Mandy Hubbard: Prada and Prejudice

My eyes are still firmly shut. I can't look at him. I'm afraid of what I'll see in his eyes, afraid of what he's going to say, afraid he's going to hate me.

"Open your eyes."

And yet I can't. They're glued shut.

"Callie," he says.

I open them. Relief floods me as I see that he doesn't look angry. "Say it again," I say.

"Callie," he says again, his lips quirked in a soft smile. "I knew you weren't Rebecca the moment I met you."

Now my eyes fly wide open. "What? How?" My mind reels back to that moment in the dining room. The moment he looked at me and his eyes shifted, and I feared he knew. And then when he merely bowed and I curtsied, and he returned to his seat, I was overcome with relief, thinking he didn't recognize me as an imposter.

He did. This whole time, he knew. That's why he looked at me oddly. That's why he was so cool to me during dinner.

"She has brown eyes. Yours are blue. She also has a dimple. Emily may not remember, as she was so young then. But I do. I was quite sweet on little Rebecca. I knew the instant I saw you that you were not her."

"But you didn't say anything!"

He smirks. "To be honest, I was intrigued. I intended to question you in private, so as not to alarm my mother or Emily. But then I saw the change in my cousin. She had been quite despondent over her impending marriage — until your arrival. I admit I had no intention of interfering in her engagement, yet I could hardly take away what happiness you brought. Perhaps it was a way of alleviating my guilt for not helping her. And aside from that, you seemed to be doing no harm." He grins at that last statement, as it's obvious I was up to far more mischief than he realized.

"You mean all this time I've been freaking out over you hating me and you knew?"

He smiles sheepishly. It's the closest thing to embarrassment I've ever seen on his face. "Yes."

I groan. "I guess I deserve that."

I turn back to the sky, and for the first time, an odd sense of peace washes over me. I want to stay here. I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, I want to stay here. Those mixed feelings have been replaced by something else: fear. Fear that it's not really my choice to make.

His thumb picks up its soft circling on my hand. "What will you do now?"

"I don't... I don't know. I mean, I'm so lost I can't find my way home. And maybe that sounds weird, but it's true."

"You may stay here. As long as you need to."

I squeeze his hand. "Thank you. I'm not sure if I should, though. I belong somewhere else, and there may come a day when I need to go. When I... have to go. And I don't want you to... I don't want you to put anything on hold because of me."

I can't believe I just said that. I can't believe I implied he'd he so stuck on me that he wouldn't pay attention to the other girls and his supposed duty to find a wife. A Duchess forHarksbury.

"I would not wish you to leave if it is not your desire."

I nod and swallow the boulder-sized lump forming in my throat. I don't know if he feels quite as strongly for me as I do for him, hut he does care about me. And it feels good.

"Thank you."

We turn back to the sky again, and I edge closer to him. I feel strange, dressed in my jeans and T-shirt, while he is still dressed as he always is. It makes it so painfully obvious that we're from different worlds. Worlds that will never see one another. Worlds much too far apart.

I turn toward him, so my cheek is resting on the cool grass. When he looks back at me, his eyes nearly blend with the blades until all I see is a sea of intense green.

And then I do it. I edge closer to him, close my eyes, and kiss him. His lips are as soft and full as before, but I enjoy it this time, because my mind isn't reeling like it was. I lose myself to the moment as he presses back against me.

It is perfect. It is everything I want it to be and more.

And then we both retreat, and I open my eyes.

He moves his arm so that it wraps around my shoulders, and I have somewhere to rest my head, and then I snuggle up against him and close my eyes again, as the heavy draw of sleep lulls me under.

I must have fallen asleep on a rock. It's digging into my shoulder blade. I scrunch up and start to roll over, but then freeze.

It's not just a single rock. It's a giant one. Like concrete.

I go numb as I realize what this means. It can't be... I ease open one eye, and then in an instant I'm sitting upright and looking around. And all I see are cars. And people in blue jeans. And street signs. And I smell smog and I hear radios crackling in the passing cabs.

I close my eyes for at least ten seconds and then open them again, but it's all still there.

The twenty-first century.

I can't stop my face from falling. I'm back. Just when I'd realized I don't want this at all, I'm back. My shopping bags are strewn around me. I'm wearing jeans. A T-shirt. My heels.

I glance back to realize the Prada shop is still a few yards behind me, just where I'd left it. I'm sitting in the exact spot I'd fallen down.

I never left at all.

I stay put for a few moments as a pounding headache fades.

Alex. Emily. Even Victoria.

They were all make-believe. Some figment of my banged-up brain. That means the kiss... God, I made it all up! Every single thing!

I want to lie back down, close my eyes, and go back. I want horrible soup and stiff corsets and lumpy mattresses. I'll trade it all to see Alex again. To go to Emily's wedding.

A man trips on my foot and then has the nerve to glare at me, even though he basically kicked me in the shin.

Yes, I'm definitely in the twenty-first century.

I scramble to my feet and wipe the dirt off my jeans and lean over to pick up my bags. And then I notice them.

My heels. My beautiful, damaged heels. I glance over my shoulder. Yes, the Prada shop is definitely still behind me. I've gone maybe four steps from the door. Nowhere near enough to ruin the heels like this. They're scuffed, dented, and scratched.

I gather up the rest of my bags, my grin in full-force. It wasn't fake. It wasn't make-believe or a dream or anything.

It happened. As sure as the mud on the heels, it happened. There's even a dent where the front door of Harksbury bounced off the toe.

I don't know how or why or anything, but somehow, I was there. I danced with Alex and helped Emily. I played a piano for a duke and a countess, and I ate more exotic animals than I ever wanted to.

But it happened. I don't understand it; I only know that the last month was real, and it was the best of my life.

I sling the bags over my shoulder and practically skip down the block. No matter what happens next, no matter what happens for the rest of my life, I have something no one else will ever have. An adventure to rival Indiana Jones. A crazy month that can never be replicated.

I continue in the direction of the hotel, feeling oddly out of place and right at home at the same time. A clock chimes somewhere in the distance. I wonder if it's Big Ben.

I wonder what time it is.

"Excuse me," I say to the first woman I see. She's wearing a sundress so loud I have to squint to look at her. "What time is it?"

"Two-fifty."

I thank her and then resume my walk. Two-fifty. I wasn't out long. Probably not even a full minute. I look at my shoes again, just to be sure they're still as scuffed as ever. I love them. I love every scratch and dent and mark. They're perfect.

I walk easily to the hotel, as if the shoes were made for me. As if they're sneakers and not three-inch heels.

I miss Alex.

I wonder if he remembers me at all. If no time passed here... what if the same thing happened there? What if the whole month starts over?