Page 123 of I Knew You Were Trouble

I glare at him, unblinking, as a flash of shock crosses his face. He presses his lips together and looks away.

‘But we know all about younow, Jon Theodore Dunn,’ I say, imbuing each of his names with condemnation. ‘We know that you’re not a pilot, nor a diamond dealer, nor a wine merchant. And you’renota geologist,’ I say sarcastically, flicking my eyes towards Poppy where she’s leaning against an ornate desk, staring coldly at Jon.

Jon glances over his shoulder then turns back to me. It’s clear he’s starting to piece things together, and his gaze falls to his hands, which are fisted in his lap.

‘We know that as the beneficiary of a substantial trust, you’re obscenely wealthy, that you havenoprofession, contributing nothing meaningful to society, and that you live in this hotel fulltime – andnotbecause your home is being renovated. We also know your mother lives on a vast estate in Scotland, rather than in a care facility, and that she’s completely oblivious to what her son has been doing.’

This last statement – an educated guess – is confirmed by the split-second of horror in Jon’s eyes before he regains his composure – well, as best he can. He looks absurd in that low chair.

His eyes harden and he puffs out his chest. ‘Ihaven’t?—’

‘You haven’twhat?’ I ask, cutting him off again. God, Margot would be so proud of me right now.

I bend down, my face close to his, like a nursery teacher chiding an errant child. ‘You haven’t lied to all of us, including “Penny”? You haven’t pretended to be someone you’re not, to be someplaceyou’re not, time and time again?’ I stare right into his eyes, then straighten, looking down my nose at him. ‘Because youhave. And we have proof.’

‘You even bought us the same engagement rings,’ Adriana spits at him.

‘Yes, and why was that, Jon?’ asks Lucia, notably abandoning the name ‘Jonny’. ‘Lack of imagination or something more sinister? Some sort of sick branding, perhaps. Behold my fiancées, blinded by love and each wearing the same sodding ring!’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ he says dismissively. ‘I didn’t even give you a ring.’

‘Hah!’ she barks. ‘But you’dplannedto. Ristorante Il Desco? Hotel Gabbia d’Oro? Do they ring a bell?’ she asks smugly.

Jon’s mouth starts working again, then he clamps it shut. He must be wondering how we can possibly know all this – hah!

‘And how was this supposed to work, Jon?’ asks Adriana, glaring down at him while he blatantly avoids eye contact. ‘Were youreallyplanning on becoming a polygamist?’

‘Ibet you never planned on marrying any of us,’ Lucia interjects. ‘If you hadn’t been caught, you’d have strung us along indefinitely. You weird, sick bastard.’

‘Ja!’ Adriana chimes in.

Lips pressed together, Jon stares hard at the carpet in front of him. We’vedefinitelygot him on the ropes now. And it really doesn’t matter what his intentions were or how he thought he’d get away with being engaged to three women – possibly even four. He’s clearly delusional – or as Lucia says, a ‘weird, sick bastard’.

‘Right,’ I say, getting to the part I was coached on, ‘this is what’s going to happen. There’s going to be a close watch on you, Jon Dunn. You’ve already been blacklisted at every matchmaking agency and on every dating app in the UK –andEuropeandNorth America. And if your tiny little brain thinks that’s of no consequence, guess again. Because if you so much asthinkabout attempting to dupe another woman with a false persona, every shred of evidence we’ve accrued against you will be sent to your mother. And with her as the named trustee of your inheritance…’ I trail off with a shrug, leaving the rest of the threat implied.

I’m not entirely sure how the Ever After Agency plans to follow through on this threat, but Poppy assures me it’s legitimate.

Jon heaves out a frustrated, guttural sigh, then places his hands on the arms of the chair and stands. ‘Are youfinished?’ he asks viciously.

I look to the others, who murmur their agreement, then back at Jon. ‘Almost,’ I say. I smile at him serenely, which seems to confuse him even more. ‘Poppy?’

‘Poppy?’ Jon murmurs. He looks over at her. ‘Oh, of course,you’rePoppy.’

‘I am. And before you leave, you should know that the Creative Futures Foundation isextremelygrateful for your generous donation.’

‘Creative Fut— Oh my god.’ He claps his hand over his mouth, then drops it like it weighs a tonne. ‘Oh my god, I signed that donation over.’

‘Yes, you did,’ she replies with a broad smile.

‘Only because you asked me to – no,beggedme to.’

‘Pennybegged you to.’

‘Well, that won’t stand. That donation was procured under false pretences. Wait,’ he says, his eyes narrowing with realisation. ‘The not-for-profitIdonated to was called Urban Growth something, not Creative Futures… whatever it was you said.’ He flaps his hand about as if he’s shooing flies.

‘Urban Growth Collective is the parent organisation,’ Poppy says evenly. She points at him, mirth in her eyes. ‘Butyougenerously donated specifically to the Creative Futures Foundation, which supports arts’ education for underprivileged youths.’

‘Oh, no. We’ll see about that. You tricked me. You’ve committedfraud.’

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