Prada and Prejudice Read online

  Every time we stand closely, every time he's looking at me, I try to tell him. I try to say I'm not Rebecca, try to say that I need to talk to him in private, but I can't get the words out of my mouth.

  The song changes. The dance changes. But we don't leave the floor. We dance through three songs. It must be at least an hour's worth of dancing. I give up on the idea of telling him anything tonight. It can wait. It has waited thirty days; it can wait another. I'll find him in the morning, before Rebecca arrives. I'll explain it all.

  It's not until I'm entirely too short of breath and dizzy — I blame it on the corset — that I have to bow out. Alex tries to follow me, but he is quickly swarmed by girls in fancy dresses and thick gemstones, and I can't help but smirk at the look on his face. I'm starting to think he doesn't want to be a duke at all, even if he doesn't say it out loud.

  There are whispers as I leave the floor. All eyes are on me. I need fresh air, so I leave the room and find the courtyard, where several ladies are milling about. Emily is one of them.

  "I was beginning to think you'd simply keep dancing until the guests had all gone home."

  I laugh. "I was a bit short of breath."

  "I'm sure the young ladies in attendance thank you."

  "Was it that obvious?"

  "His Grace would not have noticed if the ceiling had fallen in."

  I know I should be embarrassed, but I just keep grinning. "I'm sure he was just being polite."

  "A single dance would have sufficed. Three means he's taken an interest. Tongues will wag. You, my dear, have just become the belle of the ball."

  "Oh, I didn't mean to steal your—"

  Emily laughs. "Not at all. I owe my engagement to you. You may take all the attention you want."

  I smile at her and try not to notice that what she's saying is true. People are watching us.

  She's so sweet not to care that I'm stealing her limelight. She's just that kind of person.

  I need to say something to her. I need to make her understand that no matter what happens tomorrow, I consider her a real friend.

  "Emily... I... I wanted to say goodbye to you."

  She looks up at me, startled. "Oh, I know my marriage seems so very close, but we have two days yet—"

  "I know. It's just... things are going to change soon. And I want you to know that no matter where you — or I — end up, I've treasured the last month with you. You're a true friend. And I appreciate you being there for me. I will miss you."

  She smiles, her eyes glittering, and hugs me. "And I feel the same for you, Rebecca."

  It's like a stab to the heart. I wish I could tell her. I wish I could explain that's not who I am, but it would ruin her special night. So I bite back the words and simply nod and fight away the tears that spring to life in my eyes. "Shall we return?"

  I don't want to miss the rest of the night. I don't want to miss a single dance. Emily nods, and the two of us hook arms and walk toward the ballroom.

  And that's when I hear the collective gasp as it travels through the crowd. That's when the music stops and everyone goes silent.

  "My God!" someone says.

  "Who is it?" someone else asks.

  I freeze halfway through the door, paralyzed.

  Oh God. There's only one thing that could be happening.

  Only one reason the guests would be that stunned.

  Rebecca.

  She's here.

  Chapter 31

  I rush out of the courtyard, moving at lightning speed, though I can hardly feel the ground beneath my feet. I don't know whether to flee Harksbury altogether or run straight into the fray and try to explain myself.

  It's over. It's all over. Alex will know everything. Emily, my first real friend in a year, will hate me. Victoria will know she was right to snub me.

  I stop when I realize no one is looking at me.

  If they knew I was an imposter...

  What are they looking at?

  They're crowding around the area where all the dancers had been.

  "Is she all right?" someone asks.

  "She just collapsed," someone else says.

  I grab the guy nearest me by the shoulder and spin him around. "What's going on?"

  "Her Grace has fallen."

  "Her — Victoria?"

  The man nods.

  I shove past him, past three young ladies in sheer, clingy gowns, and push my way into the crowd, elbowing my way past guest after guest.

  "Excuse me!" I have to push, hard, to get one of the guys to back up.

  Alex is on his knees beside her, and all I can see are the hem of her gown and her toes. She's lying on her back.

