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I put down Amber’s shiny red designer bag and wander around the living area, dining room, and kitchen with my mouth open.
I wonder if they ever do normal things in this place—like eat lasagna or drink coffee. I’m absolutely certain I will end up slopping something on the pristine white sofa.
There’s a single purple orchid on a console table and a slash of red paint on the black-and-white abstract painting above the marble fireplace. Otherwise, no color breaks the black, white, and silver room except the blue of the sky through the wall of windows.
I don’t like the decorating at all. It feels sterile, artificial.
I can’t help wondering if the decor is Amber’s doing or if it was like this when my sister moved in.
Maybe this is William’s style rather than Amber’s.
The apartment is dead silent. Amber mentioned there’s a housekeeper named Greta, who comes in most days but doesn’t live here. She must not be here right now. I walk around the entire place, taking note of what is in every room so I’ll know my way around.
One door off the main hallway is locked. Maybe William’s home office. I haven’t seen one, and I can’t imagine a man like him not having one.
Once I learn the layout of my new home, I go into the master bedroom, which is just as white, elegant, and luxurious as the rest of the home. I open every single drawer and investigate every corner, making sure I know where all Amber’s clothes and belongings can be found.
She said she isn’t having sex with William, but she clearly lives and sleeps in the master bedroom. All her clothes are in the closet, and all her makeup and hair supplies are in the glitzy bathroom.
It’s strange to see a man’s clothes—rows of tailored suits, polished shoes, ludicrously expensive watches—lined up in the huge closet across from Amber’s. And even stranger to see male toiletries in the bathroom and books on Greek history and economic theory that are obviously not Amber’s on one of the bedside tables.
It feels intimate. It makes me nervous.
Surely Amber wouldn’t lie about having sex, but it’s strange they’re sleeping in the same bed. Maybe it’s for appearances or maybe because William wanted to “try out” the relationship. A pair of Amber’s earrings and an ivory-cased tablet are lying on the opposite nightstand next to the bed, so that’s clearly the side she sleeps on.
William is evidently out of town all week—which will give me time to acclimate to my new role before I have to play a much more difficult part. Amber said William won’t be hard to convince since he doesn’t pay much attention to her anyway.
But still…
Even without sex being a factor, is there any way I’m actually going to be able to pull this off?
My stomach churns nervously at the thought of William returning from his business trip, but I force the anxiety to the back of my mind.
I’ll have other challenges to tackle before then.
When I’ve familiarized myself with the apartment, I realize I’m hungry and find some leftover Thai food in the refrigerator. I warm it up and eat it with a glass of red wine.
As I eat, I pore over the small notebook Amber gave me plus her phone, on which is recorded much of her life. Her calendar. Her contacts. Her messages. Her pictures. I study every single item and commit what I can to memory.
Nothing happens all evening. No one bothers me. No one calls. Amber receives a few text messages, but they are all routine and can be ignored or answered with a few words.
At eleven that night, I’ve studied as much of Amber’s life as I can, so I take a bath in the most luxurious tub I’ve ever experienced and change into a pair of white pajamas. The soft, slinky tank and pants are the most comfortable nightwear in Amber’s very large collection.
I comb out my hair, the shiny blond fall hanging halfway down my back despite the trim I got this afternoon. In spite of the expensive pajamas, I still look like myself—just in strangely elegant surroundings.
I wonder if I can really fool anyone into thinking I’m Amber.
With a sigh, I crawl into the bed, glancing over at the empty side where William must normally sleep.
A half hour after I turn off the lights, Amber’s phone rings.
I’ve almost dozed off, so the unexpected sound causes me to sit up straight in bed, my heart racing in anxiety.
I reach over to grab the phone and see William’s name and picture flashing on the screen. It’s a good photo even though it’s clearly a snapshot. Amber must have surprised him as he was working at his desk because he’s got a wry, questioning look on his face. His hair is slightly rumpled, but he’s wearing a dark suit with a loosened tie. He’s got chocolate-brown eyes that convey power and intelligence.
How the hell am I going to manage to fool him?
“Hi, William,” I say, keeping my voice level and casual despite the fact that the phone feels slippery in my sweaty palm.
