Page 65 of Split

I nod shallowly in agreement, my body melting against his as my eyes slide closed. Idoneed sleep. And hopefully come tomorrow, my world will start to make sense again.

28

The soles of my red stilettos kiss the ground outside the car as I gather the skirt of my gown up in a hand, the fabric so delicate that it starts to slip through my fingers. Extending my other hand, I place it in Andrew’s waiting palm and allow him to help me to my feet, my heart skipping a beat when I glance up at the intimidating brick façade of Magnus Volkov’s mansion.

I’ve only been here once before, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience.Here’s hoping this one is a vast improvement.

I drop Andrew’s hand and stride confidently toward the front door, smiling when I look down to see the trumpet skirt of my gown seemingly changing color as it catches the light. Though I was given the choice between wearing black or red tonight, I found I couldn’t decide. Choosing a color would be akin to choosing one side of Roman over the other–Dr. Jekyll likes black, Mr. Hyde likes red– and I’ve come to oppose and embrace both equally. So, I found the only garment in my closet that passes as both. The sheer overlay of this dress is deceiving to the eye, much like my husband. In low light, it’s black, but in bright light, it’s red.A perfect compromise.

As I ascend the steps to the front door, it suddenly opens, the same stuffy butler that greeted me last time pulling it wide with a tight-lipped smile. “You’re right on time, Mrs. Volkov,” he remarks, stepping aside and gesturing for me to come in. “They just sat down in the dining room.”

“Great,” I reply politely, even though my punctuality is really owed to Andrew. I was a little late coming downstairs to get in the car, so he must’ve pushed the speed limits to make up for lost time. The trip out here felt a lot faster than the one back to the estate on our wedding day.

Déjà vu hits hard as the butler leads me through the dimly-lit halls to the dining room, rapping his knuckles once against the closed door before tugging it open and waving me through. I enter to find Magnus seated at the head of the table, my husband on his left. Both stare in my direction as I advance into the room, but Roman’s eyes are the ones that pull me in, brimming with heat as they drop down my body to drink in my appearance.

“Well, if it isn’t my new daughter-in-law,” Magnus booms, pushing up to his feet with an easy grin and spreading his arms. “Eliza, so nice to see you again.”

“You as well,” I reply cordially, pausing to allow him to take my hand and brush a kiss against my cheek.

Roman rises from his seat, dipping his chin as I move past his father to approach him. “Wife.”

“Husband.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips as we stare each other down.

“Sit, sit,” Magnus urges, dropping back into his own chair and fanning his napkin out over his lap. “I heard you like wine, so you’re in for a treat. I’m somewhat of a collector, and I uncorked and decanted a vintage Bordeaux to pair with the meal tonight.”

Roman extends an arm and presses a hand to the small of my back, guiding me to the seat next to his and pulling out the antique dining chair like a perfect gentleman. It takes everything in me to stifle the amused giggle that threatens to slip from my lips in response to the gesture.Is he putting on a show for his father?Deciding to play along, I sink down onto it with a shy smile, my stomach fluttering as Roman pushes my chair in and sidesteps to retake his own.

“Go on, try it,” Magnus urges, gesturing to the glass of red waiting in front of my place setting.

I reach for it, swirling the glass as I bring it up to my nose to inhale the aroma. Resting the rim against my lower lip, I slowly tip it back, Roman’s father watching intently as I take a sip.

“Well?” he asks eagerly as I swallow and lower the glass.

“Delicious,” I remark, licking my lips for emphasis before going in for another taste.

“See, I told you I know wine,” Magnus boasts, turning a smug grin on his son.

“It’s still a bit dry for my taste,” Roman shrugs.

As I set my glass back down in front of me and glance around the table, I suddenly realize that there’s a fourth place setting on Magnus’ opposite side, a full glass of red already poured. I don’t recall Roman mentioning that anyone would be joining us tonight, but before I can ask who it might be, the dining room door opens again.

I turn to look in that direction, my heart ceasing to beat as a hauntingly familiar man strolls into the room.

Romanstrolls into the room, his distinctive emerald eyes locking with mine and the corner of his mouth lifting in delighted recognition.

I whip my head back around to the man seated beside me, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing.

I’m seeing double.

Was there something in that wine?

This can’t be real.

“About time you showed up,” Roman grumbles irritably.

“Had a phone call to make,” his double snipes back.

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