  Oh God, oh God, oh God. This is not good.

  "What happened?"

  I fall to the ground beside him and pick up her wrist, trying to find a pulse. There's nothing. No, no, no! Is she dead?

  "She was dancing and then said she needed to sit down. She complained of chest pain. Before she could make it to the chairs, she collapsed."

  I'm leaning over her, my ear near her lips, but I hear only silence. She's not breathing.

  "Was she holding her arm or flexing her hand? Her left one?"

  "What?"

  "Was she or not?"

  "I — yes. What are you doing?"

  I've started chest compressions. What if they don't work through the corset? It's so hard to tell if I'm on the right part of the sternum or not. Oh God, I hope it works anyway. If it doesn't, if she doesn't come back...

  "One-and-two-and-three-and—"

  Alex shoves me, hard, off his mother, and I land on my butt, barely managing to catch myself before knocking my head onto the ballroom floor. My elbows slam into the ground, and pain shoots up my arms.

  "You're killing her!" he growls.

  I swallow, slowly. "She's not breathing, Alex," I say, knowing I'm not supposed to call him that in front of guests. "She's already dead. You have to let me do this. I can save her."

  There's a wild look in his eyes as he hovers over her, as if he intends to protect her from an outward force while the life is slowly disappearing on the inside.

  Every second matters. What is he doing? She's dying. She's lying there dying, and he's stopping me from doing the only thing that could help.

  Agonizingly slowly, he leans back on his knees. I don't wait for him to give me permission; I just leap forward and pick up CPR again.

  I press my lips to Victoria's, and the crowd around me bursts into a hum of conversation. They must think this looks totally crazy. When was CPR invented? I'm sure they've never seen it before.

  They must think I'm a freak.

  But I don't care. She can't die. Not like this. Not now.

  I give her two breaths and resume the chest compressions. "One-and-two-and-three-and-four-and-five," I chant. I concentrate on the numbers, on the rhythm, and refuse to look at anyone in the room.

  She can't die. I won't let her.

  This is so unfair. Her whole life, she's gotten the shaft in everything. She had a husband who cheated on her, and when he finally realized she loved him, he died. And now she lives all alone with nothing but her precious etiquette.

  She can't die like this.

  Two breaths.

  Five more repetitions.

  She's so pale. What if I'm doing this all wrong? I only learned it last year, and we used dummies.

  Two breaths.

  Five more repetitions.

  Alex is gripping his knees so hard his knuckles are turning white. The crowd seems to be pushing closer.

  "Make them back up. She needs air!"

  Alex is on his feet in less than a second, pushing the crowd backward.

  Two breaths.

  Five more repetitions.

  Did her eyelids just flutter?

  No, that's the dancing candlelight. Just shadows.

  Please God, don't let her die! This can't happen. She can't just disappear like this.

  Two breaths.

  Fiv
e more repetitions.

  My lungs are screaming. I'm giving her all my breath. Or maybe I'm holding my breath. I'm getting dizzy, pushing on her chest.

  "One-and-two-and—"

  And then she moves. Her fingers flex and wiggle. She groans softly and I rock back and sit on my heels, watching as her eyes roll around underneath her eyelids.

  And then they pop open. Her eyes are completely unfocused. She's staring upward, toward the chandeliers. She blinks a few times.

  "Mother?" Alex's voice comes out garbled, like he's choking back the same lump in his throat that I feel in mine.

  She's alive.

  I saved her life.

  I don't realize I'm crying until I feel the tears slide down my cheeks and drip to the ground.

  She's alive. Thank God, she's alive.

  "What.. . ?" she says in a hoarse whisper.

  "Shh..." Alex says, holding her hand. "You fell. I thought you were gone but... Rebecca saved your life."

  Rebecca. Of course it was Rebecca. Why am I surprised and hurt every time I hear them call me that?

  Victoria turns to look at me, and her eyes bore straight into me, slicing right through my heart. "Thank you," she whispers.

