person’s door – mistook salt for sugar, making the so-called sugar cookies very much of a misnomer.

Max was the first to discover their mistake, though he did so in the old-fashioned way: taking a large bite and immediately regretting every life decision that had brought him to that moment. He made a loud grunt of dismay and spat the cookie into the sink, but not before Zoey had followed suit.

“Oh my god,” she moaned, grabbing a paper towel to wipe her tongue. “What the hell did we just put into our mouths?”

“How do cookies even get to be that bad?” he asked incredulously, filling his empty cocoa mug with water to wash out the taste.

Pitching all proof of their efforts into the trash, Zoey grinned at him over her shoulder and said, “I think we can safely assume you didn’t get any merit badges for baking.”

“Me?” he protested lightly, spluttering in indignation. “Why do you assume it was me and not you?”

“Because you were the one who measured out the sugar,” she replied innocently.

He winced, since she was right. “But you were the one who grabbed it out of the pantry!” he crowed, as if presenting her with an ironclad argument.

To be fair, he had her there. However, that didn’t mean she was willing to give way to his argument so easily. “Okay, but it’s your pantry!” she retorted, as if that had anything to do with anything. “And your kitchen. Which means, ultimately, anything that happens here is really your responsibility. Don’t you think?”

She’d been so intent upon teasing him, she hadn’t realized that the two had moved closer and closer to each other with each verbal sally, until their bodies stood inches apart. She expected him to refute her point, but instead, his eyes swept over her face and his smile fell as he murmured, “Well, I guess I can’t argue against that logic.”

Zoey swallowed heavily, as intoxicated by him as she had been every time she’d found herself in his presence. “Max, I—” she breathed, her voice trailing off when he lifted one hand to her face, brushing the curve of her cheek with his thumb.

“You have some flour…there. I got it,” he whispered. The tenderness in his eyes made her want to cry. Instead, she placed her hands on either side of his face and rose up onto her toes to press her lips to his.

It wasn’t right, and she knew it. But he was hers. Her Max. And any voice of reason that tried to warn her of the danger she was courting faded into oblivion when his arms went around her, pulling her closer as he deepened the kiss. Her hands moved up, into his hair, running the silky strands through her fingers as she’d longed to do that first night, when he’d come by to apologize for having to leave. In response, he lifted her off her feet, turning to press her back against the refrigerator as he nipped at her lower lip with his teeth.

Zoey didn’t know how far she would have let the situation run away from the two of them if Abigail hadn’t chosen that moment to enter the kitchen. Her gasp brought the both of them back to themselves, and Max sprang away from her with a guilty look. “Mother! I—”

“Now, now. No need to apologize!” Abigail interjected quickly. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. If I’d known you were in here, I wouldn’t have—”

“We were, um, we were making cookies,” Zoey broke in sheepishly, attempting to surreptitiously straighten her clothing.

His mother lifted one eyebrow and said in a wry voice, “I can see that.” Then, beaming widely, she added blithely, “Well, don’t let me interrupt your…baking! I’ll get out of your hair!”

The interruption had been a blessing, Zoey decided when she and Max were alone once more. It had stopped her from doing something else she couldn't bring herself to regret, even though she knew she should. With someone else’s fiancé, no less. Unable to look at Max, she kept her gaze firmly averted as she mumbled, “I should I get cleaned up. I’ll see you later,” and ran out of the room before he could reply.

Chapter Text

Just a little longer, Zoey told herself as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror later that evening. In a little less than twenty-four hours, she would be on a plane, flying back to her own life. She would leave him behind, and he would never know of the entire charade. He would never suspect that somewhere on the other side of the country was a woman who would always carry him and the memories of their time together forever in her heart.

The chime of a clock brought her back to herself and she stepped back, giving her reflection one more critical look. Her dress was stunning, she had to admit. She didn’t often wear red, as that was tricky for her to pull off with her hair, but her gown was exactly the right shade to set off her complexion perfectly. Her hair was pulled up into an elaborate style, thanks to the assistance of a professional hired for the evening. Her makeup had also been applied by an expert, making her look like she’d just stepped off a movie screen.

She felt like Cinderella, headed for the ball. And like Cinderella, she knew her time in this idyllic fantasy was limited. The spell might not break exactly at the stroke of midnight, but it would soon enough thereafter, so she would have to make the most of it. With newfound resolve, Zoey set her chin at a determined angle and headed toward the door. But her confidence took the tiniest hit when she paused at the top of the grand stairway. Her impersonation of Sophia had been private thus far, but this ball would put her in front of the public eye. It was a level of scrutiny she wasn’t sure she was prepared to accept.

But then she saw Max turn toward the stairway. Across the distance, their eyes met, and that simple connection was enough to bolster her confidence once more. She didn’t care about anyone else. Subjecting herself to such overwhelming attention would be worth it if she got to spend the night by his side.

She threw him a flirtatious smile as she glided down the stairs and saw him swallow heavily when she stopped before him. “I was right,” he murmured for only her to hear. “You’re stunning.”

“You’re not bad yourself,” she replied. It wasn’t a lie. If anything, it was an understatement. The man wore a tux like the concept of a tuxedo was invented for him and him alone. Longing to touch him, she pretended his tie was askew and reached out to straighten it. “There,” she said after giving it an unnecessary adjustment. “Perfect.”

Trapping her hand against his body, over his heart, Max said, “Wait. I have something for you.” His fingers over hers, taking her hand to lead her into an adjoining room. She followed, dutifully remaining in place when he left her by the window to retrieve something. When he returned, he was holding a flat, square jewelry case. Zoey held her breath as he lifted the top, revealing a ruby and diamond necklace, the stones glinting in the light. She gasped at the sight as he explained, “This was my great-grandmother’s. I want you to have it.”

“Me?” she repeated, nearly choking on the word. “Oh, no. I—”

Heedless of her protests, he continued, “My great-grandmother was a…formidable woman. They say she was descended from some sort of royalty, and I’d believe it, from all the stories I’ve heard about her. At the very least, she’s the reason our family is still around today. She didn’t survive the war, but she had suspected what was coming and had already sent her children abroad for to keep them safe.” His voice grew subdued as he reflected upon the past. “But if it hadn’t been for her, we would have lost a lot more. Before she sent her oldest daughter to the States, however, she gave her this.”

Lifting the necklace from the box, he moved behind Zoey, and she felt the cold weight of metal against her neck. “My dad gave this to my mom as a wedding present, and now…now it’s yours.” The clasp securely fastened, he stepped back, and she turned to face him. His eyes swept over her, but it was her face and not her necklace that he focused on when he breathed, “Beautiful.”

Zoey held her hand against the necklace, pressing the stones into her skin and feeling them warm by the heat of her body. She was terrified. Of course, there was the natural concern that the clasp would somehow break over the course of the evening and the necklace would be lost. But she felt like he was giving her more than just a necklace, and she knew what he offered wasn’t hers to take.

