Page 55 of Forever Fake

I sit in a club chair, Guy across from me, and drink my scotch. We don’t talk—Guy’s almost as anti-social as I am, which makes him fine company—preferring to watch the younger people have their fun.

The way Gin not only stood up to my step-mother, but has also taken Lexa under her wing does something funny to my chest. I can’t put a name to the sensation because I don’t believe I’ve felt it before today.

It could be gratitude.

Pride? Maybe I’m proud of my fiancée?

I’m not sure what I’m feeling, but I’ve determined it’s nothing bad. Quite the contrary.

“You’re a lucky man.”

My attention snaps to Guy, and the light sensation in my chest evaporates. He’s staring at Gin, watching her hips move as she dances on the table. I don’t like it. I hate the way other men gaze at my fiancée.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Guy, or I’ll pluck them out and feed them to you.” My threatening tone leaves no room for misinterpretation.

His gaze lands on me, the blood drains from his face and he gives a curt nod. “I… need to make a call anyway. Excuse me.” He leaves the room, and my pounding heart calms.

I spend the remainder of the evening watching Gin, Samantha, Lexa, and Liam party, while nursing my scotch. I doubt I was ever that carefree, even in my early twenties. Life had already forced me to grow up quickly. With a step-mother’s manipulations to navigate, a father to fight with over everything, and Liam to take care of, there wasn’t time for much silliness.

Watching Ginevra let go and have fun, seeing her live, so innocent and carefree, constricts my heart. She’s turning out to be nothing like I expected. Which begs the question: was I wrong about my assumptions of her? She’s far more naive and vulnerable and sweeter than I thought she'd be. That girl has a heart of gold hidden beneath that sassy, sexy kitten façade, doesn’t she?

By blackmailing her into this arrangement, I thought I’d be punishing a heartless, conniving, gold-digger, someone like my step-mother. But Gin is nothing like Yve. They’re polar opposites in every way that counts.

I should end this, call off our deal and let Gin go. She deserves someone better than me. But I can’t and won’t free her, and not just because my inheritance is on the line. Now that I have Ginevra within my grasp, who, in all honesty, I’ve been sneaking glances at for the past two years, I want to make her mine. I want to possess her body and soul, to twist her innocence into something sinful, to devour her sweet nature like ripe fruit.

Every night when I come to bed, she’s already asleep and I leave before she wakes up. Gin has no idea the agony she puts me through every single morning and night. The feel of her soft body against mine, her warmth, the way my cock strains, desperate to have her, yet I deny myself that pleasure. Every single day, I resist. But I’m done holding myself back.

“Ididn’t know you could fly!” Ginevra gasps as we take off. My gaze slides to her, triple-checking that she’s securely fastened in the helicopter’s passenger seat, then we gain altitude.

The yacht docked early this morning and I had our things brought to our villa. The rest of my plan for today was hatched late last night while Gin enjoyed Lexa’s bachelorette party. We have the entire day to ourselves and this helicopter ride around the islands is only the beginning.

“Hold on,” I teasingly warn her. “I’m a little rusty.” Tilting the helicopter, I maneuver us over the ocean’s glittery blue-green waters, and Gin squeals with excitement. Her laughter sends liquid heat through my abdomen. I love making her smile.

For the next two hours we fly over expansive waters, sandy beaches, and tropical hills. From above, we see all the wonders these islands have to offer. None of it is as beautiful as the wonder sparkling in Gin’s eyes.

I land on a wide expanse of deserted beach, then help Ginevra out of her seat. Taking her hand, I lead us around a jutting rock to a quiet cove where a lone table and two chairs sit under a cabana. Various rugs and carpets cover the ground, and a hearty lunch, complete with champagne, awaits us.

“Oh my god, Blake, what have you—? How did this get here?” Gin sits on the chair opposite of me, grinning like this is the most magical moment of her life. I have to admit the setup crew did an excellent job.

“You wanted a boat ride on a lake. Which I couldn’t give you.” I open the champagne and pour us each a glass. “I hope that this lunch on a beach might make up for it. If we stay long enough, we’ll catch the sunset.”

“Do we have anywhere else we need to be this evening?” She sips from her glass, then starts uncovering the numerous dishes of little sandwiches, shrimp cocktail and caviar on ice, and of course an assortment of desserts.

“We don’t need to be anywhere but here, magpie, so eat up and enjoy yourself.” For a moment, I simply sit back and watch her nibble on a piece of fresh fruit. My gaze focuses on the sweep of her pink tongue as she licks her lips, then down to the smooth column of her neck when she swallows. I’ve never enjoyed watching a woman eat before. There’s something extremely sensuous about it.

Of course, if anyone told me a few months ago that I’d arrange for a romantic lunch on a beach just to see a woman happy, I’d have scoffed at them. Then probably have shot them for being so fucking ridiculous. Yet here I am. Here we are, together, enjoying each other's company for an entire day.

“Why aren’t you married?” Gin’s question startles me, and I blink at her for a second before answering.

“Marriage is overrated at best. Most of the time it’s simply a terrible, soul-sucking arrangement between two naive individuals. Why would I ever want that?”

Gin sucks cocktail sauce off of a piece of shrimp and my cock stiffens, expanding in my trousers. She’s so fucking sexy with her small sounds of contentment and that innocent look in her chocolate brown eyes. Fuck, I want to corrupt every inch of her.

“My sisters seem happily married,” she points out.

I nod in agreement. “They are both lucky. But do keep in mind that this is Roman’s second marriage. I remember his first wife and the hell she put him through. In my youth, I witnessed my father’s two gold-digging wives before Yve, who’s the worst of them all, but it was Roman’s marriage that made me vow to never marry. That woman destroyed him.”

“But Sophia put him back together.”

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