Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
You should’ve biked harder.
You should’ve biked harder.
You should’ve fucking biked harder.
My jaw tics.
I shove down my dad’s crushing voice, and I nod to Xander. “We’ll be able to execute the plan. You don’t need to worry about it.”
His mouth falls. “You really don’t think you’ll get caught? You two don’t look that much alike, man.”
The corner of my lip inches upward, just slightly, because Xander genuinely believes Banks and I look different. “That’s probably because you grew up around us. For other people it’s harder to tell the difference. Even worse when we’re not standing together.”
“But my parents will definitely know.”
“They won’t.” I don’t dig into those details, but enough confidence encases my voice that Xander starts frowning.
“Wait, did they get you two wrong?”
I don’t want to lie to him, so I say, “A few times.” I don’t mention how one of those was last week.
Xander immediately springs to his feet and steps away from the skateboard. Aiming for the door like he plans to hunt down his mom.
“Hey.” I extend an arm and block the door before putting a light hand on his elbow. “It’s normal—”
“That’s not alright.” A thousand emotions pour out of his expressive eyes. “They’ve known you and Banks for years.”
“My uncles have known me my whole life and some still call me Banks on accident.” I reassure him. “It happens, kid. It doesn’t mean they don’t care.” If I let that shit hurt me or affect me, I’d be in pain every week.
But when people see me—truly see me and not just the twin that I am—it’s a rush. Like drinking the coldest ice water on a scorching summer day, and I feel that every moment I’m with Jane.
I almost glance back at the shut door.
I miss her.
And I’ve only been on-duty for an hour. She’s busy handling the logistics of maneuvering too many people to Scotland. Plus scheduling meetings with local wedding vendors while we’re there.
I’m good at multi-tasking, but that girl could surpass the hell out of me every time. I linger on that thought and almost smile.
Together we could juggle the world.
While I focus solely on Xander, I wear seriousness. He’s processing what I said. And he’s wincing.
“I’m your bodyguard,” I remind him. “You’ve known me for years. It makes sense that you can tell us apart better than your parents can.”
Xander bites his thumbnail, catches himself, and rubs his hand against his jeans. “Yeah you’re right.” He backs up and lowers to the edge of his bed. After a gulp of soda, he asks, “So how many people know about the twin switch anyway?”
“You want the whole list?”
He snorts out soda in surprise, then wipes his nose. “There’s a list?”
I go ahead and rattle off names.
All of SFO, Jack Highland (an exec producer of the docuseries), and the older famous ones: Jane, Maximoff, Charlie, Beckett, Sullivan, and Luna.
Mainly everyone who joined the FanCon tour.
Xander blinks. “Uh, that’s not a secret if that many people know. It’s information.” He crunches the can in his hand. “As the great Varys would say.”
He’s referencing Game of Thrones. Honestly, I wish I could go back in time and tell my stone-cold-serious teenage self how much I’d know about George R.R. Martin and Tolkien and trolls. I’d probably smile more than I ever did.
I fix my eyes on my client. “Then it’s information you need to keep secret.”
He licks soda off his lips. “I can do that.”
I nod strongly, confident in this kid, and I watch his features lighten.
Comms crackle. “Donnelly to Thatcher, coming in hot with lunch.”
I press the mic. “Copy.” To Xander, I say, “Donnelly’s on his way up with food.”
“Awesome.” Xander stands on the skateboard and rolls to the window.
I leave the door and grab my water bottle off his desk.
He pries down a single blind, just enough to peer out of the slat. “Do you think Donnelly is bored? Being on my detail, I mean.”
My brows knit, caught off guard. “Why would you even think that?”
Xander releases the blind and glances back at me. “Because he used to be Beckett’s bodyguard. And before that, Tom’s. So he’s used to hanging around ballerinas and musicians rather than just sitting inside all day and staring at a wall.” Xander shrugs. “And like I don’t even go to Dalton Academy, so there’s no high school drama he can soak up. I’m just boring, so by process of fucking deduction he’s probably bored.”
I squint because he’s seeing something I don’t see. Something I can’t see.
He’s the son of billionaires, a teen spectacle that fans fawn over and media stokes into a worldwide phenomenon—his life is way out of range from slow and average and ordinary.
I shake my head. “I’m not bored, and you’re not boring.” That’s it. End of story. I’m about to twist open my water, but his chest collapses.