Taking her hand, he gave it a slight squeeze as he admitted, “I know we agreed to get married because it’s the best thing for both of our families, but I feel like I got to know you better in the last couple of days than I have at any other point in the last six months.” She watched as he ducked his head, pondering the sight of their linked hands. The caress of his voice twisted around her heart as he continued, “To tell you the truth, I’ve been worried about us, you know. Getting married when we were still such strangers. And then, after we met, we didn’t really seem to…click. If that makes sense. But now…I’m not scared anymore. When I think about the future, I’m glad you’ll be in it.”

“I—” she began, breaking off when she realized anything she would say would be a lie, and he deserved better than that. He wouldn’t be in her future, though she wanted him to be, and that knowledge broke her heart. “I want to share my future with you, too,” she whispered, which was as much honesty as she could manage under the circumstances.

He leaned in to press his lips against hers, but almost as soon as their mouths met, a sound from the doorway caught their attention. Zoey looked over to see Andrew and Abigail, watching them in silence. Well, Abigail was watching them, her hands clutched before her, her eyes bright and a little misty. Andrew was looking uncomfortably around the room, his embarrassment at having interrupted the two of them coming off him like waves. “We hate to interrupt,” he said in a gruff voice, thick with emotion. “But we have to head out if we don’t want to be late.”

Max opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, and held out his arm instead. “Shall we?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Zoey wrapped her arm around his, pressing close to him as he led her out to the car that would take them to their destination.

He left her side only long enough to open the car door for her, and his mother took advantage of his absence to move closer to her. In a soft voice that barely carried through the cold winter air, she murmured, “Thank you, my dear.”

Zoey looked over at the older woman in surprise. “For what?”

Abigail smiled up at her. “For making him happy.” She drifted away, moving to her husband’s side, as Max returned to help her into the car.

It truly was a magical evening, Zoey mused a while later as she sipped champagne and watched the dancing couples twirling underneath strands of white twinkling lights. The Holiday Ball was a festive affair, which gave a nod to the various holidays being celebrated at this time of year without committing to a single one. Lanterns decorated with red, green, blue, and silver ribbons, lit with flickering white candles, acted as table centerpieces. Eggnog and gingerbread men were served alongside latkes, cinnamon apple cakes, sufganiyot, and accras. As she looked over the decorations, she found herself wondering about Max’s family’s Hanukkah traditions, but it seemed like the type of thing he would likely have already discussed with his fiancée (assuming Sophia hadn’t celebrated the holiday with them, which was possible), so she could hardly ask.

As she made her way through the room, she couldn’t help but note couples lingering under a sprig of mistletoe, and she made a mental note to avoid that particular corner. The last thing she needed was to let herself get swept away by the romance of the moment and cheesy holiday tradition. She needed to remember who she was, or at least who she wasn’t, and keep her lips a Max-Free Zone from this point on.

The evening was well underway when disaster struck. While traveling through the room on Max’s arm, the two of them were stopped by an elderly couple who greeted them with wide smiles. “Maxwell! It’s so good to see you! And this lovely lady must be Sophia. We’ve heard so much about you,” the woman said warmly in greeting.

At first, it sounded like regular chit-chat. Nothing to cause alarm. But then the elderly gentleman dropped a bomb on her. “That’s right. I understand you studied at the Royal Academy of Music. Is there any chance we can talk you into giving us a little performance tonight?”

“I – who, me? Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. I couldn’t!” she protested.

“Oh, please. It would mean so much to us to hear you sing,” the woman replied.

Her gaze darted around the room desperately, but she didn’t see anything that promised her escape. It had been too much to hope that the battery-operated candles would set fire to a nearby curtain and provide her a justifiable excuse to flee into the night. When she looked at Max, his gaze was warm and expectant, and her stomach sank when she realized she didn’t want to let him down. “I, uh…okay,” she mumbled with poorly concealed ill-grace, her skirt twirling around her ankles as she whirled around and headed for the orchestra playing nearby.

What song could she sing? What song did she even know? And did any of them require a lack of vocal range that would help her to avoid complete and utter humiliation? Of course Sophia was an accomplished singer. Of course she was!

Clearing her throat, Zoey stepped onto the stage and grabbed hold of the mic, bringing it closer. In her panicked mental state, with thoughts of Max filling her mind, she could only think of one song. That she knew it at all was courtesy of Tobin’s attempts to drive her up the wall with it by playing it on endless loop the year before.

Her heart seized and the lyrics momentarily fled from memory when she gazed out upon the crowd that was slowly turning to her. Her bravado quailed at the sight of so many expectant faces. But then Max stepped forward, out of the crowd. He lifted the glass of champagne he held up to her in silent toast and winked, and the mere sight of him bolstered her courage.

Without stopping to tell the orchestra of her intent, Zoey pulled the microphone closer to her mouth and began to sing. “Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. If it doesn’t you ain’t doin’ it right. Lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I’ll be usin’ for the rest of my life.”

Right before she began to sing, Max had lifted the glass to his lips, intending to take a sip. As the first words left her mouth, she saw him splutter into his drink, his eyes growing wide. She had no idea how the rest of the crowd was receiving the performance. He was the only one who mattered, but his initial reaction of surprise wasn’t what she had hoped. Her courage flagged once more, but his look of astonishment faded into a smile, and he gave her an encouraging nod.

“I’ve been breakin’ hearts a long time, and toyin’ with them older guys. Just playthings for me to use.” Maybe she should have thought about the lyrics earlier, she realized only belatedly. But now she was committed to this course of action, so there was hardly anything she could do at this point other than to plow straight ahead. “Something happened for the first time in the darkest little paradise. Shakin’, pacin’, I just need you.”

The song didn’t require a wide vocal range, which helped, but she still didn’t doubt she was making an enormous fool of herself, and even keeping her gaze locked on Max didn’t stop her voice from beginning to lag as she sang, “For you, I would cross the line. I would waste my time. I would lose my mind. They say, ‘She’s gone too far this time.’”

She almost gave up then and there. Abandoned the stage mid-song and let everyone make of it what they would. Sophia Cunningham was known to be camera-shy, so maybe her abrupt flight wouldn’t raise as much suspicion as she feared. But then Max, apparently seeing her distress, raced forward and joined her on stage. Without even the slightest moment of hesitation, he belted into the microphone, “Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. If it doesn’t, you ain’t doin’ it right. Lord, save me, my drug is my baby. I’ll be usin’ for the rest of my life. Don’t blame me, love made me crazy. If it doesn’t, you ain’t doin’ it right. Lord, save me, my drug is my baby. I’ll be usin’ for the rest of my life.”

With one hand on her waist, he turned her to face him as he sang, silently offering her his support and assistance in drowning out the rest of the crowd. “Just look at me,” he whispered quickly, pulling the microphone away so he wouldn’t be overheard. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

And so Zoey stared directly into his eyes as she continued, “My name is whatever you decide, and I’m just gonna call you mine. I’m insane, but I’m your baby. And baby, for you, I would fall from grace. Just to touch your face. If you walk away, I’d beg you on my knees to stay.”

Max threw himself into the chorus again. When he was done, he lowered the microphone and bowed, bringing the song to a close. Their performance attracted a smattering of uncertain applause, making Zoey want to sink into the floor. The ringing in her ears drowned out any other sound as Max grabbed hold of her hand, leading her off the stage.

