Page 17 of Forever Fake

I nod, and sip my wine, wishing it was something stronger.

“Good. No catching feelings, no sex before we’re married, and last, but not least, no more stealing.”

I huff out an objection. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Until we sign divorce papers, I am your boss and more. This is a business arrangement and you are working for me—therefore you’ll do as you’re told. No more stealing. I mean it.”

I groan. “This is hell. You’re just trying to punish me on top of blackmailing me into this, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I killed two birds with one stone.” He leans forward and lowers his voice. “Believe me when I tell you this could be a lot worse for you, Ginevra. How the next year goes is up to you. Behave, be a good girl, and you’ll get rewarded. Misbehave and I’ll have no choice but to punish you.”

I swear my brain momentarily glitches. A very vivid picture of Blakepunishingme as I writhe beneath him pops to mind. Liquid heat sears my core—so unexpectedly, likewhat the actual fuck? My upper body sways towards his and I catch myself, for once sitting up straight with my shoulders back like Arianna nags me about.

What is wrong with me tonight? Have I really had enough booze that my body wants whatever this man has to offer? If that’s true, then I’ve become a real cheap date. Normally, I need a lot more to drink before I’m ready to jump into bed with someone.

“What will it be, Gin?” There’s a warning edge to his voice. “Good girl or naughty girl?”

Our dinner arrives, and I immediately dive in, effectively avoiding answering him. Throughout the meal, we shoot glances at each other. From the outside it probably looks like we’re nervously flirting, but in reality it’s a test of wills. His gaze demands an answer, while I refuse to give him what he wants. His stare hardens, but I refuse to crack.

I’m not sure if I could resist the urge to steal even if I wanted. It’s an impulse, maybe an addiction, and the high I get from it is worth the risk. What is Blake going to do, kill me?

We both know he needs me alive for his little ruse. So it’s not like he can off me and bury my body in a shallow grave—or wherever he normally puts people that he’s done with.

He needs me, and that gives me some leverage.

As we’re finishing up our entrees, our server returns. “Would you like dessert?—”

“No,” Blake barks at her.

“Actually, yes.” I take my time perusing the dessert menu, hemming and hawing over which one to get, just to annoy Blake. I can tell my behavior is irritating him from the deepening of his scowl, and that slight glare aimed in my direction. I inwardly chuckle at his growing annoyance, I’m not sure why I find it so amusing, but I do.

“Okay, I’ll have?—”

He cuts me off. “We’ll take one of everything.”

“Very good, sir.” The server darts off to do his bidding.

“I was going to make a decision,” I tell him. Eventually.

“Not any time soon, so I made it for you. There. Done.”

“Do you always have to be in control?”

He takes a swallow of wine. “Yes.”

“Tyrant.” My tone’s light, almost giddy as I tease him.

“Brat.”

“What, are you name calling now?” I narrow my eyes at him. A playful Mr. Baron is totally unexpected.

He shrugs. “You started it. Besides, I’m only stating a fact.”

A dozen desserts arrive at our table and I don’t bother to suppress the grin that curves my lips. Each little dessert is a work of culinary art, a slice of the divine. I can’t wait to taste them. My spoon hovers in the air as I debate about which to sample first.

“Start with the one in front of you,” Blake impatiently suggests, so I grab the plate that’s in front ofhimand place it before me, scooping up a bite of exquisite chocolate mousse.“Brat,” he murmurs, but there’s a tiny spark in his eyes as he watches me eat.

“Ohmy god.” I moan around a lemon tart. “The zest in this is perfection.”

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