Fifteen minutes later, I’m sitting beside Alexis in the back seat of an Uber because Maddoc recently took away her car. Her fifth. Apparently she has a habit of fender benders and forgetting where she parked.

She seems perfectly content to chatter, and I’m perfectly content to listen. As she talks about herself, I experience several odd, dreamlike moments. Moments in which I cannot accept reality. In which I wonder if my life has been an illusion. If I am her. Inside her. Merely a construct of her malformed imagination.

Then I wonder if I’m only having the thought because I saw it in a movie once.

“…and then I said, Whatever, I’ll just Uber around. I think Uber’s gotten a bad rap. I mean, who wants to be in the back of a stinky cab, anyway? They’re providing a service I want, so I’m going to use it! It’s as simple as that. If their CEO’s a dirtbag, who cares?”

“Right,” I murmur, glancing at the young man driving us. He’s rolling his eyes.

“Exactly!” Alexis squeezes my hand, which has been secured in hers since we got in the car. My fingers feel numb, illusory. Am I here?

“I’m so excited, Eden, I can’t even tell you. This is kismet. Do you know what kismet is?”

Yes. I’m here.

I nod, meeting her/my eyes. “Destiny, but I—”

“Isn’t it amazing? I can’t wait to learn everything about you. Do you have a boyfriend? Where did you grow up? What do you do?”

When she pauses long enough that I realize she wants me to answer, I clear my throat. “Well, I just graduated from UCLA. During school I worked as a waitress and in retail. I grew up in a small town in Oregon—”

“Oh no, that must have been horrible. How did you stand all the rain?”

I shrug, having heard the same question hundreds of times since moving to Southern California. “It’s not that bad. Plus, since I grew up there I never really thought of it as abnormal.”

“What was your major at UCLA?”

I’m beginning to get used to her squirrel-like topic hopping. “Biology. I’m going to med school next year.” I hope.

“Whoa, you must be super smart,” she whispers teasingly. “I hated school. So boring.”

I make a noncommittal sound. “What do you, um, do?”

She waves her free hand. “A little of this, a little of that. Daddy has a few restaurants and businesses in the city. I’m thinking about taking one of them over. Maybe when I turn thirty.” She giggles. “Although I’ll probably be married by then.”

Before I can consider the wisdom of asking, I blurt, “Who’s your fiancé?”

She gives me a confused look. “How should I know? But I’m hoping my future husband is hot, built, and loaded.”

What the hell?

My head-to-mouth filter wheezes and dies. “So you’re not marrying Liam Rourke?” I snap.

Alexis gapes. “What? No!” She shudders. “That guy is a total freak of nature. He’s into some weird shit. Besides, Daddy would never allow it. Liam’s father and Daddy have a huge beef. Like a thirty-year-old hatred of each other. How do you even know Liam?”

I have no idea how to respond. To any of it.

“I, uh, heard a rumor,” I hedge, glancing out my window so she can’t see my expression.

She squeezes my hand. “Figures. Lies are more prevalent than smog in L.A. Almost everything and everyone in this town is a lie. You can’t trust anyone.”

My brows jump at the sudden shift in her personality from bubbling to morose. I turn to look at her, but she’s staring out the window just like I was a second ago. Gazing at her profile, shadowed and illuminated in turn by passing lights, a vague sense of unease curls through me.

Who are you, Alexis Sharpe?

We don’t speak the rest of the drive, which ends outside a luxury condominium complex in Beverly Hills. The second the car stops, Alexis is out the door. I thank the driver and follow her across the sidewalk, past a doorman who does a double take at us, across a sumptuous lobby and into a mirrored elevator.

As the doors slide closed, Alexis looks at our reflections. “Whoa. That’s so trippy.” She scans my body, a twinkle in her eyes. “If you had a tan and more highlights, we could totally do The Parent Trap routine.”

Looking at the two of us side by side, I see the proof of her words. Besides hair color and skin tone, the only distinguishing characteristic between us is my visible freckles. Freckles that would fade beneath a tan. Again, I have that amorphous sense that I’ve stepped outside reality.

The elevator ascends all the way to the top. Penthouse. Of course. With a shy smile, Alexis leads me across a small foyer and unlocks the front door. She flips on some lights, then kicks off her shoes and saunters toward a full kitchen. I deposit my sandals beside hers and follow, pausing to take in the massive, loft-like space.

“…decorator picked everything out. Are you creative? I’m not. The walls would probably still be white if I hadn’t hired someone. Do you like it?”

I blink to clear my mental fog, focusing on Alexis pouring red wine into glasses. The fall of liquid mesmerizes me.

“Hey, Eden, you okay?”

I return to the present. “Yes. I, uh… I’m really tired.”

Shocked.

Afraid.

Potentially having a schizophrenic break.

I clear my throat. “I drove all the way from Oregon today.”

Is it still today?

Alexis frowns in concern. “You poor baby. I’m sure you’re overwhelmed. It’s probably easier for me, since you’re in my world. I’m sure I’d be wigged out if I ran into you in Oregon.”

“Yeah,” I say weakly, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter as a wave of vertigo overtakes me.

Alexis puts the wine bottle down and hurries to my side. “Hey, you’re really pale. Come on, let’s get you to bed. We’ll have all the time in the world tomorrow to catch up.”

I don’t argue. Mental and physical exhaustion weigh on me like an anvil. I try to remember the last time I ate and can’t. Goose bumps prickle along my body as Alexis guides me down a hallway to a closed door.

“This is the guest bedroom, but it’s fully stocked since my girlfriends stay over a lot.”

I barely notice the room as I cross toward the beckoning bed. As I fall toward a pillow, I wonder if I’m safe. I must say it aloud, because I feel a soft touch on my hair.

“You’re safe, Eden. Rest.”

I’m gone.

Empty.

Lost.