She was still fighting back tears of humiliation when the first couple they ran into was Max’s parents. Andrew nodded while Abigail said warmly, “That was lovely, dear. Thank you.”

Their words were kind, but she didn’t believe them for a second. “I-excuse me. I need some air,” she blurted, breaking away to make her escape. She’d had such high hopes for the evening. It was supposed to be perfect. And now it had been ruined by her humiliating display. All because she couldn’t live up to the reputation of the woman she was pretending to be.

She hit the outside doors at something close to a dead run, racing onto the veranda. Realizing she had nowhere to go, she stumbled to a halt, resting her palms against the railing as she struggled to suck in a few deep breaths. She wasn’t surprised when she heard the door open behind her and someone step out a moment later. “Are you okay?” Max asked gently.

Keeping her face averted so he wouldn’t see her tears, she choked, “I-I’m fine. I just – I just need a moment.”

But he didn’t leave. Not that she could honestly claim to be surprised. Instead, he came up beside her and put his hand on top of hers, offering her silent comfort. “I’m sorry. I know you’re camera shy. I should have realized you’d be nervous performing in front of so many people. I should have told Old Battle-Axe Robbins to shove her suggestion.”

Zoey gave a weak chuckle, knowing that was his intent. “Battle-Axe? She seemed nice enough.”

“That’s because you didn’t decide to make a bouquet out of her prized roses when you were eight,” he shot back lightly.

This time, Zoey’s laughter was more sincere, but it didn’t completely dispel her misery. “I’m sorry for humiliating you like that,” she said, ducking her chin so she didn’t have to see the shame he had to feel about the spectacle she’d made of herself.

Turning toward her, he tucked a finger under her chin, exerting slight pressure until she tilted her head back and looked up at him. “None of that, Soph. You didn’t humiliate me at all.”

Why did he have to be so kind? Why was he so perfect? And why couldn’t he be hers in fact, and not just for pretend? Pressing her lips together to stop her quivering, she breathed a shaky sigh. She would have to tell him something about why his apparently classically trained fiancée couldn’t carry a note. “I just…I didn’t know what song they wanted me to sing, and I panicked.”

Max looped his arms around her back, pulling her against his chest, and she shivered with longing at his closeness. Misunderstanding the reaction, he turned slightly to block her from the cold winter wind. “Well…to be honest, they probably expected you to sing some sort of Christmas carol, if I had to guess. But I’m glad you didn’t. Singing with you was the most fun I’ve ever had at one of these things.” Tightening his arms around her, he said, “Hey, I have an idea. You want to get out of here?”

“What, now?” she asked in surprise. “But won’t people miss you?”

He lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “Me? Nah. Besides, they’ve probably gone through enough champagne by now that the rest of the evening will be a blur. Come on.” This time, she didn’t protest as he took her hand, leading her back to the car. After murmuring something to Thomas, he helped her into the back seat and slid in after her, tucking her hand into his own as the two rode back to his parents’ house in silence.

She had assumed he was merely taking her home, and they would part ways once inside. But he seemed to have something else in mind, as he led her up the stairs toward his bedroom. Zoey balked when she came to suspect their destination, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Instead, he led her inside a room adjoining his own, tugging his bowtie loose and tossing it aside. He led her to a plush sofa standing before the hearth, with a fire already burning merrily in the grate, but she ignored it in favor of the Grand Piano standing near the windows on the far side of the room.

“Is this yours?” she asked, brushing past him to run her hand along the glossy top of the piano.

“Ah…yeah. I guess,” he admitted, sounding shy for the first time since she’d known him. “It’s been a while since I’ve played, though.”

Clutching her hands before her, she turned to face him. “Play something for me?”

He blushed. “I don’t know…it’s been so long, and I’m out of practice…”

“I just sang Taylor Swift in front of at least three Supreme Court Justices,” she remarked drolly, throwing him a pointed look. “Play something for me.”

With a soft sigh, he capitulated, slowly approaching the piano and taking his seat. As his fingers trailed experimentally over the keys, she slid onto the bench next to him, leaning her body against his own.

“All right,” he said after a moment. “Do you know this one?” Zoey tilted her head on his shoulder as he began to play a melody that had been one of her father’s favorites. She closed her eyes as he began to sing.

“When I’m worried, and I can’t sleep, I count my blessings instead of sheep. And I fall asleep counting my blessings.”

She joined in softly as he continued, “When my bankroll is getting small, I think of when I had none at all. And I fall asleep counting my blessings.”

His fingers tripped over the keys, missing a note, but he quickly recovered. “I think about a nursery, and I picture curly heads,” she continued. “And one by one, I count them, as they slumber in their beds.”

Her voice trailed off, and so he picked up the song. “If you’re worried, and you can’t sleep. Just count your blessings instead of sheep. And you’ll fall asleep counting your blessings.”

His hands stilled on the piano keys, and Zoey tilted her head back to meet his eyes. “Max,” she breathed. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” His eyebrows quirked upward, and she stared into his eyes, willing him to believe her as she continued, “You told me last night that you have to live up to your brother’s memory. But the truth is, you aren’t living up to who he would have been. You’re trying to live up to who you think he would have been, and you can never do that. You can’t compete with a ghost.”

Placing one hand over his on the piano keys, she said, “But do you know what? I think if your brother were here, he wouldn’t have been perfect. But I think he would have been kind. Handsome. Charming. Maybe a little bit of a dork, who didn’t know the difference between salt and sugar, but nobody’s perfect.” She allowed herself a slight smile before growing serious once more. “He would have been flawed, and he may have even felt scared about the prospect of running his family’s company one day. He would have been amazing. You know?” Unsure whether she was making her point clear, she shifted her hold on his hand, linking his fingers in her own. “What I’m trying to say – badly – is that you don’t have to live up to anyone but yourself. You don’t have to try to be anyone else; you’re perfect just the way you are.”

“Sophia,” he whispered, clearly touched.

Dropping her chin at the name, she murmured sheepishly, “Anyway, it’s late. I should go to bed.”  She stood to leave but he stopped her before she’d moved more than a few steps.

“Before we call it a night, I do have one favor to ask of you, if you don’t mind,” he said, waiting for her to turn back toward him before he continued. “The one thing I was looking forward to tonight is having a dance with you. We didn’t have a chance at the ball, so I was hoping...” His voice trailed off as he pulled his phone out of his coat pocket and hit a few buttons until music started to play through the small speaker.

Then, propping it on the piano, he held a hand out to her in silent invitation. She knew if she turned to leave again, he would let her. And maybe she should do just that; she never had been much of a dancer. But this was her last chance to be in his arms, and she couldn’t resist.

Silently, she placed her hand in his and let him draw her forward. Sophia, forgive me, she mentally asked of the absent woman. Forgive her for stealing one more moment, for something as simple as a single dance. Forgive her for thinking of him as hers, her Max, and wanting to hold him close to her heart for as long as she could. Forgive her for falling in love with him, when she knew he had promised his hand and heart to someone else. She silently begged for the forgiveness of the woman she impersonated, even though she knew she could regret nothing that had transpired over the last couple of days.

