I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I’m about to leave, and realize my mistake. I look like me. Like Megan. Bile rises to my throat. I need to focus! I can’t let him question who I am, especially after he met Megan the other night.

Hurrying back into the bedroom, I wipe off my lipstick and smear a brighter shade over my lips; it’s one of those plumping types that makes them sting and swell. I draw on more eyeliner and add another coat of mascara. My hair, that I have made all glossy and bouncy, I now scrape back into a high pony, a thick strand twisted round to cover the elastic. Checking my teeth for lipstick, I grin, wide-mouthed and teeth bared, at my reflection. At Leah’s reflection. The person staring back at me is undoubtedly my twin.

Tom is waiting for me outside the restaurant, a small Paris-style place tucked down a side street, and I break into a smile at the sight of him. As I step out of the taxi, his own smile lights up his face, and then I’m enveloped in a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around me.

“You look incredible,” he whispers in my ear before dropping a kiss on my cheek, lips cool on my skin.

“We’d better get you inside,” I say, laughter in my voice, “your nose is freezing!”

He takes my hand and leads me up a couple of steps to the door, which opens to reveal an intimate dining space in gorgeous deep burgundy tones with accents of gold to catch the glow of the lamplight. “Monsieur Eagleton,” the maître d’ says with a nod, “et madame. Welcome to Gauthier’s.”

“You’re a regular here?” I ask Tom, feeling a small spark of jealousy as I wonder if he brings a lot of dates here.

“I went to school with Sebastian Gauthier, his dad opened this place last year. Seb pulled some strings to get me a table; there’s normally a month waiting list but I wanted to take you somewhere special.” There’s a faint blush creeping up his neck.

“So you don’t bring all the girls here?” I’m teasing. Or at least that’s how I hope it sounds.

“Only you, Leah,” he says, before a waiter interrupts the moment to take our order, and our conversation moves on to a decision of steak or chicken.

Over our starter, talk drifts to past relationships. I’m fairly quiet, providing something approximating my own—as in Megan’s—truth, at least up to the part when I met Chris. A few flings that never amounted to much. One boyfriend who could have been something, but the relationship had hit a rather significant stumbling block when his ex wanted him back.

Tom tells me about his wife. His ex-wife. He is polite and respectful. “Sometimes life throws so many rocks at you that even the strongest foundation can’t survive.” A sad smile crosses his face. I don’t ask, not wanting to pry, but he takes my silence as an invitation to continue. “We hadn’t even been married four months when Juliet’s brother was killed in a car crash.” He takes a deep breath. “Then three months later, my dad was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer, although he did eventually pull through.” He gently taps the wooden surface of the table three times in a superstitious gesture.