Sighing with relief, I toss my bag inside my tiny studio and head back out. The warm night air greets me like an old friend.
At the station, I swipe my MetroCard and descend into the humid underground. Astoria's not far—about twenty minutes up the line. My mind races the whole way: Carolyn's eyes, so like mine, but colder. Much colder. The money. The madness of it all. By the time the train pulls into 30th Avenue, my palms are sweaty with nerves.
Emma lives in a cozy one-bedroom on the third floor of a pre-war building. Her neighborhood is quiet compared to the Village. The door swings open, and Emma stands there: wild dark curls, yoga pants, an oversized tee, and holding out a glass of red wine for me. It's probably a Malbec, her favorite.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," she says, pulling me into a quick hug. The TV is paused on Gilmore Girls, Lorelai mid-quip, and the room smells of lavender candles and takeout Thai.
“That’s one way to put it.” I take the wine, the glass cool in my hand, and sink onto the couch beside her. The Malbec is velvety on my tongue; berries, and a hint of spice.
She turns to me, her green eyes sharp. "Okay, spill. What's going on?"
Where do I even start? I realize it will all sound quite insane. I take a deep breath.
"Something happened at work this evening. Right before closing. This expensively dressed woman came in. I mean, she looked like she stepped out of the pages of Vogue, but Emma, she looked like me. I don’t mean a little bit or a passing resemblance. She lookedexactlylike me. Real doppelganger stuff."
Emma's brows shoot up, but she doesn't interrupt, just waits patiently for me to get it all out.
I lean forward, my hands gesturing excitedly as the words tumble out. "She said she hired a whole bunch of private detectives to find her lookalike. One of them found me. She then offered me two hundred thousand dollars to impersonate her forthree months while she goes to Europe to get her mojo back. Fifty up front, the rest monthly."
Emma chokes on her drink. "What? Are you serious? That's... that's movie-level crazy. Who is she?”
“Her name is Carolyn Bessant.” The name feels foreign on my tongue. “She said her life is suffocating her and she needs a bit of time to gather herself. Apparently, her husband has lost all interest in her, her stepdaughter hates her, and her mother-in-law's a nightmare. I just have to slip in and pretend to be her. The important thing is… There won’t be any sex involved. They have separate bedrooms."
Emma leans back, her expression a mix of disbelief and intrigue, her fingers tap the arm of the couch restlessly. “Holy shit, Jules. Two hundred grand? That's life-changing. But... how? You can't just swap lives. No matter how much she looks like you, her husband is bound to realize you’re not her."
I nod, pulling Carolyn's card from my pocket, the paper smooth and thick. "I know. That’s what I thought, but she has it all planned out. To the last detail. If I agree, a speech instructor will spend the next month coaching me on how she speaks, her intonation, her accent, and all that stuff." I pause, recalling Carolyn's precise words, the way she laid it out like a business deal. “During that month, she will also guide me on her mannerisms and attitudes. Basically, she’ll teach me everything about her routine and her life."
Emma's eyes widen. "Wow! She’s really serious about this. A whole month of training.”
"Yeah," I say softly, a nervous laugh escaping. "And because our noses are a little different, and I have bigger breasts, she'll pretend to have a nose job and a boob job, so they’ll be expecting some small changes in her appearance. She’s going to wear bandages for a couple of weeks before I show up. In that way they put the changes down to the surgeries.”
She whistles low, shaking her head. "That's... really detailed. Creepy detailed. What else? There has to be more."
"That’s it.” I shrug and take a sip of wine. “She's expecting my call tomorrow. If I say yes, her solicitor will draw up an NDA for me. Once I sign it, she'll announce her surgery plans to the family and start building up the pretense. She’ll tell them she is going to have some surgery and it’ll need time to ‘heal’, and will be the cover story to explain away the small differences."
Emma tilts her head, curiosity burning. "And if you say no?"
"Then she’ll carry on searching to find someone else, I guess." The thought stings unexpectedly—losing out on that money and escape. “Or maybe she won’t be able to. What are the chances she’ll find someone else who looks like me? Like her, I mean.”
Emma nods thoughtfully. “I see.” I can see her processing, her foot tapping absently against the scuffed hardwood floor. This kind of hesitation is rare for her; she's usually the one with quick-fire opinions, the friend who talks me off ledges. My own thoughts swirl, an undercurrent of doubt and temptation coiling in my chest, making my skin prickle.
“Does it feel too good to be true? Too risky?" I venture hesitantly.
“I don’t know.” She frowns. “Are the two of you the same size as well?”
“We’re more or less the same height, but I’m thicker than she is. She’s stick-thin.”
I sigh, glancing down at my generous curves. “So yeah. I'd have to lose about ten pounds. And wear contact lenses—my eyes are a lighter blue than hers."
Emma’s expression is suddenly excited. "Ten pounds? Contacts? Bandages? Jules, I’ve been trying to be mature and sensible, but this is freaking wild. Just think about it—the money, the adventure. What are you leaning toward?"
I don't answer right away. The soft light from the string lights cast a warm glow on us, as my mind spins with possibilities, fears, and the sensual pull of the unknown. I think of Carolyn's touch on my arm earlier—cool, lingering, and promising something I’d never imagined I could ever experience in my lifetime.
Chapter Three
JULIET
“Iknow what I wish, but what if this is some kind of trap?”