“You know what I was thinking?” he asked as they danced. “I was thinking tomorrow we could go to—”

“Shh,” she said, pulling him down so she could cut off his words off with a soft kiss, forgetting her earlier promise to avoid doing just that. She didn’t want to think about the future, now when she knew they didn’t have one together. “I don’t want to talk about tomorrow. I just want to dance with you.”

His gaze softened, and he acquiesced to her request for silence, twirling her around the room in what she believed was a waltz, making no protest at her clumsiness. Not even when she trod on his feet, as she did more than once. Letting her eyes fall shut, she pressed her head against his chest and breathed him in as they swayed back and forth in the firelight. On the mantle, the soft tick of a clock unwittingly counted down the last of their time together.

The pain in her feet paled in comparison to the ache in her heart when she made her way back to her bedroom a few hours later. She shivered in the dark as she stepped out of her gown, tossing it onto the back of a nearby chair before carefully unclasping her necklace and returning it to its box. Her hand lingered on its velvety lid as she tucked it carefully into a bureau drawer. It was a special gift, one that she hoped Sophia would treasure as much as Zoey had in the few hours she’d allowed herself to pretend it was intended for her. With leaden steps, she shrugged into a dressing gown and crossed to her dressing table, her hair slowly tumbling to her shoulders as she removed each pin holding it in place.

A little makeup remover, some cotton balls, and the transformation was complete. Sophia would be returning shortly, and Zoey would go have to back to her own life. Back to Reality Bytes. Back to a world without Max. She sat alone in the dark, the only sound the rasp of her own breath and the ticking of a clock, until a soft rap on the door caught her attention. Sophia had returned. The ball was over; the enchantment had lifted. Her time as Cinderella was over. After the contest in the morning, she would get on a plane back to San Francisco, and then the only place she would ever see Max again would be the front page of the tabloids sold at the registers of every grocery store. She might leave him, but she would never be free of him, and he would never even know.

Chapter Text

Zoey was dragging the next morning; all the coffee in the world couldn’t help her resist the need to proper her chin on her hand to prevent falling over. She was the first one in line to enter the competition venue, but only because she hadn’t been able to sleep the night before, so she’d had nothing better to do. As soon as they opened the doors, she walked inside and collapsed into her seat, arranging and rearranging her things to give herself something to do more than due to any particular need.

With a quick jab, she hit the button to power up her computer and attempted patience when startup image flashed across the screen. Meanwhile, her leg shook under the desk, jerking up and down, betraying her anxiety. When the desktop screen finally appeared, she double-clicked the icon to pull up the Internet browser. Shooting a glance over her shoulder to make sure nobody was watching, she bit her lower lip and entered Max’s name into the image search engine bar.

She was torturing herself, and she knew it was a bad idea. She should close her browser now, before the results loaded. Before she could see his face and remember everything she’d never have again. But then the screen loaded, showing Max’s face, and though his expression was grave, she couldn't help remember that beautiful, boyish smile that had captured her heart. She couldn't resist the urge to continue scrolling. Dwelling in the memory of his laugh and his kiss, his thoughtful consideration and the honesty that had taken her by surprise.

About five images in on the results page, she saw something that prompted a soft sound of surprise. Pressing her free hand against her mouth, she clicked to enlarge the image and waited for it to load. It was a picture of her and Max (though the caption identified her as Sophia Cunningham, of course), taken at the holiday ball. To her utter mortification, the picture had clearly been taken when they were in the middle of their duet, as they both were holding microphones. The photographer had caught a moment when their eyes had met, and Zoey lost herself for a moment in the expression on Max’s face. The love that was so apparent in her own features came as no surprise to her, but – whether it was a trick of the camera or whether the photographer had captured the truth in that one snapshot of time – she saw similar warmth and affection reflected in his own. The realization brought her joy at the same time that it broke her heart, which was a dichotomy she’d never before have believed was even possible.

The hall was beginning to fill, so she shot one more look over her shoulder before dragging the picture onto her desktop and closing the browser. She had been able to take nothing else from her time with him – certainly not the necklace he’d gifted her the night before. If this one photo taken during their time together would be her only memento (other than the scholarship Sophia had secured for Eddie), she would cherish it always.

For the next several minutes, she let herself get lost in her memories as she awaited Tobin’s arrival. To her surprise, when he finally joined her, his mood was uncharacteristically subdued, but she was too occupied by her own concerns to give it too much thought, assuming he was just suffering from a reasonable bout of nerves. She’d probably be doing the same if she wasn’t too numb from exhaustion and heartbreak. That theory went straight out the window, however, when he turned to her and blurted, “Okay, are we ever going to talk about the kiss?”

Zoey choked on her coffee. He knew she’d kissed Max? How could he possibly know? Her sense of horror only grew when she realized that there was no way he could know she’d kissed Max. Multiple times. Which meant he was talking about another kiss entirely. With another woman. Another her.

Which, when she came down to it, meant that he thought he had kissed her. Tobin! One of her best friends! Who she loved like a brother!

 “No!” she yelped, loud enough to draw the attention of several other contestants. Realizing they had become the center of attention, she lowered her voice and hissed, “No, we should definitely not talk about that. Ever. Ever again. It never happened, okay?”

Her panic was twinged with regret when she saw his hurt in the face of her vehement denial. It wasn’t his fault; he had no way to know he’d spent the last two days with an imposter, any more than Max did. Of course her sudden rejection would hurt him.

Overwhelmed with guilt that twisted in her stomach, she put her hand on his arm. “Tobin…I’m sorry. Really, I am. The kiss was…well, I’m sure it was great?” Her voice went up slightly at the end, making a question into what she had intended to be an unequivocal statement. But what did she know about what kind of kisser he was? It wasn’t something she’d ever had cause to consider before, since he’d shown even less romantic interest in her than she had in him, if that was possible. “The point is, I wish I could explain, but I can’t. It’s just…it would be better if you forgot about it. If we both forgot about it. Honestly. Nothing can ever, ever happen between us, so we should pretend the kiss never happened. For both our sakes.”

“Oh. Okay,” he mumbled, sounding unconvinced and still a little wounded. Still, he put on a brave smile and made an attempt at nonchalance when he asked, “So, you ready for today?”

“Ready to go home when it’s done, at least,” she grumbled. This competition was the last thing on her mind, and she had to get her head in the game. She’d come all the way across the country ostensibly for this opportunity. She might as well try not to blow it completely.

But try as she might, she couldn’t focus. Not even when a cheerful looking woman stepped to the front of the room with a microphone to go over the competition rules and requirements. To even have been eligible for entry, the organizations represented in the competition either had to be headed by or have a significant number of women in leadership positions, and at least one member of each coding team of two programmers had to identify as female. The teams would be presented with that year’s competition theme and would be given six hours to formulate a program related to that theme and write some sample code to prove its functionality. Depending on the complexity of the proposed project, the code did not have to be fully functional, but it did have to demonstrate to the judges that the entire project was conceivably operational, and at least a portion of the code had to be complete and ready for testing. The finished projects would be graded on feasibility, creativity, complexity, innovation, and general appeal. While points would not be deducted for unfinished code – assuming the previous requirements that at least one section be ready for testing – they would be deducted for any errors found within the code that had been presented for review. The top three projects would not only be awarded cash prizes in varying amounts for their respective coders; they would receive additional financial support to assist with the completion of the programs for wide release.

