The Face He Stole From His Brother: I Fell For The Wrong Twin

The cake was strawberry. His favorite, not mine.

I'd driven forty minutes across town to pick it up, the box balanced on my lap the whole way back. My name was on top in pink icing. *Happy 25th, Lila.* I'd ordered it myself, because Damon had texted me that morning: *Slammed at work, babe. Dinner tomorrow?*

So I decided to surprise him.

I still had the spare key to his apartment. I slid it into the lock, grinning like an idiot.

The door swung open. Music was playing. Low, slow, something with a bassline.

Then I heard a woman laugh.

"Damon, stop. You'll make me spill."

"So spill," he said. "I'll lick it up."

My feet kept moving. I didn't tell them to. The bedroom door was half open, and through the gap I saw his bare back. Red nails dragged down his spine. A blonde woman sat on his lap, wearing his gray college hoodie and nothing else.

That hoodie was mine. He'd given it to me in October.

"Who's that?" she whispered, her eyes landing on me over his shoulder.

Damon twisted around.

For one second, his face went blank. Then it went pale.

"Lila. Shit. Lila, wait."

I didn't wait. I backed up so fast that my heel caught the rug. The box slipped out of my hands and hit the hallway floor with a wet, soft thud. Pink frosting splattered across my shoes and up the hem of my white dress.

I stared down at it.

*Happy 25th, Li—* The rest was smeared into nothing.

I laughed. A short, ugly sound. Of course. Of course that's how it would go.

I pushed out into the stairwell and made it down one flight before my knees quit. I sat on the step and pressed both hands over my mouth so nobody would hear the noise coming out of me.

Footsteps came up from below.

A pair of black boots stopped in front of me. Someone crouched down.

"Hey," a man said quietly. "You okay?"

I lifted my head.

And froze.

It was Damon. The same dark hair. The same sharp jaw. The same gray-green eyes. But he was dressed. Black jacket, a motorcycle helmet hooked under one arm. And he was looking at me like he'd never seen me before in his life.

"How did you—" I choked. "You were just—"

He tilted his head. "I was just what?"

"Don't." I scrambled backward up a step. "Don't you dare play games with me right now."

He didn't move closer. He set the helmet down, pulled a folded handkerchief out of his pocket, and held it out.

"I'm not playing anything," he said. "You've got frosting on your face."

"It's tears."

"Both, then."

When I didn't take it, he reached up himself. His thumb was warm. He wiped under my left eye, then my right, slow and careful, like I might bolt. His voice was rougher than Damon's. Lower. Damon never talked this softly to anyone.

"Strawberry?" he asked.

"What?"

He nodded at my dress. Pink smears ran all the way down the skirt. Without asking, he pressed the handkerchief against the fabric and dabbed at the worst of it.

"It's ruined," I said.

"Probably." He kept working at the stain anyway. "Was it for someone special?"

"It was for me." My throat burned. "It's my birthday."

His hand stopped.

He looked up at me, and something in his face hardened. Not at me. Past me. Up the stairs.

"Lila!"

Damon's voice crashed down the stairwell. He came around the landing with his jeans half buttoned and his shirt inside out. Then he saw who was kneeling in front of me, and he stopped dead.

"Kian," he said. "What the hell are you doing here?"

I looked from one face to the other.

Same eyes. Same mouth. Two different men.

"You have a twin," I said slowly. "Two years, Damon. Two years, and you never once told me you had a twin."

"It's complicated."

"Not really," Kian said. He rose to his feet, unhurried. "You just never mention me."

"Shut up." Damon's jaw ticked. He turned to me, and his whole face rearranged itself. Soft eyes. Sorry eyes. I knew that face. I'd forgiven that face before. "Babe. Listen to me. That was nothing. She's nobody. A mistake."

"She's wearing my hoodie."

"I'll buy you ten hoodies."

"That's not the point!"

"Okay. Okay." He came down two steps and reached for my wrist. "I screwed up, alright? I know. But I'll make it up to you. Tomorrow, I'll take you anywhere you want. We'll redo your birthday. A better one. I promise."

His fingers closed around my arm.

I looked down at his hand. At the red scratch marks on his forearm that weren't mine.

Something in me went very, very quiet.

"Redo it," I repeated.

"Yeah. Anything you want."

"Anything?"

"Anything, Lila."

I pulled my arm free. Then I turned, grabbed the front of Kian's jacket with both fists, and dragged his mouth down to mine.

He went stiff for half a heartbeat. He tasted like cold air and mint. His hand hovered near my waist, uncertain.

Behind me, Damon made a sound like he'd been punched.

I broke the kiss but didn't let go of Kian's jacket. I faced the man I'd planned to marry and kept my voice perfectly steady.

"No need," I said. "Save your make-up for whoever's in your bed."

Damon's face went red, then white. "Are you out of your mind? That's my *brother.*"

"I noticed."

"Kian." Damon's voice cracked like a whip. "Step away from her. Now."

I waited for Kian to pull back. To apologize. To tell me I'd made a scene, the way Damon always did.

He didn't.

Instead, his hand finally settled on my waist, firm and warm through the ruined dress. He looked over my head at his brother, and the corner of his mouth curved up.

"Funny," Kian said. "Last time I took something of yours, you swore you'd kill me."

He leaned down until his lips brushed my ear.

"Happy birthday, Lila. Hope you know what you just started."