From Stand-in to Queen

The first time I saw him was at the corner cafe. The glass window cast shadows of the sycamore leaves. Suddenly, he stood in front of my table, fingers holding a half-eaten piece of tiramisu. "She used to like this flavor, too." His voice was low, yet his gaze clung to me like a thread, tracing around my eyes and brows. I gripped my coffee cup tightly, afraid to reply. After that, he came every day. Sometimes he brought a bouquet of white roses, their petals still glistening with dew; other times, he held up a new dress, the size perfect for me. "Try this on." He handed me the dress, his fingertip brushing my wrist unconsciously. "She looked best in off-white." "You have the wrong person." I recoiled my hand and finally spoke the words I had been holding back for so long. He smiled instead, leaning close to me, his breath tinged with the faint scent of cedar. "It doesn't matter; you only need to be like her." Later, he brought me back to the villa. The moment the ornate iron gate shut, I heard the bolt turn. "From now on, this will be your home." He stood in the middle of the living room, pointing to the rooms upstairs. "The one on the left—I've already prepared it." I walked to the doorway and noticed a photo placed on the dressing table. The woman in the photo smiled with crescent-shaped eyes; her features bore a striking resemblance to mine. "Her name is Rachel." He slipped his arms around me from behind, resting his chin atop my head. "From now on, you'll keep me company in her place, alright?" I stood stiffly, my throat constricted as if blocked, unable to utter a single word.