Finished with the technicalities, she continued with bright enthusiasm, “So, I’m sure you’re all dying to know this year’s theme – and remember that the program you write have to be related to the theme chosen by the judges for this competition. This year’s theme is family. Very appropriate since it’s the holiday season, right? The judges are open-minded about the programs you create. You could create a game that a family could do together. Or a program that helps match foster children with potential foster families. It’s entirely up to you, as long as family is the central theme. And with that, the competition starts…now!”

A swell of chatter rose around them, as the various teams put their heads together to brainstorm on a project. Zoey didn’t even need to stop to think; memories of her time spent with Max inspired her instantly with exactly what she wanted to do. All she needed to do was to get Tobin on board. Scooting close to him, she whispered excitedly, “I know exactly what we should do. What do you think about this…?”

The next six hours flew by, Zoey barely noticing the passage of time as she focused her entire attention on the project. Max would never see it – or, if he did, he would never know she had been behind it. But that didn’t matter. She would know he had been the inspiration, and that’s all that mattered.

“Ten minutes left in the competition,” the cheerful presenter’s voice carried through the speakers overhead. “You have ten minutes left.”

Zoey scowled. Time had passed entirely too quickly. “How’s it going over there? Is it working?”

“Yup,” he said, drawing out the word as he checked one more time. She noted that although he was usually somewhat laid back at work, always cracking jokes even when the pressure was on, his mood had been reserved throughout the competition. Of course, she had a sneaky suspicion she knew why, but she didn't know how to fix the problem without confessing everything to him, and that was one thing she'd promised Sophia that night before that she would never do. “How about you? You need anything?”

“I’m just about done. Would you take another look at this? I think I need a second set of eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Let me just—” His voice trailed off as he rolled his chair over to her, and she slid to the side to get out of the way. “Yeah, this looks good, but what if we…” Working together, they made a few last-minute tweaks, leaving Zoey feeling fairly confident about the finished project when time was finally called.

Given the complexity of the competition and number of contestants, the judging process would take some time. Each group was expected to confer with one of three panels of judges to explain their project, demonstrating its functionality and answering any questions the panel may have. Then the judges would confer to examine the code in-depth and scare each entry according to specified criteria. The entire process would take time, but Zoey was too overwhelmed with nerves to notice. When Reality Bytes was called forward, she was tempted to ask Tobin to take the lead, but she quickly dismissed the notion. Three days before, she might have given in, but in the last two days, she’d impersonated another woman, humiliated herself with an impromptu musical performance, and fallen in love. What was a mere contest by comparison?

If only she had some flashcards to organize her thoughts. She’d feel much more confident. But no matter. As she stepped before the panel, she greeted them brightly, “Good afternoon, uh, judges! My name is Zoey Clarke. This is Tobin Batra. We’re from Reality Bytes. The program we’ve created for today’s competition was inspired by…the holiday season!” she chirped, thinking that was better than admitting her inspiration was caused by her own broken heart.

“The holiday season is about the past and the people we love. And family traditions are a big part of that, of course. It’s a time to come together and celebrate both the people we have in our lives today and, um, and the ones who can’t be with us. For whatever reason. But with as hectic as our lives are nowadays, and as families may spread out across different states or even countries, a lot of those old memories and traditions can be lost. The program I – well, we – created will help us capture that history and those memories so they aren’t lost in a user-friendly format that puts your personal family history right at your fingertips.”

Zoey paused, trying to assess how she was doing, but the judging panel was giving nothing away. Sucking in a deep, calming breath, she continued, “So, here’s how it works. Each family will have their own hub with a specific address where they can upload or e-mail just about anything they want, anything that will help them capture that memory. Photos, songs, secret family recipes, old family videos…just about anything. You can even send messages – in text or as an audio or video recording – that can be accessed either immediately, on a specific date, or when a certain event happens. So, for example, you can leave a message that your family – or a specific member or members of your family – can access in twenty years. Or when your first grandchild is born. The idea is a combination of flexibility and usability. With this program, no matter how far away you are from the people you love, you can feel like…like they’re still there with you. You’re still connected, even if you can’t…if they’re gone.”

With her initial spiel complete, Zoey lapsed into silence as she awaited the judges’ questions. To her relief, Tobin fielded each one, giving her a much-needed respite. She might be braver than she’d been a few days before, but she hadn’t had a complete personality transplant.

“How did we do? Did we do okay, do you think?” she whispered urgently to Tobin as they returned to their seats. “They looked bored to me. Did they look bored to you?”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes at her, and for a moment, the tension that had colored their interactions all morning evaporated. “Okay, let’s not have a patented Zoey meltdown. There’s no need to dwell on how it went. It’s fine. We did fine. And they didn’t look bored at all!”

She blew out a long breath. “Oh. Good.”

“You’re still dwelling, aren’t you? I can feel you dwelling!” he demanded, watching her with narrowed eyes.

“Not dwelling!” she protested. “I’m…giving due consideration to how we did.”

“Weirdo,” he grumbled affectionately as they took their seats. “Whatever happened to the new, more relaxed Zoey you swore you were going to be?” he asked with a slightly puzzled smile, his head tilted to the side as he gave her a searching look.

She sighed and offered him a feeble shrug, unable to look at him as she replied, “She went back where she came from, I guess.”

With their part of the competition done, all Zoey could do was wait for the results. The next twenty minutes seemed interminable, but eventually the presenter returned to the front of the room. “And now for the moment we’ve all been waiting for! But before we begin, I just want to convey – from everyone with the Women in STEM Leadership Council – our congratulations to all of our contestants this year. Each of you created some truly wonderful projects, and we look forward to seeing all of them completed one day. That said, the final scores have been tallied, and we have some winners to present!”

She stepped aside, and the head judge – a severe looking woman in her eighties with her silver hair pulled back into a tight bun – took the stage. When she spoke, however, it was with a surprisingly strong voice that resonated through the room. “In third place, we have…GoCode, with their family-friendly game that we can’t wait to play.” Zoey looked around until she found the group in question, clapping politely as the pair celebrated their success.

“In second place…1s and 0s, with their family-based exercise app that we’re sure will inspire many families to be active together.” Zoey craned her neck to find the group in question, but she was distracted when Tobin grabbed her hand, giving it an excited squeeze.

“And now. Our grand prize winner – and winner of this year’s competition – is…” She trailed off, her eyes scanning the crowd as she let a pregnant pause fill the room, building anticipation. “Reality Bytes, with their –”

She didn’t even hear the rest. Her gasp of surprise was drowned out by Tobin’s gleeful shout. Caught up in the excitement of the moment, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet in a tight hug. Zoey started to laugh, but she broke off when she felt his mouth against hers.

Zoey froze, growing rigid in his arms, and she felt him grow still. Putting her back on her feet, he drew back, throwing her a puzzled look. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think— I didn’t mean to—” He looked perplexed. “That was - it didn’t feel like that when we – it was weird, wasn’t it? Am I the only one who thought that was weird? I don’t understand.”

