And I’ll never have that with Elizabeth.
Or Sabrina.
Or whoever she is.
I’m still not sure which woman I kissed in the maze or who I’ve been chatting and jogging and eating repulsive meals with since then. But with a little help, I should be able to pin down her identity before the official engagement ceremony in a few days.
Before I get in any deeper.
Before I kiss her again.
I still can’t believe I kissed her. Or that I can’t stop thinking about doing it again. I don’t want to make out with Lizzy; I want to get rid of her.
Only I don’t, not completely, not anymore, and that’s part of my problem.
I glance back and forth between Nick’s pale face and Jeffrey’s sober one. “So here’s what I need from you. Nick, scour the internet for any online records you can find on the Rochat royal family. I need information and pictures of Elizabeth and Sabrina—together and apart. If there are any identifying features we can use to verify which twin is sleeping in the east wing, I need them. Jeffrey, I—”
“I’ll leave this afternoon,” he cuts in with a firm nod. “I’ll take one of the SUVs and be in Rinderland by nightfall. I’ll spend tomorrow tracking down the other sister and report back as soon as I have news to share.”
“But be subtle about it,” I say. “There’s no need to disclose who you are. Pretend to be a geneticist studying triplets or a writer doing an article on royal families or something. I don’t want the twin we’ve got here to realize we’re on to her until I know for sure who she is and what I’ve decided to do with her.”
Nick shakes his head again. “Seriously, Drew, this girl has to be Elizabeth. If you say ‘I do’ to the wrong woman, the marriage won’t be legal. You could end it without evening bothering to get a divorce.”
“Which is why I think they’re planning to switch back sometime before the wedding.” I rise, pacing around the desk that dominates this side of the room. My grandfather knew the power of staging and always arranged to be the most powerful presence in any room. If only he’d also arranged for me to marry a girl without an identical twin sister. “Sabrina’s here to keep me on the hook, and Elizabeth will step in and seal the deal.”
Nick sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Jesus, do you think she’s that bad?”
“I would hope not, but I’ve been rolling this around in my head for days, and it’s the only thing that makes sense. The Rochat royal family was afraid I would bail on the awkward twin, so they sent the poised, confident, and intelligent one in her place.”
“I think it’s premature to question Elizabeth’s intelligence,” Jeffrey rumbles. “I remember her. She was shy; she wasn’t stupid.”
“He’s right,” Nick agrees. “And, I mean, if you’re right about this, their plan is actually kind of brilliant. Sneaky and wrong,” he adds quickly, lifting his hands in the air when I shoot a glower his way, “but clever. Elizabeth obviously realized her stutter and lack of social acumen were straining your patience and decided to do something about it.”
“Allegedly,” Jeffrey says. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions without more evidence. Right now, all we have is Andrew’s hunch.”
“And the fact that she doesn’t stutter around me,” I remind them. “She’s also in incredible shape for a woman with asthma who stays indoors all day, she bears up under social pressure surprisingly well, and she’s miraculously developed a sex vibe overnight.”
Nick’s brows dart toward his hairline, and even the usually unreadable Jeffrey looks vaguely scandalized.
“Oh, stop,” I scoff, a frown clawing at my forehead. “I didn’t sleep with her. Of course I didn’t. I kissed her the night we ran the maze, that’s all. But it…wasn’t awful.”
Jeffrey grunts, and Nick’s startled brows rearrange themselves in a dubious position.
“Fine, it was a good kiss,” I admit, stalking toward the windows overlooking the great lawn. “Very good. Far too good for a woman who has not, to my knowledge, dated. Ever.”
“Ever?” Nick echoes.
“Ever,” I confirm, casting a meaningful glance his way.
I’m not about to discuss the fact that Elizabeth is likely a virgin with my brothers—that would be disrespectful—but the possibility hangs in the air, unspoken, yet deeply troubling all the same. I’ve never slept with a virgin, not even when I was one, and I’m not too proud to admit that a twenty-five-year-old woman who’s never been with a man isn’t something I’m prepared to handle.
If we loved each other, things would be different.
But we don’t. And we won’t. And I don’t want to be anyone’s first (and maybe only) lover. That’s too much responsibility for a man who already has the fate of an entire kingdom resting on his shoulders.