Page 24 of King’s Promise

“So, has he… done the deed?”

“What? No!”

“Well, I can tell he likes you, why else would he even care to say ‘hi’ to me? And your closet makes a statement, it’s not cheap, Anya.”

“I know. He’s sociable, but he’s very keen on keeping things between us businesslike.”

“How would you know if he has a woman on the side? He’s so handsome, I’m sure there are plenty of women willing to sleep with a married man.”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had a serious relationship before. It’s not that I haven’t wondered about it myself. What if he does cheat? Is that why he hasn’t come into my room at night? There’s nothing stopping him from doing what he wants. Does he not want me?

“Well, maybe he’s waiting for the wedding. You haven’t been with anyone, have you?” She fiddles with my brushes on the counter.

“No, heavens, I wish. No one special for me. You?”

“No one here, small crushes. I take my time.”

I’ve always viewed my sister as the normal one. She’s great at small talk, she fits into any situation, she views slights as just words, and takes nothing personal. She doesn’t waste time over situations which don’t matter in the long run. I’m envious of how she sails through life with little stress.

“Thank you for this, Kat. I owe you.” I peer into the mirror to see her face above mine as I’m sitting in a padded chair meant for the table.

“You’ll owe me a ton if you get caught, so be home on time and text me you are on your way home so I don’t worry. I can’t believe we’re doing this. We haven’t played twins in years,” she replies, and as much as she wants to be the heavy, she smiles.

“It will be fine,” I assure her. “This isn’t our first time breaking rules.”

“Yeah, but Sergei had our back.”

“True, we’ll just have to wing it, I’m sure it will be fine. Make yourself at home, and don’t leave the room, no one comes in here anyway.”

I dress in jeans like my sister and use her blouse. I stuff a Lycra mini dress in my purse. I plan to change into it before we meet at the club. I turn the TV on and it’s as if my sister and I have fallen back in time, when we were best friends living under one roof.

At nine, I check the hallway, and decide I need to make a break for it before Nikolay goes to bed, usually after ten. He’s an early riser. I keep my head down and make it down the stairs and grab my sister’s jacket from a small closet in the foyer. I’m confident I haven’t lost my touch and waltz out the door to her car. I find it funny I’m acting like Cinderella being whisked off to a ball, but we want the same thing; freedom for a night to mingle with peers.

I’m good to go, the guard on the grounds will never suspect a thing. With her purse over my shoulder and her car keys safely in my hand I wave goodnight to the guard on the grounds and crawl into my sister’s old, yellow VW Bug.

God, this thing is ancient and small. I’ve become accustomed to being chauffeured around and feel like I’m in a time-warp. I push the clutch in and crank the car. I take the emergency brake off and the car putters. I’m off, out the gates, and driving towards freedom. It’s been a week since I’ve had a minute to myself outside of our estate.

I park and change in the car, which is difficult considering the fact there are two seats and the gearshift. I pull my purse out, lock the car and join Darci in the queue. I left the jacket in the car; the night air is chilly, and I rub my arms to stay warm.

“Oh my God,” Darci exclaims as she hugs me. “You made it!”

“I did.”

People behind us in the queue gripe over me jumping the line.

“Piss off,” Darci exclaims. I know she’ll make a good attorney; she’s not intimidated by anyone.

“I saw in the paper your dad was murdered. Sorry about that?”

“Really?” Nikolay didn’t say anything about it.

“Oh, yes, a picture of you and a man named Nikolay, Russian, eh? You were in the tabloids leaving your house. I recognized you.”

“Really?” I’m aghast I missed this pertinent information. I assume she’s referring to the pictures the media took of us after we left my flat. I hope she’ll let it go. I guess the cat is out of the bag now.

“I’m sorry about your dad, weird stuff going on,” she adds without asking questions, for which I’m grateful. But then it occurs to me she seems to know the behind-the-scenes details. What is weird stuff to her? What does she know that she’s not sharing?

“Sure is, I try not to think about it. My father wasn’t the best dad in the world.” I shrug.

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