Chapter 1

The day Simon Graves's first love came home, he brought her to my birthday party.

She wore a white dress just like mine, and even the little mole near her temple was seventy percent a match for mine.

One of my friends, drunk, pointed at the two of us and laughed.

"Damn, no wonder Simon married you. From a distance, you're practically a knockoff of her!"

The whole table went quiet.

Simon frowned and told him to shut up, but he never looked at me.

When the party ended, he unclasped the sapphire necklace from my neck and fastened it around the woman's throat with his own hands.

"This was made to her measurements in the first place."

"You've worn it three years. It's time you gave it back to her."

That same night, he had his lawyer bring over the divorce agreement. He left me one apartment.

I looked at the two similar faces in the old photograph, and my tears fell onto the paper.

Seeing me sign in silence, Simon, irritated, added a car and eight million.

I sniffled and thanked him nicely.

Simon didn't know that a stand-in is worth the most on the very day the real one comes back.

After all, when an employer feels guiltiest is usually when they're most willing to pay severance.

...

After the lawyer left, the living room was quiet enough that all I could hear was the wall clock ticking.

Simon sat across from me, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

He'd quit two years ago.

Back when I was getting ready to try for a baby, I couldn't stand the smell of smoke, so he threw out every cigarette hidden in his study. He even complained that his assistant reeked of it and wouldn't let the man into the house.

Now the baby never came, and it was the marriage that ended first.

I stared at the new numbers written into the agreement and decided that cigarette looked a lot easier to bear.

"Anything else you want?"

Simon spoke first, his tone cold, though his eyes stayed fixed on the hand I held the pen with.

I gave it some serious thought.

"Those six cases of liquor in the basement. Can I have them?"

His face darkened.

"Judith Hughes, I'm asking about your future."

I was thinking about my future too.

Those six cases were expensive. Sold off, they'd cover a decent set of equipment for my studio.

Of course, I couldn't say that.

A stand-in has to know how to protect the client's pride.

Especially a client who's just fired you and is cycling between guilt and irritation.

I lowered my eyes and explained softly, "I just can't bear to part with them. We picked those out together when we got married."

The tension in his shoulders eased a little.

"They're all yours."

Sure enough, a half-truth usually works best.

I really couldn't bear to part with them.

As for how much they'd sell for, that was the other half.

Simon snapped the cigarette in two and dropped it in the ashtray.

"Cindy Cox just got back. Her health isn't good. These past few years have been hard on her."

I nodded.

"Mm."

He waited a moment, and his brows slowly drew together.

"You have nothing else you want to ask?"

"Would there be any point in asking?"

Simon said nothing.

The answer was already clear enough.

I closed the agreement and held it against my chest.

"Then I won't ask. Get some rest."

As I passed him, he suddenly caught my wrist.

The warmth of his palm was so familiar it stung the bridge of my nose.

"Judith, you're allowed to demand an explanation from me."

He said it slowly, as if granting me the right to exercise something.

I looked up at him, the film of water in my eyes just barely not falling.

"I'm afraid if I make an ugly scene, you won't even give me the eight million."

His hand tightened all at once.

He probably wanted to call me greedy, but his gaze hit my reddened eyes, and he swallowed the words back down.

After a long while, he said in a low voice, "The money will be in your account tomorrow."

I gave him a small smile.

"Thank you, boss."

Simon let go, and his face was worse than that of anyone who'd ever been handed divorce papers.