Replica

marching into battle, then stepped into the den.

Nadia was already waiting for him. She was curled up on a sofa wearing a boxy fleece sweater, with a warm, fluffy quilt tucked around her legs. Her lustrous blond hair was gathered into a sloppy braid that hung over one shoulder, and her face was devoid of makeup. Her cheeks seemed even paler than usual, the circles under her eyes so dark they looked almost like bruises. Nate had never seen her looking so vulnerable before, and guilt stirred in his chest. He didn’t know what had happened on the night of the reception, but he was sure Nadia wouldn’t have been hounded by Mosely if it weren’t for him.

A hint of pink tinted her cheeks, and Nadia smiled at him ruefully. “I look that bad, huh?”

Nate shook his head at himself and forced a grin. “Let’s just say I hope you feel better than you look.”

She made a sound of mock outrage. “You’re supposed to flatter me and say I look great, you ass.”

He blinked innocently. “You expect me to obey social convention? I may be a Replica, but I’m still me.” He frowned. “Sort of.”

He’d been trying for humor, but of course bringing up his status as a Replica was about as far from humor as he could get. Way to kill the mood, he scolded himself as he watched the light bleed out of Nadia’s eyes and the smile fade from her lips. He hurried to sit beside her on the sofa. He wanted to take her hand and give it a comforting squeeze, but she was gripping the quilt so hard he’d have to pry her fingers free to manage it.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was trying to be funny.”

“Guess that means you really are still you,” she replied, shaking her head at him. There was a tentativeness to her voice he wasn’t used to, and she was staring at his face with too much intensity. He realized she was trying very hard not to give him the visual once-over everyone else had given him.

“It’s okay to look,” he told her gently. “I know this must be really weird for you. It is for me.”

She chewed her lip as she finally allowed her eyes to wander. He held still for her inspection, which paused when she reached his wrists.

“You’re not wearing cuff links,” she commented, and Nate guessed from the heat in his face that he was blushing. He often skipped the tie and sometimes even the jacket that constituted an Executive’s uniform, but Kurt liked him in cuff links, so he usually wore them.

“It’s not because I’m a Replica,” he said. “It’s just that I suck at putting them on myself.” Of course, he could have asked one of his other servants to do it for him, but that wouldn’t have been the same.

Nadia nodded at his explanation. “Other than that, you look like you,” she said with an ironic smile. “And you sound like you.” Her hands relaxed their grip on the quilt, although she didn’t exactly look at ease.

“Hmm. Only smell, taste, and feel left to go.” He leaned toward her and offered his throat. “Have at it.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, and he let out an internal sigh of relief.

“In your dreams,” she said, shoving him away playfully.

“Brat,” he said, then tugged on the end of her braid, and her smile broadened into a grin.

“You’re calling me a brat? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

The memory of standing in front of the mirror yesterday, examining his body and marveling at its perfect imitation of the original Nate Hayes, flashed through his mind, and he shivered. He looked down at his hands, turning them over and staring at them as if he’d never seen them before.

“I can’t quite … absorb whatever it is that happened to me,” he said. “I feel so normal. But I’m not the same person I was just a couple of days ago.”

“Yes, you are,” Nadia said firmly, hiding the lingering doubts he was sure she must feel.

He looked up and met her eyes. “If I were the same person, I’d remember what happened the night of the party.”

Nadia didn’t quite grimace, but she did look uncomfortable, and she averted her gaze. “Let’s just pretend you had a nasty blow to the head and have amnesia. That doesn’t make you a different person.”

He waited for a moment, expecting her to tell him what had happened. He’d thought it was pretty obvious what he’d been fishing for. But Nadia just sat there chewing on her lip and looking uncomfortable. Suddenly, Nate wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what had happened after all.

Crane took that moment to enter the room—without knocking, naturally—carrying a tray with a coffeepot, two white china cups and saucers, and a cream and sugar set. The tray was decorated with a large golden-yellow mum in a small crystal vase. Nate knew Nadia valued informality as much as he did, but informality was a foreign concept to people like Crane.

Nate and Nadia met each other’s eyes as Crane put the tray down and fussed to make sure everything was arranged just so. Nate was tempted to offer the old man a ruler so he could make sure every item was exactly the same distance apart, but making fun of Crane was just too easy.

Finally, Crane was satisfied with the arrangement of the cups and saucers—or was satisfied that Nate and Nadia weren’t going to say anything of great interest while he was eavesdropping—and trundled out of the room. Again, Nate suspected the slow pace was deliberate, but neither he nor Nadia said a word beyond “thank you” until they were alone again.

“You shouldn’t sneer at him like that,” Nadia said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. “He’s just doing his job.”

It wasn’t the first time Nate had been told he wasn’t allowed to complain about people who were doing their jobs, but he never quite saw the logic in the restriction. Unlike Executives, Employees could choose their jobs, after all, and they could also do them without being assholes.

“He’s not living in a Jane Austen novel,” he said, a little peevishly. “I see no reason why he can’t do his job without the stick up his ass.”

Something flashed in Nadia’s eyes, and she put the coffeepot down with a little more force than necessary. “That’s how ninety percent of the people he interacts with want him to behave. You think he should change just because you’d like it better?”

Call him crazy, but Nate had the feeling Nadia was angry with him. And not just because he’d grumbled about the butler. No doubt she had cause, but one of the things he’d always liked about her was her ability to refrain from critiquing his behavior like just about everyone else in his life did. Life under the microscope, with the whole world pointing out and then reveling in his every misstep, was a pain in the ass.

“I’m sorry I’m not perfect,” he said, his voice sharper than he intended as he grabbed for the coffeepot. “I just get tired of people acting like assholes. Crane actually bowed to me when he met me at the door, for God’s sake.”

Nadia leaned back into the sofa’s cushions and crossed her arms over her chest, looking mulish. “He’s doing his job,” she gritted out as if he hadn’t heard her the first time. “Not everyone can do whatever the hell they want whenever the hell they want to, like you can. You were assassinated, I spent fifteen hours in the security station, Bishop is running for his life, and the most important thing you can think of to talk about is how annoying you find my butler? Really, Nate?”

Nadia’s words hit home, and the surge of anger faded.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, stirring some sugar into the cup of coffee he’d asked for but didn’t really want. It was easier to fuss with the coffee than to look at Nadia and see the reproach in her eyes. “I guess picking at Crane is easier than facing all the other crap that’s bouncing around in my head.” He took a sip of his coffee, then wrinkled his nose at the taste. He’d put in the same amount of sugar as he usually would, but it tasted too sweet. He’d noticed the same thing at breakfast, though he’d assumed he’d absently put in too much sugar. Maybe there was a subtle difference between his taste buds and those of his original.

Mentally, he rolled his eyes at himself. There was no point in obsessing about this. He put the cup down and risked a glance at Nadia. To his relief, her expression had softened.

“I’m sorry, too,” she said, though as far as he was concerned, she had nothing to apologize for. “I know you must be worried sick about Bishop.”

His fists clenched again as he fought off an image of Kurt in Mosely’s clutches. Then he smiled a bit as he fully absorbed what she’d said. “You don’t think Kurt did it.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Of course he didn’t do it!” she said indignantly. “You don’t for a moment think