Chapter 1 - The Faces in the Mirror
By six o’clock that evening, every detail of my future had already been decided.
My navy suit had been tailored on Newbury Street.
My grandfather’s antique cuff links rested at my wrists.
A diamond ring sat inside the inner pocket of my jacket.
At seven-thirty, I was expected to propose to Sloane Barrett beneath the glass roof of my family’s private conservatory overlooking the Charles River in Boston.
Our parents had arranged dinner.
A photographer was waiting.
Champagne had been delivered.
Even the flowers had been selected according to Sloane’s mother’s preferences.
There was only one problem.
I did not love Sloane.
She was kind, intelligent, and perfectly suited to the world I had been born into.
Our families had done business together for decades, and everyone seemed convinced our marriage would be the final piece of an elegant puzzle.
I had spent most of my thirty-seven years allowing other people to arrange my life.
That evening was supposed to be no different.
Then I stepped into a restaurant bathroom and saw four little boys who looked exactly like childhood photographs of me.
I had stopped at a small upscale restaurant in Back Bay because my driver was delayed and I had nearly an hour before the proposal.
I walked into the men’s room expecting nothing more dramatic than washing my hands and checking my tie.
Four boys stood in a row at the sinks.
They were dressed in matching navy school sweaters and khaki pants.
One of them pushed his dark hair backward, tilted his head, then reached his left hand behind his neck.
The other three copied him almost immediately.
I stopped walking.
I had made that exact gesture my entire life.
I stared at their striking green eyes in the reflection of the glass mirror.
They were a perfect, undeniable genetic replica of my own face.
Before I could even process the impossibility of the situation, the heavy wooden door of the restroom swung open.
A woman rushed in, breathlessly apologizing for entering the men's room to round up her kids.
She stopped dead in her tracks the absolute second her eyes met mine.
It was Clara, the brilliant, beautiful woman I had loved with my entire soul six years ago.
Her expensive leather purse slipped from her trembling fingers and crashed onto the tiled floor.
She looked at me as if she were staring at a terrifying, impossible ghost.
May you like
Her voice shook violently as she pulled the four boys behind her back to protect them.
"My God, your father told me you died in that car crash," she whispered.