“No, it makes total sense. Can we talk about it later?” she asked desperately, since she realized the judge was still speaking. She also didn’t have any idea how she would explain.

“Our congratulations to Zoey Clarke and Tobin Batra on a job very, very well done,” the judge was saying. “Now, if our winners will come to the front of the room, we’ll present the ribbons! Normally, our ribbons are presented by Mrs. Abigail Richman, but she was unfortunately unable to attend today. So instead, the ribbons this year will be presented by her son, Maxwell Richman, and his fiancée Sophia Cunningham!”

Chapter Text

Zoey had stood to head to the front of the room, but as soon as she heard their names, she dropped back into her seat, trying to hide behind her computer screen. “Zoey?” Tobin asked, tugging at her sleeve. “Come on, we have to go up there!”

“No! We can’t!” she hissed, eyeing the door as she debated whether anyone would notice if she made a run for it. Tobin crossed his arms over his chest, silently demanding an explanation, so she offered desperately, “We’ll – um – we should really get to the airport, don’t you think? We don’t want to miss our flight—”

“It’s in three hours! I think we’ll make it in time!”

“Well, but you know…traffic?” she tried in a small voice.

He just shook his head. “Come on. You’re going to stop being so…you, and we’re going up there to get our prize. Right now.” Grabbing her by the arm, he propelled her forward, to take her place at the back of the line. Zoey craned her neck to peer around the crowd, looking for a glimpse of Max.

Her heart lurched at the sight of him, in a black high-neck sweater that stretched across his chest in a way that should have been illegal. Next to him, Sophia had her hair covered in a green silk scarf, her eyes obscured with large sunglasses. What was she thinking, bringing him here like this? Sure, she might not have had a choice, if Abigail had told the two of them to take her place. But she couldn’t have set the car on fire to prevent them from coming? She couldn’t have sent Zoey a text or e-mail to warn her? Not that Zoey could have seen either, since the contestants’ computers had been blocked from the Internet the moment the competition began, and all cell phones were forbidden inside the end of the competition. But it was the principle of the thing!

Max and Sophia presented the third-place winner with a ribbon, and Zoey let out a soft moan as she moved a foot closer to her doom. Moving behind Tobin, she used his body to block her from view, clutching his arms as she pressed her forehead against his back. “For the record, I’m really sorry about this,” she told him dejectedly.

“For what? What is going on with you? You’re being way weirder than normal, and I didn’t even know that was possible!” he shot at her over his shoulder.

“You’ll see.”

The second-place winner received their ribbons and stepped aside, leaving Tobin directly in front of the presenters. Zoey shivered when she heard Max’s voice wash over her. “Congratulations, Tobin and – um—”

“She’s…here. She’s just shy,” Tobin offered apologetically, twisting to the side.

Unable to put off the inevitable any longer, Zoey dropped her chokehold on Tobin’s arms and stepped around him, lifting one hand in a sheepish wave. “Zoey Clarke,” she mumbled miserably, her gaze fixed firmly on the floor. Since a pre-emptive apology seemed warranted, she added, “And you should know I’m really sorry. For everything.”

“Sorry for what? Why are you—” Tobin began, but Sophia cut him off.

“I think I can explain,” she said, and Zoey looked up in time to see her remove her scarf and sunglasses. She glanced at Max out of the corner of her eye, but his face was impassive, betraying nothing.

“What the fu—” Tobin blurted, causing Sophia to throw a significant look at the crowd of contestants all craning their necks to get a better look at the scene as she interjected, “Maybe we should take this somewhere more private?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Zoey agreed, following Max and Sophia to the room where she’d been judged not long before. That certainly seemed fitting.

Once they were alone, Sophia turned to Tobin to explain, “Zoey and I met for the first time a few days ago and realized we share an…uncanny resemblance.”

“You can say that again,” he agreed, looking between the two of them. Zoey’s heart went out to him, but she was less concerned about Tobin than she was about how Max was processing this revelation. Standing next to his fiancée, his arms crossed over his chest with a stern expression on his face, his features gave her no more to go on than she’d had before. “So, who are you?”

“Sophia Cunningham. It’s nice to meet you. Officially. As you might have already realized, when we realized how alike we looked, we switched – well, I asked Zoey if we could switch – places. She’s been me the last two days, and I’ve – I’ve been her.” Her voice trailed off, and she threw Tobin a sheepish smile.

He heaved a heavy sigh, rocking back on his heels. “Okay, you realize…that’s not normal, right? None of this is normal! And I’m pretty sure I’m not normal, so I know what I’m talking about!”

Sophia nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know. The thing is, Maxwell and I… we’re getting married on New Year’s Day.” That wasn’t anything new to Zoey, but it still hurt to hear. “But I’ve always wanted to know what it would be like to be able to live my life on my own terms, not dictated by somebody else. So when I met Zoey, I saw my chance to do something I wanted to do. If only for a couple of days.”

Zoey couldn’t take it anymore. Looking up at Max through her lashes, she said, “I’m sorry. I never meant to deceive you.” She paused with a scowl. “Okay, I guess that’s not true. I did mean to deceive you. But I never meant to hurt you. We weren’t even supposed to meet! You were supposed to be in Seattle!”

“So you regret it?” he asked, the first words he’d spoken to her since her duplicity was uncovered, and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She couldn’t help but feel that there was definitely a trap. She just didn’t understand the nature of the trap in question.

“I…no!” she cried, because she couldn’t regret her actions entirely, since they’d led to her meeting him. On the other hand, that sounded callous, since she knew her actions had to have felt like a betrayal, and that was something she did regret. “Yes? I don’t – it’s complicated.”

Tobin hadn’t fully processed his own shock at the turn of events. “So when I kissed her last night, that was you?” he asked Sophia before turning to Zoey. “And when I kissed you earlier, I thought I was kissing her?” Once again looking at Sophia, he added, “And you’ve been engaged to him this whole time?”

Before anyone could assure him that he was more or less correct, he jerked back his head in alarm and spun to face Max. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know she was engaged! If you’re going to hit me, please just don’t aim for the face!”

Max looked surprised. “I don’t want to hit you! I don’t want to hit anyone!”

“That’s good,” Tobin replied with palpable relief. “Because I like my face. I also liked kissing your fiancée, so that – that was probably something I shouldn’t have said with my outside voice, huh?”

“Oh, my god, Tobin!” Zoey moaned, even as Sophia replied, “I liked kissing you, too.”

“But, wait,” Max broke in. “I just want to be clear…you kissed Zoey?”

“For the record, I did not enjoy that,” she interjected, as though that helped anything.

Tobin made a face. “Yeah, that…that was just weird. Let’s never do that again. Ever.”

She rolled her eyes at him good-naturedly, more than happy to focus on this brief moment of levity if it gave her a stay of execution. “Trust me, you’ll get no argument from me!”

Turning back toward Sophia, Tobin said, “I really don’t understand something. I liked kissing you. I’d like to kiss you again, actually. You liked kissing me. And you,” he turned toward Max, “aren’t going to punch my lights out? Is this a threesome thing? Because I’m not saying I wouldn’t consider it, but you wouldn’t exactly be my first choice—”

“No,” Max said firmly, while Zoey entertained a brief fantasy of setting herself on fire to escape this conversation. “This isn’t a threesome thing.”

