Page 11 of Forever Fake

When my mind is set on a certain course of action, I don’t believe in wasting time. Which is why I’m sitting in Mr. Pontrelli’s office the morning after my party. The poor fool has no idea of the reason for my visit, but he’s already beginning to sweat through his silk shirt.

It’s good to know my reputation still precedes me. I’ve worked hard to earn it.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Baron?” he asks, now that the basic niceties are out of the way—such a waste of time in my opinion.

I make him sweat for a few more moments before I speak. “I’m here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

His bushy brow pinches. “I… I don’t understand. My eldest two daughters are already married and you can’t possibly mean?—”

“Ginevra.” I lean slightly forward. “I have every intention of marrying your youngest daughter.”

Mr. Pontrelli’s mouth opens, then closes, only to open again. I find his imitation of a fish annoying.

“W-why?” he asks. “What did she do? Did she cross you in some way? I deeply apologize for my daughter’s actions, she’s out of control these days.”

It seems he knows his youngest daughter pretty well. Though that’s not the angle I’m playing at today. If this is to work, theneveryoneneeds to believe that Ginevra and I are actually dating—and worse, in love.

“Of course not,” I clip. “It’s nothing sinister. Have your daughter come down here. She’ll explain.”

He rings for her and we sit in strained silence until she decides to grace us with her presence. When she comes into her father’s office, her face is clean of makeup, her curls are a mess, and she’s wrapped in a satin robe. She’s delicious. It’s nearly seven in the morning and she looks like she just got out of bed.

What a lazy little magpie.

Groggily, she takes in the two of us sitting at her father’s desk. She blinks once, twice, then pops open that pouty mouth. “What are you doing here?” The question is, obviously, directed at me.

I show my teeth—a grin. “Good morning, darling. I’ve come to ask your father for your hand in marriage. It’s time we told him the truth about us.” I turn my attention on Mr. Pontrelli. “Ginevra and I have been secretly dating for several months.”

He eyes me. “That can’t be true. What about Oliver? You’re dating Oliver, aren’t you?” His gaze seeks out his daughter.

Who the fuck is Oliver? The boyfriend? He’s a dead man walking.

She visibly swallows. “That was last year, Papa. Oliver and I broke up. I’ve been seeing Mr. Bar—Blake—in secret, like he said. I lied last night when I told you Arianna invited me to Blake’s party. It was actually he who invited me so we could see each other.”

The lies roll off her tongue so smoothly that I almost believe them. She’s lying right to her father’s face without batting an eye. No tells, nothing to give her away. She’s a wonder to behold.

I store that information away for later reflection.

Mr. Pontrelli looks to me. “You want me to believe that out of all the women in the world, you want to shackle yourself withher?” He points at Ginevra. “A girl who’s likely to either end up in prison or dead before she’s thirty? She’s a disgrace to this family, a slut, and she’ll only ruin your reputation.”

Ginevra flinches.

Heat rises up my neck. My fingers briefly curl into fists before I deliberately flex them.

“If you think that’s true, then you’ve forgotten my reputation.” My icy tone drains the color from his face. “Don’t you ever call her aslutagain, or you’ll experience my wrath first hand. I’ll fucking destroy you, Pontrelli.”

I’m the only person who will be calling her aslut. My sweet little slut, as she takes my cock like a good girl.

“I-I didn’t mean to offend?—”

“Good.” I cut him off. “Then you’ll apologize to your daughter.”

His eyes bulge. I know he was trying to apologize to me, but I’m not the one who needs to hear it. No one, not even her own father, will speak of her in that way. I won’t allow it.

Sitting back, I wait, expectantly. The seconds tick by, tossing fuel on the fire of my irritation.

“Now,” I prompt him.

“I’m sorry.” His words come out in a rush, but at least they’re aimed at Ginevra.

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