Page 2 of Forever Fake

My birthday’s in six months. That’s not a lot of time to find a wife.

“You must marry before then or risk losing what you want most. And, if you choose someone other than Lexa, you must stay married for an entire year. Above all, I have to be convinced that your marriage will last. If either of you are caught cheating, then you’ll never see your inheritance. If it’s not a love-match, then our deal is off.” She leans forward. “Wed Lexa and be done with it. You can cheat on her and I’ll look the other way. Plus, I’ll give you your inheritance immediately. Wed my daughter and you won’t have to wait another year.”

“I’d rather chew off my own fingers.”

Her expression sours. She sighs, clearly exasperated.Good.

“She’s the only option. Especially since I’ll add that you may not pay a woman to be your wife. There will be a prenup in place for anyone you try to marry if it’s not Lexa. Which means any other wife will be left with nothing if you divorce. We both know you’re so intolerable that no woman would agree to be with you, if not for your money.”

I cast her a bland look. “That is why you married my father. For the money.”

Yve shrugs. Standing, she smooths down her Chanel suit and picks up her garish, monogram Louis Vuitton bag. The woman couldn’t screamnew moneylouder if she tried.

“I’ll start planning the wedding.” With a venomous smile she heads for my office door. “You won’t find anyone else who’ll marry you in six short months.”

The viper leaves my door open, so I can hear the click of her heels all the way to the foyer. Good riddance.

When I’m alone, I pound my fist on the desk, once, and the few items atop it quiver. Then I pour myself a scotch from the bar cart. It’s fucking five o’clock somewhere in the world. Though one brief conversation with my step-mother could drive a teetotaler to drink.

The scotch smoothly burns as it washes down my throat. Its peaty oak taste coats my tongue. I swallow the shot then pour myself a double, neat.

The truth of the situation is that I do need to find a wife before my birthday in November. One thing I know for certain about Yve is that she rarely bluffs. Her threats can be taken at face-value. November is my deadline if I want what she stole returned to me.

And I will have it. One way or another. No matter how many hoops Yve sets in place.

I need a wife.

Afakewife.

A knock sounds on my ajar door.

“What?” I snap.

Arianna Kozlov, formerly AriannaPontrelli, before she married into the Russian Bratva, pokes her brunette head into my office. “I just wanted to give you an update, Mr. Baron. We’refinished decorating in the garden and we’ve moved into the house. Catering should be arriving any moment.”

I give her a curt nod and she disappears, going back to her work.

In celebration of finally owning my childhood home again and the recent renovation, I’m hosting a soiree tonight. One that my step-mother is not invited to attend.

When this idea came to mind, I knew the only event planner to hire was Arianna Kozlov–her connection to the Russian mafia of no concern. I’ve seen her work at Leonidas Gentleman’s Club enough times to know she’s the best. By tonight this place will be decked out in superb elegance and the party will go off without a hitch. I left the details in Mrs. Kozlov’s capable hands so I’ll be as surprised as everyone else tonight by its final presentation.

She sent invites out a while ago and the guest list is settled. It should be an interesting evening. I invited all the who’s-who of Manhattan and beyond.

If only I could use this evening as an alibi while I off Yve… This isn’t the first, nor even the thousandth, time I’ve considered putting my step-monster in an early grave.

I’d do it in a heartbeat if she didn’t have dirt on me. One misstep when I was young and cocky, and now she has enough evidence to put me away for life.

I once asked her why she hasn’t done it yet, and she confessed to enjoying our games too much. With me behind bars, she wouldn’t have anyone to toy with and torment, knowing she can get away with everything. I can’t touch her until I find and destroy that blackmail material.

The other problem is that I’d be the prime suspect. Naturally.

Not only would I jeopardize everything I’ve built in my life, but also my younger brother’s inheritance, and our family company Titan Enterprises. Plus, I really don’t relish the idea of life in prison just for offing one conniving gold-digger. Thesacrifice is too much for the reward. I’ve come to terms with enduring her petty games. Even as she now forces me to come up with a willing bride in less than six months.

I don’t think I’m as unpleasant in the eyes of most women as Yve suggested. If anything, I could probably put out a call for potential candidates and be inundated with hopeful young women. More gold-diggers. Empty-headed arm candy.

The very idea has me cringing. I swallow the rest of my scotch and set the glass on my desk.

In truth,I’mthe problem. I can’t stomach most humans, and when it comes to blushing ladies who look at me and see my bank account balance and investment portfolio, I’d rather be buried alive than consider making one of them the next Mrs. Baron. Even temporarily.

---