“Do you think we could take this somewhere else?” she begged him in a low whisper. She didn’t know if he wanted to be alone with her at present, all things considered. Heck, she didn’t even know if he ever wanted to see her face again (which would make his future marriage a problem – if that ship hadn’t already sailed, given the fact his fiancée had just admitted to wanting to kiss another man). But there were things he deserved to hear from her, whether or not she was eager to say them. For example, she figured an apology was probably warranted. She was sorry to have lied to him, even if she would never be able to truly regret those few precious days she had spent with him.

He looked at her intently, his eyes narrowed, and she thought for a moment he might be preparing the refuse. But then he nodded, trailing behind her as she led him out of the room. Much to her frustration, however, finding privacy in the middle of an annual competition wasn’t exactly easy. Particularly in the aftermath of the bombshell that had been alluded to when it was revealed that one of the country’s most eligible bachelors was engaged to a woman whose doppelgänger was a contestant in the very competition his family funded. She could have sworn that the number of rival contestants had quadrupled in the last few minutes, because they seemed to be everywhere, and all of them appeared eager to get a front seat to the show.

The third or fourth time Zoey had thought she might have found a private area to talk to Max, only to be interrupted by one of her fellow contestants (or one of the nosy bystanders, armed with a cell phone camera, that seemed to follow Max everywhere he went), she gave up. Without even taking a moment to consider the wisdom of her actions, she reached behind her and grabbed Max’s hand, dragging him onto an empty elevator just as the doors were about to close.

In any other circumstances, dragging the man whose fiancée she had just impersonated – the man she had kissed under false pretenses – up to her hotel room would have been a terrible idea. At present, however, it was the only place she could think of where the two would have a reasonable expectation of privacy.

He remained silent, not making even the slightest protest, as she dragged him into her room. Kicking the door shut behind them both, Zoey leaned against it with a heavy sigh. She squeezed her eyes shut and sucked in a steady breath, knowing when she opened them again, she would have to deal with the mess she had made. And she really didn’t know how to even begin.

When she did regain the courage to open her eyes once more, she found Max standing several feet away, giving the rumpled hotel bed a bemused look. Glancing over at her, he said, “You know, it occurs to me that the first time we technically met was also in a bedroom. You kept staring at the bed, and so I asked you if you wanted it to be replaced. You said—”

“I told you it was exceedingly comfortable,” she completed for him in an undertone. Of course, she’d also followed that statement by suggesting he try out her bed. Alone. Not that this seemed the right moment to bring up that particular memory. Instead, she explained, “That was…we had just made the switch. Sophia was hiding under the bed.”

“I wondered about that,” he admitted.

“I really am sorry,” she blurted. She just couldn’t take the suspense anymore. “Though I completely understand if you don’t want to believe that.”

“I was just thinking that this is like the night we met. Only I was the one apologizing that time.” Then, giving his head a small shake, he turned to face her. “Do you know why it never even occurred to me to punch your friend downstairs?” he asked in an apparent change of subject.

“Um, because violence never solves your problems?” she ventured meekly.

 “Well, I suppose that’s one reason, though I wasn’t thinking about that. I also would like to say it’s because you aren’t a prize to be fought over and won, but I wasn’t thinking about that, either,” he admitted, a small smile flirting with the corners of his lips. “It never occurred to me to punch him because I,” he took a small step toward Zoey, “liked kissing you. And I’m just wondering if you feel the same way?”

Flummoxed by the unexpected question, Zoey stammered, “I-I – of c-course I liked kissing you! You’re a very, very good kisser!” Even as she spoke, she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that had been spared the awkwardness of admitting as much in front of his fiancée. Even if said fiancée had just admitted she enjoyed kissing another man entirely.

“Is that all?” he asked, his voice soft.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” she whispered miserably. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You’re marrying someone else—”

“Not anymore,” he interjected. “I don’t know if you noticed from that scene downstairs, she’s realized she’s in love with someone else. And I’m—”

“Okay, but you still spent the last two days thinking I was someone else. You don’t even know me! Not really.”

She wondered what he was thinking when he stopped and looked away from her, lifting one hand to rub the back of his neck. He kept his gaze averted as he began to speak, his words coming haltingly, as though each was chosen with careful deliberation. “There’s something I need to tell you. When I woke up this morning, I felt like…myself. For the first time in a very, very long time. And I know that sounds weird, but it’s the only way I can describe it. I felt like…like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Like I didn’t have to pretend to be someone else anymore. I was happy. And that’s all because of you.”

Breaking off, he finally turned back to her, but the expression in his eyes was sad. “I couldn’t wait to see you, so I raced downstairs and found you – well, Sophia, but I thought it was you – waiting for me. The moment I took her hand, I knew – I knew – she wasn’t you.” Moving slowly, as though afraid of scaring her away, he reached out and took her hand, caressing her fingers with his own. “I know how it sounds, but I also know how I feel. I want to be with you. And I came here today to ask if there’s a chance you want to be with me, too.”

“This is…this is ridiculous. You can’t – how can you say that? How do you know what you feel is real and it’s not just that for two days, I looked like someone you already knew you were supposed to love, so—”

“If thinking I was supposed to love Sophia was going to make me fall in love with her, I would have done it already.”

“Not if you were convinced there were more important things in marriage!”

He shook his head slowly. “I still thought that when we met, and you – you, Zoey Clarke – made me realize that nothing is more important to me than spending my life with the woman I love.”

She threw him a pained look. “And you aren’t mad at me for what I did? I mean, I lied to you! Tricked you into kissing me! I also think I stomped on your foot pretty hard a couple of times during our dance, and—”

“And it was worth it. I love you.” Her heart leapt at those three words, wanting so hard to believe they were true, that he loved her the way she loved him. But they also scared her a little, because she knew their relationship had started on a lie, and Zoey tended to run when she was scared. Not knowing how to respond, she instinctively drew back slightly. But Max didn’t release her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze instead. “I know it sounds impossible, I you’re not ready to believe it, but it’s true. I love you, and I think you love me too.”

She watched as he ducked his head, staring at their clasped hands. “Listen, I don’t mean to pressure you. If the truth is that you don’t love me, then I understand. You don’t have to—”

“No, it isn’t that!” she blurted quickly, accidentally trodding on his toe when she stumbled closer to him, willing him to believe her. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my whole life. It’s just…this is so fast, I don’t know how to – It’s messy, and it’s complicated. And I’m just not very good at messy and complicated.”

“So give me time,” he pleaded with her in a low murmur. “Give me a year. If in that time, you realize that you don’t love me after all, then I’ll understand. But if realize that you still love me and what we have is real…marry me next December?”

“Max—” she began weakly.

“It didn’t take two days for me to realize I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Whether it means waiting for a day or a month or a year for you to be ready for that too…and whether that means I have to find steel-toed boots that will match a tuxedo…it’s worth it, if it means there’s a chance you’ll marry me someday. So you don’t have to say yes. Just…don’t say no?”