  I nod as I climb to my feet, feeling the oddest mixture of elation and... nerves. Panic? It's all hitting me now, as I stare straight into her eyes.

  I just brought her back to life. I did that.

  I find myself backing away from them. The room is closing in on me. I need to get away, get some air.

  I flee the ballroom and head toward my chambers.

  Chapter 32

  Hours pass. I listen as the house falls silent, until I'm sure I'm the only one awake.

  I saved Victoria's life. As much as that freaked me out when it happened, I feel nothing but a sense of peace now.

  I hated her when I met her, and yet when she was lying there dying, all I wanted was for her to come back and yell at me for putting my elbow on the table. Maybe I never fully understood her, but I know she's a good person. And it wasn't her time.

  And yet even as dramatic as that moment was, it's not her I'm thinking of now. It's Alex.

  With just a few hours left until Rebecca arrives, I have finally admitted the truth: I'm in love with him.

  How could this have happened? I just realized I didn't hate him, and now I'm full-on falling for him? For a guy who will probably hate me when he finds out I'm a fraud? That I've scammed his whole family into believing I was someone else so I'd have a roof over my head?

  I slide out from the heavy comforter and go to the armoire. I know exactly where to look, and moments later I'm pulling on my jeans and T-shirt.

  The outfit feels foreign. Free and comfortable and yet not me. How can I be the girl who wears this? I'm the one who dances and laughs and flirts in ball gowns.

  I find my Prada heels and slip them on, carefully buckling the straps.

  When did these shoes get so comfortable? A month ago, walking in them was torture. And now it's like they've molded to my feet. Like I belong in them. Or maybe they belong on me.

  I pick up a candle that has been left for me, even though it's been steadily burning and is now little more than a tiny nub. I slip into the hallway and walk toward the front of Harksbury, the candle casting long shadows on everything I pass. It's eerie, like the haunted mansion at Disneyland or something. I half expect to see a ghost pop out.

  I descend the stairs, cross the grand foyer, and quickly leave the house. I set the candle down on the porch and cross the drive until I stand on a small patch of grass. The moon is so bright it casts shadows.

  I lie down on the grass and stare up into the stars. There are millions of them, sparkling and twinkling against a velvety-blue sky. I don't look at the stars very often anymore, but I bet they look nothing like this in the twenty-first century. It seems like I could reach out and grab a handful.

  The door creaks open and I sit up, sure it will be a servant asking if I've lost my mind. But it's not.

  It's Alex. He stands at the entry and looks straight at me. He's not wearing a jacket or cravat, just a snowy-white shirt left loosened at the collar. It's the most relaxed I've ever seen him. For a long time, we just stare at one another. There's an invisible barrier between us, and I don't think he'll break it.

  But then he does. "Might I join you?"

  "By all means." I gesture to the lawn as if I'm Vanna White, and he walks over and takes a seat beside me. For a second, I think he's going to say something about my clothes.

  He stares for a long moment, his lips slightly parted, but then he just closes them and doesn't say a word. He's finally figured out I'm always doing the unexpected.

  I lie back down and stare into the sky. "It's a beautiful view, if you lie back. If, you know, that's proper or whatever." I silently curse myself for reminding him of etiquette, because we both know this doesn't fall under Things A Duke Can Do With A Girl He's Not Married To.

  He smirks, those perfectly full lips curling up on one side, but does as I say and lies down beside me. As soon as his arm brushes mine, my heart beats triple time. His fingers find mine and he interlaces them, until we're holding hands and staring upward. I fight the urge to glance at our hands to see if the moment is real. I close my eyes and lose myself in the feeling of his bare skin on mine for the first time. He brushes my finger with the pad of his thumb, little circles that make my skin tingle and jump. I can't believe all those times and all those pairs of gloves, and finally, it's just him.

  "Did you enjoy yourself tonight?"

  I open my eyes. "Yes," I say, barely above a whisper. I'm afraid to break the moment. It's too perfect.

  "You looked beautiful," he says.

