Page 12 of Knot What She Seems
A tiny smile tugs up my lips when I think of my brother.
Before the disease took hold of him, he had been larger-than-life, a living, breathing flame dissipating the darkness in any room. We would often sneak out of our parents’ castle and have “adventures” in the gardens behind it, pretending to be pirates or spies or runway models. We would sometimes laugh so hard that milk would come squirting out of our noses—which of course only served to infuriate our parents. But it never mattered to Teddie whether or not he had their approval. He lived life the way he wanted to—without limitations or restraint.
Sometimes, I wish I could be more like him. Especially these days.
Maybe pretending to be him will let me live out that wish a little.
I step into the tiny bathroom, flick on the light, and then turn toward the mirror. As I begin the meticulous task of removing my makeup, I wonder if I’ll be able to pull this off.
When I tried on the suit and argued with Ted, I’d been all bravado and confidence. Now, panic beats in my chest like a snare drum as I study my newly makeup-free reflection in the mirror. I try to see if my expression looks manly. If my face looks too feminine.
Freckles dot both of my cheeks and the top of my dainty nose. My features are decidedly feminine, almost elfin, with a slightly pointed chin, cupid bow lips, and naturally rosy cheeks. Even my lashes are longer than most women’s. They frame eyes so blue they’re almost translucent. My blonde curls reach the middle of my back.
I tentatively grab one of the strands and hold it up to my face for inspection.
A horrible thought occurs to me.
Will I have to cut my hair?
I wouldn’t say I’m vain, necessarily, but I love my hair. It’s always been my favorite asset.
I swallow around the serrated dagger lodged in my throat and quickly drop my hand back to my side.
You’ll do what you need to do.
For Teddie.
Making a few faces into the mirror, I practice trying to project masculinity. Boredom. Annoyance. Anger. Those emotions that they seem to be allowed to wear on the surface. Then I try a harder one. I smile.
Dammit! Immediately, there’s something off about my smile. It’s too coy. Too flirty. I think I might be jutting out my lower lip. Instead, I try another grin, this time deliberately sucking in my lower lip. Better. Not quite Teddie’s smile but definitely an improvement.
I’m so entranced by my reflection that I don’t realize the second door to the bathroom has opened until Harper says, “Everything okay?”
I jump about a foot in the air and spin around, my heart racing. “Holy shit, Harper. You knocked about ten years off my life.” I place a palm on my chest.
Harper’s already dressed for bed in a lacy nightgown that accentuates all of her best features. Darling Academy actually provided all of its students with these nightgowns, but I have yet to actually wear mine for longer than a few seconds. The one time I tried it on, my arms began to itch so badly that I wondered if someone doused the fabric with histamine. Lace is gorgeous, and I wish I liked it.
Hesitantly, I offer a compliment. “Looks good on you,” I state as I gesture at the gown.
“Aw, thanks. When did you get back tonight?” Harper asks, tilting her head to the side.
I turn back toward the mirror, careful to keep my expression neutral, wondering if she’s noticed just how many nights I’ve snuck out lately. It’s been what…four or five in a row since we decided on this twin-swap scheme?Dammit, Harper. Be more self-absorbed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I squeeze a tiny bit of moisturizer onto my palm and rub it into my face. “I was in my room this entire time.”
Her perfectly plucked brows furrow. “I knocked, but you never…” She frowns and shakes her head. “Never mind. Did you finish the assignment for Mrs. Lotty’s class?”
I freeze, my hands halfway extended to my face, and slide my eyes toward her in the mirror.
Shit.
“Um…”
Mrs. Lotty is our Culinary Arts teacher, because omegas need to know how to cook the dinner before they set the table. She gets into a lot of math. Like all the time. She has this idiotic saying about the triangle of taste, combining sweet, salty, and savory. She even uses both hands to form a triangle with her fingers. The girls crudely joke about Lotty’s triangles, which look way too much like the Eiffel tower position. They say she’s secretly giving us tips for our future threesomes.
Our assignment this week was to do a bunch of measurement conversions for tripling a recipe. But math is my literal nightmare. I’m certain I’ll do far better in Eros Academy’s physical training than I do in math, despite my ankle, because that’s how bad I am. And dammit all, I forgot this project.
Harper grins and hurries into her room. She reappears a moment later with a sheet of paper in her hand. “Here.”
