Page 6 of Dating the Dealing Demon

I laugh with my friends, and the stress of the reality show melts away.

When we pull up to the house, the light of the sun sinking behind it paints the edges of its towers in gold while casting the rest in shadow. My heart speeds up, and my skin prickles with the sort of fear that would have me covering my eyes if this was a movie.

In fact, a location scout couldn’t have picked a creepier place to set a horror flick. Guarded by an iron gate that opened for us with a low creak, the house sits high on a cliff that juts out over the ocean. Fog curls through the trees along the driveway. I remind myself it’s all part of the haunted house experience. No one would pay the kind of money the Underworld will charge if the place didn’t give offreal dealvibes.

Nonna would be throwing some serious horns right now, chanting in Italian and prodding us to get back into the car and stay far from here. The crash of waves and the crunch of gravel beneath our feet seem too loud in the silence.

This is gonna be epic.

I keep thinking that right up to the moment a devilishly hot man who’s better looking than anyone I’ve ever met—and I’ve met far too many A-list stars—answers the door. His look’s all big screen and Hollywood dreams, which means he’s an actor.

Reality sets in like a stone in my stomach.

This isn’t a haunted house tour.

It’s a freakin’ trap.

No guy this gorgeous would work in a haunted house attraction. Which means I’ve unknowingly brought my friends to something worse than any rattling chains or scary stunts a horror attraction could dream up—a taping of my family’s reality TV show.

Mom’s insistence on us bringing a camera crew screams in my mind. I should’ve guessed she had already arranged something sneaky.

“Welcome to the Underworld,” the pretty boy actor says in a rich voice fit for narrating the filthiest fantasies in one of Meg’s novels. Posh vowels and boarding-school clipped consonants roll off his tongue. I want to punch him in his perfect mouth, but it’s not his fault I was dumb enough to believe I would get a vacation from the Bonetti family circus.

He sweeps his hand toward the inside of the house, and seriously, in motion, he might as well be a model strolling off a fashion designer’s runway. His clothes must be specially tailored to his tall, broad-shouldered hotness, and I don’t want to guess how long it took him to get those tousled locks to fall so carelessly over his forehead and dark brows. Most guys would’ve been stuck in hair and makeup for hours to achieve anything close to his effortless style, and I want to hate him for it.

But it’s not his fault. I can’t blame him for wanting to guest star on my family’s show if it’s his shot at fame. That doesn’t mean I’ll make the fake tour he has signed up to give any easier on him.

I push past him through the open door and slip into the character I play for a show that’s anything but reality.

Let’s get this over with.

CHAPTER FOUR

Val

My mother and the show’s producers outdid themselves this time.

I haven’t found a single hidden camera, and by now, the showrunners have forced me to become an expert after finding surprise filming happening in my car, my high school locker, and college classrooms. Stashing some cameras to catch me with unflattering scared expressions in a haunted house? It would be a simple task for our crew. I already play comic relief on the show way too often. Not today.

The handsome actor posing as a tour guide introduced himself as Theo and led us into a fancy library to rival a Hollywood mogul’s curated collection. Two couches worth more than my car flank a gorgeous vintage rug that could’ve been ripped from an English manor. The place smells rich—no hints of rot, decay, or other spooky stinks. No cobweb could have survived the beeswax and pine cleanser scents. Nothing about this décor matches my expectations of a haunted house.

Even more out of place? Theo with his sideswept perfect hair, the five o’clock sexy stubble along his strong jaw, his suit and tie hot professor vibe, and the lickable little dip above his top lip. I can’t let myself get distracted by his intense gaze or the way he seems to dominate the room.

Ava snuck off to do her Nancy Drew investigative journalism a couple of minutes ago. I don’t break from my public persona which makes it easier to cover for her disappearing.

Meaningless flirting is my superpower on screen since it portrays the charm underlying the Bonetti brand without attaching emotional strings.

I zero in on Theo as my latest target.

His uptight arrogance makes the game more fun. Each time I flip out a teasing remark, like playing a winning card in a high-stakes game, he bristles as if I’ve hit a nerve.

Cocky asshole.

He probably thought making a guest appearance might score him a chance with one of the twins. Well, he’ll have to settle for the least popular Bonetti on the show.

He talks about liability waivers, and it’s practically a confession that we’re starring in a special episode of my family’s reality nightmare. Every time a guest comes to my mother’s home while the cameras are there, a production assistant trots out waivers, disclaimers, and non-disclosure agreements for them to sign. I ignore Theo for a moment, delaying for Ava’s sake as much as drawing out whatever tension the show editors might want to build.

Stalking to the shelves, I pull books thick enough to hide a camera or angled where they might conceal audio equipment. The covers all match. I’ve seen custom-ordered collections and scrolled through plenty of pretty shelves pics on social media, but this is extreme. Blood red hardbacks in every size cluster in shapes reminiscent of jagged teeth. Maybe the haunted housedesigners went high-concept with illusions of giant mouths ready to devour us rather than the traditional jump scares.

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