Chapter 63 Sister
RORY POV
Scarlett had booked a reservation at a restaurant in the city that looked like it cost more per table than my entire yearly salary used to.
When we walked in she turned to me with that warm smile. “The girls are on their way.”
"I'm actually really nervous," I admitted, my fingers fidgeting with the linen napkin.
Scarlett reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Don't be. They're going to love you. Just be yourself."
I nodded and tried to believe her.
We ordered drinks and settled in and a few minutes later the restaurant door opened and three women walked in together. draped in designer silk and smelling so good. The moment they saw me the first one stopped dead.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “This is her? She looks exactly like Ana.”
We exchanged greetings. They were warm. Genuinely warm. I smiled and nodded and tried to find somewhere to put my hands that didn’t look awkward.
I felt like an intruder at my own table.
They ordered more drinks and the conversation flowed between them like water — easy and familiar and full of things I had no context for. They talked about memories, about trips and nights out and inside jokes that went back years. About Anastasia, she had been everywhere in their lives, in everything they did.
“Do you remember when Ana convinced Alexander to let her come to Jessica birthday and he showed up at midnight to take her home?” one of them said, laughing.
“He stood outside the door with his arms crossed and didn’t say a single word,” another one added. “Ana walked out like she was being escorted by the president. She thought it was so romantic. We thought it was insane.”
“He didn’t let her hang out with us for months after that,” Scarlett said, shaking her head. “He was absolutely crazy about her. Like obsessive. Like she was the only person who existed in the world.”
I sat with my drink and listened, my heart sinking further with every story. To them, and clearly to Alexander, Anastasia was a legend. A goddess. I was just the girl wearing her face.
This was who Anastasia was to people. This was what she had. A whole world of people who loved her and remembered her and still laughed about her even through the grief of losing her.
And this was who Alexander had been with her.
Obsessive. Completely consumed. The kind of love that showed up at midnight to take you home and made you feel like the president.
I took a long sip of my drink.
“Do you remember when we—” Scarlett started, her eyes landing on me mid sentence.
“When you and I snuck out to that rooftop bar and Ana had to bribe the security guard with—” She stopped.
“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“It’s okay,” I said quietly. But it wasn’t entirely.
Being mistaken for a dead woman even by accident felt like standing in a shadow that had been cast before I existed.
"Hey," Scarlett said again, turning to me with a glassy look in her eyes. "Do you remember that time you and I tried to sneak out of the summer house? You were so scared you actually tripped over the rosebushes."
Not again.
She was looking right at me, but she wasn't talking to Rory. She was talking to a dead
woman.
“I’m not Anastasia,” I said. My voice came out smaller than I intended.
“Of course,” Scarlett said. “I keep doing that. I’m so sorry Rory.”
The other girls murmured apologies and then one of them clapped her hands together.
“Let’s play our game,” she said. “Ana used to play with us all the time.”
“She always lost,” another one added laughing. “Every single time, she would end up absolutely drenched.”
They explained the rules quickly. I followed about half of it. They started and within minutes I had lost, I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing, I had never played this game in my life, and every move I made was apparently the wrong one.
“This might sting a little,” one of them said.
All four of them picked up their glasses.
And poured them on me.
I winced at the cold hitting my skin, my dress soaked through immediately. My hair sticking to my face, Ice from someone’s glass sliding down my back.
They all burst out laughing.
“Oh poor Rory,”
“Ana would have loved this,”
“It’s just a game, don’t be upset,”
I laughed too because what else could I do. I sat there drenched in the middle of an expensive restaurant with four women who had just met me laughing at me and I laughed because it was either that or cry.
I was grateful there was nobody else in this section of the restaurant to witness it.
“Excuse me,” I said standing up carefully. “I’ll just go clean up.”
I made it to the bathroom and started dabbing at my hair with paper towels, trying to breathe through the lump in my throat. Also trying to figure out if this was just how rich people entertained themselves.
This was outrageous. I did not like that game. I had no intention of ever playing it again.
The door opened and Scarlett walked in. I heard the distinct click of the lock turning.
“I’m fine Scarlett,” I said, still focused on my reflection. “I’ll be right out.”
She didn’t say anything.
I looked at her in the mirror.
Her expression had changed completely. The warmth was gone. What had replaced it was something harder and colder and completely different from the woman who had hugged me in the sitting room earlier.
“You can lie to the whole world,” she said quietly. “But I know you sister.”
I turned around slowly.
"You've somehow dug yourself out of the grave," she spat, stepping toward me. "You couldn't just stay dead, could you? The world and Alexander might be blinded by your bullshit, but I see through it. And you know it.
God knows it, too."
Her eyes moved over my face with an intimacy that made my skin crawl.
"Scarlett, you're scaring me. I'm not your sister."
"I'm your sister," she hissed, her voice vibrating with rage. "I'd recognize those corny eyes anywhere. Did you think a different name would work? Rory? What a lame, pathetic name. Don't worry, just because you've crawled back doesn't mean I'm going to stop.
Alexander was supposed to be mine. He should have been mine from the beginning.” She took another step. “So enjoy your little game. But know that I see you.”
I stood completely still.
My brain was trying to process all of it at once and failing. She thought I was Anastasia.
She genuinely believed she was looking at her dead sister standing here. Despite what she shown at the table something else had been living the whole time, something possessive and bitter and aimed directly at Alexander.
She hated Anastasia.
And she wanted Alexander for herself.
I didn't realize I was crying until the tears hit my hand. I felt a sudden, desperate urge to flee. I pushed past her, grabbing my bag.
"Excuse me," I choked out.
I didn't want the games. I didn't want the memories. I just wanted to go home. I wanted to go home to my husband-the only man who knew exactly who I was, even if he didn't want to love me for it.