Updated Oct 27, 2025 • ~8 min read
I shouldn’t be doing this.
The thought hammered through Natalie’s mind as she stood in front of her sister’s floor-to-ceiling mirror, barely recognizing her own reflection. The emerald silk dress hugged curves she usually hid under oversized sweaters. Her hair—normally pulled into a messy bun—fell in perfect waves past her shoulders, courtesy of two hours at Scarlett’s salon. Even her face looked different: sculpted cheekbones, smoky eyes, lips painted the exact shade of confident burgundy her twin always wore.
She looked like Scarlett.
She looked like someone who belonged in a penthouse overlooking the city, someone who wore designer heels without wobbling, someone who could pull off being engaged to a man like Grant Nathaniel Stone.
“You’re overthinking this.” Scarlett’s voice cut through her spiral. Her twin leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, looking infuriatingly calm for someone asking Natalie to commit identity fraud. “It’s one week. Maybe less. Just smile, nod, and don’t let him see you panic.”
“Don’t let him see me panic?” Natalie spun around, nearly losing her balance in the stilettos. “Scarlett, this is insane. I’m supposed to pretend to be you. To your fiancé. The man you’re supposed to marry in three months.”
“The man I am going to marry.” Scarlett pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, her own heels clicking with practiced confidence. “After I handle this situation in Milan. Natalie, please. I need you.”
Those three words. The same three words Scarlett had been using since they were seven years old, when she’d convinced Natalie to take the blame for the broken vase. When she’d needed Natalie to cover for her sneaking out in high school. When she’d needed someone to lie to their parents about where she really was.
I need you.
And Natalie, foolish, loyal Natalie, always said yes.
Except this time, something inside her wanted to say no. Wanted to tell Scarlett to handle her own mess for once. The word sat on her tongue—sharp, ready, powerful.
No.
But she swallowed it. Like always.
“Grant barely knows me,” Natalie tried one more time, her voice weaker now. “We’ve met twice. At your engagement party and that brunch last month. He’s going to know—”
“He won’t.” Scarlett gripped her shoulders, forcing eye contact. Their eyes were identical—the same shade of hazel that shifted between green and gold depending on the light. But where Scarlett’s held certainty, Natalie’s swam with doubt. “We’re twins, Nat. Identical. You know everything about my life—I’ve told you every detail about Grant, about his schedule, his habits. You’ve been reading my texts with him for months.”
That was true. Scarlett had made her read through their entire text history, claiming she wanted Natalie to “really know him” before the wedding. At the time, Natalie thought it was sweet—her sister wanting her to feel connected to her future brother-in-law.
Now she realized it had been preparation.
“What if he tries to—” Natalie’s cheeks flushed. “You know.”
A smile played at Scarlett’s lips. “He won’t. We’ve been taking things slow. Very slow. Grant’s old-fashioned that way. Sweet, actually. He wants to wait until the wedding night.”
The relief that flooded through Natalie felt wrong. She shouldn’t care about the physical boundaries of her sister’s relationship. But the thought of having to… she couldn’t even finish the thought.
“One week,” Scarlett pressed. “I’ll be back from Milan before he knows anything’s different. You’ll stay at the penthouse, go to that charity gala on Friday—I’ll text you every detail you need to know—and just… be me. The version of me he expects.”
“And what version is that?”
Something flickered across Scarlett’s face, too quick to read. “The one who laughs at his jokes. Who doesn’t mind his late nights at the office. Who’s excited about the wedding planning.” She squeezed Natalie’s shoulders once more. “The easy version.”
Before Natalie could unpack that loaded statement, Scarlett’s phone buzzed. She glanced at it, and her expression shifted—tighter, more urgent.
“That’s my car. I have to go.” She grabbed her already-packed suitcase from beside the bed. “Remember—his coffee is black with one sugar. He has a standing 6 AM workout. Wednesday nights he has dinner with his business partner, Dominic. And Natalie—” She paused at the door. “Thank you. I know this is crazy. But you’re the only person I trust.”
Then she was gone, the door clicking shut with a finality that made Natalie’s stomach drop.
She turned back to the mirror. Scarlett’s face—her face—stared back, perfectly composed on the surface. But Natalie could see the terror in her own eyes, no matter how much makeup tried to hide it.
The penthouse felt impossibly large and quiet after Scarlett left. Natalie wandered through rooms that looked like they belonged in an architecture magazine—all clean lines, expensive art, and furniture too pristine to actually sit on. Everything screamed Scarlett’s taste: bold, elegant, untouchable.
Nothing like the cozy studio apartment Natalie rented across town, with its thrift store furniture and walls covered in her own amateur paintings.
She found Scarlett’s bedroom—her bedroom for the next week—and fought the urge to curl up on the massive bed and call this whole thing off. But Scarlett’s flight was already in the air. The wheels were already in motion.
Natalie’s phone buzzed. A text from Scarlett: Grant will be home around 8. Dinner reservations at Marcello’s at 8:30. Blue dress in the closet, second from left. You’ve got this. xx
She glanced at the clock. 7:15 PM.
Seventy-five minutes until she had to look her sister’s fiancé in the eye and lie to his face.
Her hands shook as she opened the closet—a walk-in the size of her entire studio—and found the blue dress. It was gorgeous, obviously designer, with a neckline that would make her feel exposed. She held it up to herself and tried to imagine what she’d say when he walked through that door.
Hi, honey. How was work?
No. Too domestic.
Hey, babe.
Absolutely not.
Grant, we need to talk about—
The sound of a key in the lock froze her blood.
He was early.
Natalie dropped the dress and rushed out of the closet, her heart hammering against her ribs. She made it to the bedroom door just as she heard his voice from the entryway.
“Scarlett? You here, sweetheart?”
His voice was deeper than she remembered. Warmer. It wrapped around her sister’s name with an affection that made Natalie’s chest tighten with guilt.
She forced her feet to move, forced herself to walk down the hallway toward the living room where Grant Stone stood with his back to her, setting down his briefcase.
He was taller than she remembered. Broader through the shoulders. His dark hair was slightly mussed, his suit jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms that suggested he did more than sit behind a desk all day.
“Hi,” Natalie said, and immediately winced at how breathless she sounded.
Grant turned.
And the world tilted sideways.
She’d seen him before. Twice. She’d thought he was handsome in that distant, objective way you acknowledge someone attractive but unattainable. But standing here, with his full attention on her—on who he thought was Scarlett—she felt the impact of him like a physical force.
Steel-gray eyes that seemed to see straight through her. A strong jaw with just a hint of five o’clock shadow. Lips that curved into a smile that was somehow both confident and gentle.
“There you are.” He crossed the distance between them in three long strides. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Before Natalie could process those words, before she could remember to breathe, Grant cupped her face in both hands and leaned down.
He was going to kiss her.
He was going to kiss her, and she was going to let him, because stopping him meant explaining, and explaining meant everything fell apart.
His lips brushed hers—soft, questioning, achingly tender—and Natalie’s eyes fluttered closed against her will.
This was wrong. This was so incredibly wrong.
But God help her, it felt like the most right thing she’d ever experienced.
Grant pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against hers. “Missed you,” he murmured. “Ready for dinner?”
Natalie opened her eyes and found him watching her with such open affection that it physically hurt.
“Yeah,” she whispered, because it was the only word she could manage. “Ready.”
She wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready for any of this—not the lies, not the guilt, and definitely not for the way her heart was still racing from a kiss that had lasted maybe three seconds.
One week, Scarlett had said.
As Grant’s hand found hers and he smiled at her like she was the only person in his world, Natalie realized with sinking certainty that one week might be enough to destroy everything.
Including herself.
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