AllFreeNovel
Share Us
After that, he shaved and dressed in a pair of jeans that were still a little too loose. A belt fixed that. He found one of the few decent shirts he’d packed. It was also too loose but the style and cut made it look intentional.
The soft, ivory linen draped easily over his shoulders and torso and he studied his reflection for longer than normal, wondering if he looked too dressed up. Fuck, he’d deliberated over his clothing choices for assignments less than this.
But Isabel ... shemattered.
Finally, he muttered, “Fuck it.” So what if he actually gave a damn how he looked for once? He’d stopped caring years ago. It was only natural that the urge to look halfway decent would return now, when he was going to spend an evening with her.
“Not a date,” he told himself.
How could it be? He was spending it with herandfive foster kids.
Five. The number still boggled the brain.
After dragging his hands through his still-damp hair, he gave his reflection one last look, then headed out of the bathroom. After only the briefest hesitation, he detoured by the built-in wine cellar, a large space almost the size of the kitchen itself. Miles had given him the code and told him he could have anything he wanted, although so far, Travis hadn’t touched anything.
Now, though, he went to take a look.
If he’d had time, he’d drive into town, pick up flowers, and buy his own damn bottle of wine, but this would have to work.
“Still not a date,” he reminded himself as he came to a stop in front of the whites.
They were eating fried chicken, she’d told him. Debating his choices, he selected a Chablis he was familiar with. One of the numerous things he’d developed over the years was the knowledge of wines—playing up that pretty-boy kid from Malibu, as Isabel had jibed about. And what pretty boy player from Malibu didn’t know his wines?
He smirked as he left the large, walk-in storage space tucked off the kitchen. He caught sight of a hallway mirror and paused once more to check his image in the reflection there, but just as he went to step away, he paused.
Isabel’s voice came back to him.
Why did you do this yourself?
Must be hard lying to your twin, your family ... your mother.
He reached up and touched his jawline, traced his fingers down it, and recalled the expression in his mother’s eyes as he told her about his‘accident’. There had been a throwaway comment about an American injured in a Swiss newspaper, something Miles had arranged, cover for the main surgery he’d undergone.
The differences weren’t extreme. He still resembled his brothers, even his twin, although they weren’t identical, especially since the most recent surgeries. Some changes could be attributed to the weight loss and hard physical regimen he maintained, but not all of it.
Those surgeries had been necessary, though.
The first had been during his mid-twenties, almost a year after Trey’s first wife had died. Aliesha had been pregnant and although their son had survived the emergency C-section, he’d been small, born too early, and had spent months in the hospital.
Travis had taken a leave from work to help his brother and because the media had flocked to the tragedy of the already-famous young author, one of the best ways to help had been for Travis to justactlike Trey. It had allowed Trey some measure of privacy as he sat with his premature infant during those first long months in the hospital.
Even though on his earliest assignments, he’d taken measures like dying his hair, wearing colored contacts and eyeglasses to change his appearance, after the numerous images that had been taken of him, it was decided he needed to either stop going under on assignments—in other words, quit—or something more drastic had to be done, to both protect his twin and the rest of the family, and to protect his cover.
So they’d done the surgeries.
The anatomical changes caused by the surgeries were severe enough to throw off facial recognition software. Paired with the continued, slight alterations of his hair and eyes, there wasjustenough about him to give people the idea that he was somebody theyshouldknow, but couldn’t place. Pair it with his familiarity with the high life and he could fit into the inner circles of high society almost anywhere.
Now, though, more than ever, he was faced with the cost.
He didn’t know the man in the mirror.
It wasn’t ...him.
Hisfamilydidn’t know the man in the mirror.
His phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket and stared at his brother’s name on the line.
His instinct was to ignore the call, shoot off a text that he couldn’t talk right now, just as he’d done so often over the years.
