Page 22 of Forever Fake

My brain finally wakes up the rest of the way and I puzzle the pieces together. He warned me that my actions would have consequences last night. What I didn’t know then was that bystealing that Hermes scarf, he’d up my move in date—to today, apparently.

My fists curl in outrage, but I release them, taking in a deep, steadying breath. I have to uphold my part of our deal—even if I don’t like it. There’s no way I’m going to jail over a trinket.

“I’m so sorry, Mama. I forgot to mention it. Yeah, I’m moving to Blake’s brownstone today. I must have gotten the date wrong, I thought it was next week.” I caress my mama’s arm to reassure her and flash her a smile.

“Empty-headed, girl, you’ll never learn,” Father mutters and sees himself out.

Ignoring him, Mama holds me at arms distance, searching my face. “Are you sure you’re ready for this? Moving in with someone is a huge leap forward. I wish you were at least engaged before doing this.”

Don’t worry, I will be in a matter of weeks. My stomach sinks.

“I’m ready. Besides, I need to get out of here. Now that Sophia and Arianna are both gone, you know how Papa and I grate on each other’s nerves.”

Mama huffs. “That’s no reason to move out.”

“It’s not my only reason. I promise.”

Mama doesn’t know the half of what goes on with me and Papa. She doesn’t realize how much he hates me, and how living here, under his roof, is suffocating.

“Do you love him?” She abruptly asks.

I blink at her. “Who? Papa?”

“Blake Baron.” Her lips thin as she states his name. “You know what he did to our friends, the Marinos. You know his reputation. They don’t call himThe Black Baronfor nothing, sweetie. I just want to make sure you want to be with him, and that you haven’t gotten mixed up in something you shouldn’t be.”

I swallow hard. “It’s nothing like that.” I plaster a smile on my face. “I love him. He’s the one for me. This has been slowly building between us for years, it’s only recently that we both realized our feelings for each other.”

Mama scrutinizes me for a moment, and I desperately try not to squirm. I’m outright lying to my own mother, right to her face. All because I don’t want to go to prison. Does that make me a terrible person?

I’m not usually one to ask for forgiveness, but God above, please forgive this sin. The same sin I’ll have to repeat to convince my sisters that my relationship with Blake is real.

Shit. I didn’t expect this to be so hard.

“If you say so, sweetie.” Mama pulls me in for a hug. I briefly close my eyes and soak in her warm embrace, drawing on her strength. She’s never gone easy on me, but I know without a doubt that she loves me.

Pulling back, we watch the movers make quick work of my bedroom. They’re like an army of ants who’ve descended on a dead beetle.

“You’d better get dressed before they pack up all of your clothes and you have to wear this nightgown all day.” Mama lets me go, and I grab an outfit from a still open box, then hurry to my bathroom to change.

As soon as the door closes behind me, my wrath returns. So Blake thinks he can just order his people to come in here and upend my life? Well, he has another think coming. Yes,think, because despite my best efforts, some of that proper English those tutors rammed down my throat growing up actually stuck with me.

And I’m going to make sure Blake knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he cannot do whatever he wants with my life. I have boundaries—and he just crossed them. Actually, he bulldozed right through them. Which is not okay.

After I’m dressed, have run a brush through my hair and a toothbrush over my teeth, I grab my phone and head out. I need to get to Blake’s place before the movers do so I can direct them. I give my family’s driver the address and settle into the back seat.

My cell chimes and I glance at the screen. Two messages from my ex, Oliver, sit unread. I have no intention of interacting with him, so I darken the screen.

Then… my curiosity gets the better of me—or maybe it’s my anxiety that spurs me to do it, just to make sure things haven’t gotten worse, but I read his texts.

Oliver

Hey baby, I’m sorry for what I texted the other night, I was drunk. You know I love you. We can’t end like this.

Oliver

I’m begging you. Please.

I sigh, dragging my fingers through my barely tamed curls. Oliver runs hot and cold, mean and nice, like this enough that it leaves me second guessing myself. Which version is really him?

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