Page 183 of The Faking Game

I laugh a little. “Well…”

“That good? He’s smiling more, you know.” She tilts her glass to mine. “You’re really good for him.”

“We aren’t… nothing is… it’s complicated.”

She shrugs. “I know all about complicated. Sometimes complicated is fun, until it’s not. Can you simplify things?”

“Maybe. I would like that,” I admit, and look back out at the beautifully clad people in the gardens. It’s a warm spring night, and the sky is painted a beautiful pink by the approaching sunset. “I’m building up the courage to have a conversation.”

“I know the feeling,” she says.

“Speaking of…” I take a step closer. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, that night, at the Paradise Lost party. You were there. Right?”

Amber looks at me for a long moment. Her eyes, so like her brother’s, are framed by dark lashes that contrast her fiery hair. “My brother can’t find out.”

“I won’t tell him. I promise,” I say. “But that was risky.”

“I know. I didn’t think he’d come.” She takes a deep breath, and I remember what he told me, that it washerhis former friend had once gotten involved with. That it was his house the party was at.

“Did you have fun?” she asks, and I recognize a deflection tactic when I see one.

“I did. That party was… exhilarating.”

“Yeah, they tend to be,” she says. “At least before they go completely off the rails. Oh, and here he is. Your brother.”

Raphaël steps between us, tall and dark. He bends to kiss Amber on the cheek with the familiarity of someone who’s basically family. “Amber. This party is beautiful, and so are you.”

“And you say that to everyone,” she says. “Hello, Rafe.”

Rafe nudges me. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How are you holding up?”

I raise my glass of champagne. “I’m fantastic, thanks for asking. How are you? How were the meetings in town?”

“Met with my American legal team.”

My hand tightens around the delicate glass. “You’re still planning on taking over their company? The Wilde’s?”

“Yes.” His voice is smooth, but there’s steel beneath it. “And after it’s mine, I’m going to strip every Wilde from the board, the leadership, and positions of power. Before I tear their company apart and bury the brand.”

“But they still have a significant stake. Right? Someone still has to sell to you.”

“They will.”

“Even after you confront Ben Wilde?”

“Yes.” He says it like a vow. My brother has been single-minded for the last few years, focused on growing Maison Valmont bigger and stronger than our father left it. Wilde is one of the few companies that have resisted decades of Valmont’s expansion in the luxury space.

Of course he won’t give it up.

Even after this.

“Not everyone at that company is involved in stalking me,” I tell him. “Some of them are normal people.”

Rafe lifts an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to show them mercy?”

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