Page 27 of Forever Fake

Gently, I untangle myself from her limbs. Gin softly murmurs and rolls over, fast asleep. She sleeps like the dead. Obviously she cuddled with me by accident. That was never her intention.

With a heaviness in my gut I don’t dare to try to explain, I get ready for my day. Falling back into my established habits.

As the days go by, we keep to a certain routine. Ginevra wakes many hours after I do, and is asleep by the time I turn in around two or three in the morning. While we hardly see each other, I do notice the growing amount of discarded clothing draped on my bedroom furniture. My bathroom counter has become a cosmetics display, swallowed up by an alarming number of scented products, makeup, and nail polishes. Theliving room looks like a girls slumber party descended, leaving destruction in its wake. It’s chaos.

If this keeps up, I’m going to have to move out. Which I suspect is Ginevra’s endgame. The little vixen is trying to drive me crazy with clutter and messes everywhere.

My housekeeper cleans twice a week, but I might have to up that schedule to once a day at the rate this is going. How can one adult woman cause so much chaos? I have this ominous feeling that she’s slowly taking over the entire house. Soon I’ll be buried in high heeled shoes, takeout containers, and heaps of laundry.

I’ll drown in it all. Ginevra’s clutter will be my demise.

It’s time to set some more rules.

CHAPTER 12

Ginevra

Iwish I could honestly say that I hate living in Mr. Baron’s house. That I’m miserable. But I’m not. In fact, I don’t miss my childhood home at all, and moving here may actually be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

Blake’s never home, so I have the entire place to myself, instead of being stuck in my bedroom like I was at my parents’ house. I no longer have to worry about catching my father’s attention when I venture into the hallway, or to the kitchen, or heading out for the day. There’s no one here to scold me either.

Honestly, it’s heaven. I spend my days doing whatever I want, which is mostly watching TV, eating takeout from a different restaurant for dinner every night, and hanging out with Kyla. She’s Blake’s cook.

She’s offered to make me food on numerous occasions, but I don’t want to take advantage. I’m sure she’s stressed enough having to cook for Mr. Nothing-is-ever-good-enough. But every day I find myself drawn to the kitchen, mostly for the company.

Kyla and I lean against the kitchen’s massive island and watch a cooking competition show on her iPad. I’ve probably said it a hundred times today, and I’m sure she’s getting tiredof hearing it, but I state again, “It’s so cool that you won that competition!”

She laughs. “It seems like ages ago now. And I never expected to end up as someone’s private chef. I thought I’d be cooking at one of those high-end restaurants or something. Still, working for Mr. Baron, living in Manhattan, and doing what I love is a dream come true for a poor, Midwest girl like me.”

“I love your story so much.” When the episode comes to an end, the next one auto starts. “It’s so inspiring. And it’s wild that I actually watched this show when it was streaming five years ago. This show was the highlight of my week. Never thought I’d actually meet you in person.”

Yeah, I’m totally fan-girling.

She waves me off. “I just got lucky.”

“No. You’re amazingly talented.” I glance around the pristine, high-end kitchen. “What are we making today?”

“What do you want to make? Anything you want is fine by me.”

Kyla is seriously the coolest person I’ve ever met.

“Really? Okay. Hm… Cookies. I’m craving something sweet and chocolaty. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all.” Her grin widens. “Chocolate chip cookies it is. I’ll show you my super-secret recipe if you promise not to tell anyone else.”

“My lips are sealed.” A smile stretches across my face.

We spend the next hour baking the most gigantic, delicious, chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever tasted. They’re heaven in my mouth. I moan and do a little dance while I devour the second one in a row.

“It’s nice to have someone appreciate my baking skills,” Kyla says around a mouthful of cookie. “Mr. Baron doesn’t do sweets, so I hardly ever get to bake desserts.”

I’m about to make a snarky comment about Blake’s lack of a sweet tooth, but then I remember that we’re supposed to be a happy couple. So instead, I say, “Hey, it’s his loss, and that just means there’s more for me. We should do dessert every night, because I love sweets.”

She exhales an exaggerated sigh of relief. “Thank God. Finally, someone who will eat all the fabulous dessert recipes I’ve created over the years.”

“But,” I hold up a hand, “you have to teach me how to make them.”

Kyla eyes me. “Do you have an actual interest in the culinary arts?”

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