Page 26 of Forever Fake

“Good night.” Cupping her face, I plant a delicate kiss against her lips. The urge to taste her, to plunder her mouth with my tongue, nearly overwhelms me, but I resist.

All in good time.

When I release her, she’s blushing. I have the strangest sense that she’s never been kissed like that before. But I must be wrong, this girl’s been kissed a thousand times, a hundred different ways.

I scowl. Possessiveness coils in the pit of my stomach. The urge to claim her mouth resurfaces.

“Good night,” she whispers and scurries from the living room before I can drag her into my arms and devour every inch of her. At least if I have to have a fake girlfriend, she’s actually someoneI find attractive. Sexual chemistry won’t be a problem in our short marriage.

Willing my body to chill the fuck out, I head to my office, where I login to the dark web chat room that serves as my inquiry form. People post jobs they’d like me to consider, and I either accept or decline depending on my mood. I certainly don’t need the money like I used to, but this is the work I enjoy. This is how I gained freedom from my father and wicked step-mother.

Once upon a time, in high school and then college, I did need the money. Even then, I clearly saw what Yve was doing to my father, how she manipulated him at every turn. He was too weak, too infatuated to see what was happening. She slowly sank her claws into everything from our home life, to my father’s social circle, to Titan Enterprises.

Watching her ruin him solidified my determination to never fall in love, to never let a woman in that close. Vipers, all of them.

I realized then that I needed independence. Financial freedom.

Spending so much time locked in my room to avoid the step-monster, I discovered my talent for hacking into computer systems. What started as a game quickly became a way to earn an outrageous amount of money. My own money, untouchable, as I kept it hidden in off-shore accounts. Watching the balance in those accounts climb to astronomical heights also felt like a game.

By the time I graduated college, I was a multi-millionaire and had a sizable investment portfolio. In the years since then, I’ve turned my millions into billions, all under the guise of a tech services company that runs a multitude of shell companies around the world. I pay enough in taxes that the IRS shakes my hand and doesn’t look too closely into my business. Not that they’d find anything if they did.

To this day, Yve doesn’t know how I became independently wealthy. The fact that I am, frustrates her to no end. When she realized she couldn’t control me with money, she turned to blackmail–and my only weakness: my love of my siblings.

I scroll through the encrypted messages. There’s everything from requests to hack into a banking system to steal money, to pyramid schemes, to political sabotage. A couple of personal vendettas where they want me to destroy their rival’s career.

Boring. All of it’s boring.

Until I run across one that wants to sabotage a certain import-export company… De Luca Global Trades. Seems like someone wants to fuck with Roman.

Not on my watch, even if he did punch me in the face the last time I saw him.

I accept the job and start a chat with the client. He’s happy to pay a cool million for the job. All I have to do is hack into the company’s systems and install a virus that will incapacitate their communication and scheduling operations. Easy.

Except, while I have this guy in the chatroom, I run a program to pinpoint his location and get into his system. It takes a while, jumping around the globe until I finally have him. But I do find him. I always find what I seek. Then I upload my own virus onto his devices. It’s stealthy, quiet, its job is to watch and listen and record every email and text he sends, every webpage he browses. I want to thoroughly know this fucker before I destroy him.

Nowthisis a fun game.

He pays me half up front, the rest to be collected when I complete my task. Though that’s an ending we’ll never arrive at. I think when I’m done playing with him, I’ll empty that bank account he just logged into to wire me the down payment, his username and password safely tucked away for future use.

He signs off and I go onto my next order of business. It seems my little birdies were busy today. I have six thousand snippets of gossip and information that’s come in over the last twenty-four hours. My program has already sorted it all into relevant categories, flagged priority messages, and added everything to my searchable database.

I have eyes and ears everywhere that matters, and many places that don’t. My little birdies upload everything from photos, to sightings, to general gossip of celebrities, criminals, the wealthy, and the underdogs. Because of them, I have my fingers on the pulse of sports, politics, and the underworld–and honestly, everything in between. They give me information and I pay them in bitcoin for each little piece.

This is my empire. How I work from the shadows.

I finally glance at the clock. It’s two in the morning. I pour myself a scotch and head up to bed. Quietly opening the door, I’m greeted by Ginevra’s steady breathing and a sliver of silver light peeking through the curtains.

I stop short, amusement curling my lips as I take in the barrier of pillows she’s constructed down the middle of the king size bed. Her message reads loud and clear. Stay away.

It’s going to take more than a few pillows to keep me away from her, but for tonight I’ll leave her be. Quickly undressing in my closet, I neatly hang my clothes for dry cleaning, then slip under the covers on what’s clearly been designated as my side of the bed.

Sleep pulls me under like a riptide.

My alarm buzzes, waking me at six in the morning, and I instantly freeze. There’s a warm body pressed against mine, a honey scent permeating the air. I glance down to find Ginevra wrapped around me like an angelic boa constrictor, her arm embracing my chest, her leg resting over mine. She’s tucked into my shoulder, peacefully asleep. So much for the pillow barrier.

I stay there, holding her as she sleeps for a couple of minutes, as a series of slightly uncomfortable sensations wash over me. I’ve never actuallysleptnext to a woman before—certainly nevercuddled. I’m pretty sure this qualifies as cuddling. It feels… strange, intimate. More intimate than sex.

I’m undecided on whether I like it or hate it.

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