She wanted to say yes. More than anything in the world, she wanted to hold onto him and never let go. She wanted to be the woman who got to see the relaxed, somewhat goofy man beneath the practiced smile. If she was the one who he told his secrets to. The one who could kiss him and hold him close and know he truly was hers. Her Max. But she had always been practical, and all this…well, it was like a fairy tale. Practical girls did not go around believing in fairy tales. At least, they didn’t go around thinking they would end up living in one.

Torn between the longing in her heart and the voice of reason whispering in her mind, Zoey took too long to respond. She watched as Max’s gaze fell, sadness written across his face as he released her hand and stepped back. “It’s okay. I understand. Just…be happy, Zoey. And thank you. For everything.”

As he stepped around her, she whirled, trying to find the words to ask him to stay. She saw him reach into the pocket of his coat, pulling out the flat jewelry box she’d left in Sophia’s drawer the night before.

“Max, you can’t!” she blurted as he placed it next to her suitcase. “That was your great-grandmother’s, and I—”

“I gave it to you,” he said firmly. “Whatever happened today, I wanted you to have it.”

He was almost to the door, three steps away from walking out of her life forever. It didn’t matter how scared she was; she couldn’t let him go. “Is there any chance I could interest you in a job?”

He froze, looking over his shoulder at her. “Excuse me?”

“I was just thinking,” she began, offering him a wobbly smile even as she felt her face grow warm, “you said you’d rather be writing code than working on trends analysis. And as it happens, it looks like my best friend – and the only other employee of Reality Bytes – may be about to be a little preoccupied with his love life. So I was thinking…if you were interested in a job, I might have an ‘in’ with the owner.”

Tilting his head to the side, Max turned to face her again, a slight smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Well, as it happens, I was planning on talking to my dad today about taking a little bit of a sabbatical from the family business. Maybe one day, when he wants to retire, I’ll be ready to step into his shoes. But for now…someone made me realize that it’s time I figure out what I want to do. Not trying to live up to an image that exists only in my mind.”

The wave of relief that swept over her almost made her giddy, and she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. She had to clasp her hands behind her back to resist temptation. Rocking up onto her toes, she did allow herself to grin as she asked, “So…if I am going to consider you for a position at Reality Bytes, we’ll need to cover a few things.”

He responded with a grave nod, though there was a twinkle of happiness in his eye. “I understand,” he said with mock solemnity. “Well, I left my resumé at home, but let’s see. I’m good at project management. I have great public speaking skills. Oh! And you may not be able to tell from looking at me, but I make a mean cup of coffee. Does that help?”

“Those are very important skills,” she agreed. “But I was actually thinking that there are things you should know about me.”

“Like what?”

“Like…well, this may come as a surprise to you, but I’m definitely not a classically trained singer.”

He made a soft sound, and she realized he’d tried to smother a chuckle. “That is a surprise,” he deadpanned.

She threw him a stern look before continuing. “I also can’t say I’ve ever been much of a dancer. I’ve only ever ridden a horse once – and I can’t say that I was very good at it.”

“So you’ve never been kicked in the head by one? That’s a relief,” he teased her.

“I also think if there isn’t a law that hot cocoa is required after a snowball fight, there should be. Oh, and I like my coffee with cream and sugar. I’ve done plenty wrong in my life, but nothing bad enough to warrant drinking black coffee like it’s some sort of self-punishment.”

She stepped forward, reaching out her hand, and she could see his chest rise and fall with a heavy sigh of relief as he stepped forward to take it. “These are all very important details I’ll need to know. If I’m going to work for you.”

“With me,” she corrected him.

He tightened his hold on her hands. “And how are you as a baker? Just in case it comes up?”

“Oh,” she replied with mock solemnity, even as she tried to fight back a smile, “absolutely terrible, I’m afraid.”

“I see. As it happens, so am I. Is there anything else?”

Zoey paused to ponder the question. “My family means everything to me. My dad passed away a few years ago, but my mom lives nearby, so I see her all the time. They really did adore each other. I also have one brother, David. He and his wife currently live in Chicago, but they’ve been talking lately about moving back to California. Emily doesn’t like the Chicago winters. Oh, and on that note, I wear sweaters at least eleven months out of the year. You should probably be prepared for that.”

He shifted his weight back and forth, scooting slightly closer. “And how do you feel about, um, romance in the workplace?”

“Hm. You know, my parents worked together, and they were blissfully happy. Your parents worked together, and I may not know them very well, but they seem to have a really good relationship. So…generally speaking…I’m in favor of it?” She meant the words to be a statement, but they came out as a question anyway.

She rose up on her toes, intending to go in for a kiss, but he hesitated. “Wait, before you agree to, uh, work together, there’s something…my life can be…complicated. You have to understand…there will be cameras and reporters. There may be questions you don’t want to answer. And I wish I could tell you that I could spare you all of that, but in my entire life, I’ve never found a way to make it go away. But if you’re not comfortable with that…I understand.”

For a moment, she’d almost forgotten that so much of his life was lived in the spotlight. But, of course, she’d known – even before they met – that it was just the life he lived. Being with him meant having to accept all that; he’d even admitted that part of the reason he’d asked Sophia to marry him was that he thought she could understand and accept his life.

“Well. I guess nobody’s perfect,” she joked. Then, growing more serious, she added, “I’m sure it won’t always be easy, but your parents found a way to make it work, right?” Unable to hold back any longer, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you, and as long as our private life remains private, I guess I can deal with our public life being…a bit more public than I’d imagined.”

“You love me?” he repeated in a voice barely above a whisper.

“Of course I do! Yo-“ She couldn’t even get out the rest of her thought, as Max wrapped his arms around her and lifted her off her feet, pressing his mouth to hers. It was not entirely unlike the kiss Tobin had excitedly – if unthinkingly – bestowed upon her earlier, but her reaction couldn’t have been more different as she melted against Max, tightening her arms around his neck to hold him close.

When the kiss finally ended and he put her back on her feet, he pressed his forehead against hers and asked, “So, what do you say? Do I have the job?”

She pretended to have to think about it. “Oh, I guess,” she agreed finally. “But can I ask you a question? Did you really come here today intending to ask me to marry you?”

“Of course I did! I even brought a ring, if you want to see—” he began, reaching into his coat pocket again.

He pulled out a small ring box, Zoey put her hand on his arm before he could lift the top. “No, not yet. You have to meet my family first. And I should probably meet yours for real, since I spent the last two days with them under false pretenses. Are they very mad at me for what I did?”

“They were…surprised,” he admitted. “But then I told them that I never realized how much I could love someone until I met you, and they came around. I think it helps that my mom caught us making hot cocoa. She said she’d never seen me as happy with the real Sophia as I was that day with you.”

With one more quick kiss, she grabbed the hand holding the engagement ring box and slid it back into his coat. “I think you should hold onto this for now. But…maybe keep your next December open. I have a feeling you’ll have plans.”

He chuckled against her lips. “So, you’re thinking my odds are good of convincing you to marry me?” he teased her.

“On one condition,” she murmured against his mouth in return, her words peppered between soft kisses. “You don’t bake anything. Ever again.”

Unable to resist, she cut off his bark of laughter with one last kiss.