"I see Daniel struggling. Sometimes, I just wish I was brave enough to tell him I was sorry that he has to force himself to love me. That he cannot mourn her death because he see's the mirror image of her everyday. That he cannot move on because he...
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▬▬▬▬▬▬ BEG ▬▬▬▬▬▬
"Your signature is required here, mam."
I sigh and write Katerina DV Olivar on the signature line. I've done this about thirty times today and hundreds of times in total, but I'm still not used to it. The name is too fancy, too elegant, too pretty as oppose to my birth name.
But it's my name now. A name for a princess really. Katerina Victoria De Valenciano Olivar. That's an upgrade, an enhancement of my birth name: Kathryn Garcia, which is probably one of the most common names out there.
I suppose I am lucky enough that her name is so close to mine, that when Daniel calls me Kath, people simply assume it's his personal nickname for me. At least, I get to keep a small part of my former identity.
"Sweetie, remember our client meeting with Mrs Montoyo the day after tomorrow. She's insistent that we're early. Alright I'm off, I'll see you at the ball tonight." Says Julia, blowing me a kiss before she struts out from my office. She's someone I grew fond of and later became close friends with (I wouldn't know what I'd do without her). She's been my pillar in this strange new world, as well as Enrique, her husband and Daniel, my husband.
"Mam, it's from Sir DJ."
Daniel John.
I reach and speak into my desk phone, "Love," I say.
"Love," he says and I should cringe at the endearment, but that I've at least gotten used to. Even in the privacy of my - our - home he calls me that. Maybe because of the household workers? But they know as much that Daniel and I don't share a bedroom. If anything, I'm lucky they don't question why Daniel and I hardly talk at home.
And besides, Kath and love alternate, even when it's us two alone. Maybe he had just gotten used to it. Maybe I had gotten used to calling him that too. Or maybe it was just to avoid slips when we were in public.
He goes on, "I know Emmanuel is driving you to the Tita Eleanora's ball. But I'll pick you up from Davina's boutique later on."
Unnecessary. But he hasn't picked me up in a while. People might assume things and gossip is one thing I'm to avoid and it's better we arrive together than apart. I don't have time to mull it over anyway. I agree.
"Okay. I'll see you later." And because I feel like I'm perennially being watched, I decide to throw in a quick, "I love you."
"Love you," He mutters back before hanging up.
I love you. Three simple words laced with a multitude of lies.
'I love you' to the woman who is my birth mother, who died quickly after I assumed her daughter's identity and from whom I inherited a million-dollar empire. It was a lie so intricately woven with no inconsistencies, that you were forced to believe it.