  I smile. "You did too," I say, and then cringe. "I mean, handsome."

  Silence falls over us, and all I can think are a million different ways to start a conversation in which I tell him that everything he knows about me is a lie. Every last thing.

  I have to do this. I won't be able to take the look of betrayal on his face the moment Rebecca shows up. I know I could lose him this way, too, sooner than I would if I just waited for her, but it's not right. He makes such a point of being the perfect gentleman all the time.

  How can I keep up this charade? He deserves so much better.

  "My name isn't Rebecca," I blurt out. I stare at the sky as if I'm counting every star and can't tear my eyes away from them, but I don't actually see any at all.

  His hand stops moving and the silence hits me like an anvil.

  He turns to look at me. And when I turn toward him, my face is so close our noses nearly brush. I'm afraid to breathe.

  "Who are you?"

  I close my eyes. This is too intense. I can't look at him right now. He's probably never told a lie in his life. He won't understand why I had to. "My name is Callie. I'm American, but that's probably all I have in common with Rebecca. I was lost, somehow, the day I came here. I knew no one. And then Emily came along and called me Rebecca and invited me in, and I just went along with it. Except the real Rebecca is going to show up tomorrow and everyone will know I'm just a fraud."

  My eyes are still firmly shut. I can't look at him. I'm afraid of what I'll see in his eyes, afraid of what he's going to say, afraid he's going to hate me.

  "Open your eyes."

  And yet I can't. They're glued shut.

  "Callie," he says.

  I open them. Relief floods me as I see that he doesn't look angry. "Say it again," I say.

  "Callie," he says again, his lips quirked in a soft smile. "I knew you weren't Rebecca the moment I met you."

  Now my eyes fly wide open. "What? How?" My mind reels back to that moment in the dining room. The moment he looked at me and his eyes shifted, and I feared he knew. And then when he merely bowed and I curtsied, and he returned to his seat, I was overcome with relief, thinking he didn't recognize me as an imposter.

  He did. This whole time, he knew. That's why he looked at me oddly. That's w
hy he was so cool to me during dinner.

  "She has brown eyes. Yours are blue. She also has a dimple. Emily may not remember, as she was so young then. But I do. I was quite sweet on little Rebecca. I knew the instant I saw you that you were not her."

  "But you didn't say anything!"

  He smirks. "To be honest, I was intrigued. I intended to question you in private, so as not to alarm my mother or Emily. But then I saw the change in my cousin. She had been quite despondent over her impending marriage — until your arrival. I admit I had no intention of interfering in her engagement, yet I could hardly take away what happiness you brought. Perhaps it was a way of alleviating my guilt for not helping her. And aside from that, you seemed to be doing no harm." He grins at that last statement, as it's obvious I was up to far more mischief than he realized.

  "You mean all this time I've been freaking out over you hating me and you knew?"

  He smiles sheepishly. It's the closest thing to embarrassment I've ever seen on his face. "Yes."

  I groan. "I guess I deserve that."

  I turn back to the sky, and for the first time, an odd sense of peace washes over me. I want to stay here. I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, I want to stay here. Those mixed feelings have been replaced by something else: fear. Fear that it's not really my choice to make.

  His thumb picks up its soft circling on my hand. "What will you do now?"

  "I don't... I don't know. I mean, I'm so lost I can't find my way home. And maybe that sounds weird, but it's true."

  "You may stay here. As long as you need to."

  I squeeze his hand. "Thank you. I'm not sure if I should, though. I belong somewhere else, and there may come a day when I need to go. When I... have to go. And I don't want you to... I don't want you to put anything on hold because of me."

  I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe I implied he'd he so stuck on me that he wouldn't pay attention to the other girls and his supposed duty to find a wife. A Duchess forHarksbury.

  "I would not wish you to leave if it is not your desire."

  I nod and swallow the boulder-sized lump forming in my throat. I don't know if he feels quite as strongly for me as I do for him, hut he does care about me. And it feels good.