5. Blake

CHAPTER 5

Blake

“ O ne more thing before you go.” I stalk toward Ginevra, a delicious warmth washes over me to know that for the next fourteen months, more or less, she’s mine . When I figured I had to find a fake wife, I dreaded the outcome. But this… her … I can handle this. I can make it work. I might even enjoy it.

She won’t be some blushing virginal bride. I know her reputation. She’s wild, and I’m sure we’ll have plenty of fun together. Her body will be mine to do with as I please.

I’ll make sure to insist on monogamy in the contract because there’s no way in hell I’m letting another man touch her while she’s mine. After our year is up, she can do whatever and whomever she wants. My jaw clenches at that thought.

Until then, she’s mine. My little liar. My toy. My thieving magpie.

It’s perfect.

I don’t have to worry about some woman getting clingy. Ginevra’s too independent for that. Judging from tonight, she’s also not my biggest fan. As long as she does as she’s told, and occasionally spreads her legs for me, then she can hate me all she wants. We both have physical needs, which neither of us should ignore while we’re married.

And she certainly doesn’t have to be concerned about me catching feelings. She’s a means to an end. That’s all.

If she’s a very good girl, I might even give her a parting gift once this is over to reward her for her services. I know she won’t turn down such a thing.

“What?” she asks, sounding exasperated as I slowly approach.

She can act as disinterested as she wants, but I saw the yearning in her eyes when I touched her. She wants me as much as I want her in my bed.

“Let’s get this ball rolling.” I pull her toward me and snap a picture of us. Our first couple’s photo. She looks slightly stunned, but that’s fine. I set the picture as my cell phone’s lock screen background, then show it to her. “See? Now we’re officially dating. Here’s proof.”

She rolls her eyes. “That’s only proof of how bad you are at taking selfies.”

I glare down at her. She needs to cut the sass, or she’s going to get spanked.

Ginevra snatches up her phone, then grabs my tie and yanks me toward her.

“Gin,” I warn.

She ignores me. With a pouty smile on her face, she snaps a picture. She looks sexy as fuck in it and I’m scowling.

Figures.

“That’s much better.” She grins at the photo and sets it as her phone’s background. Collecting her belongings, she shoves them back in her clutch, then turns on her heel and struts down the stairs to enjoy my party.

When she’s finally out of sight, I drag my fingers through my hair. Fuck…

I’m going to enjoy having Ginevra Pontrelli on my arm and in my bed. She might be too young for me, but fuck it, I’ve already crossed that line in my thoughts, may as well take it all the way to reality and damnation. She’s exactly what I need to deceive my step-mother and get my inheritance. Gin is an actress, a seasoned bullshitter, if anyone can convince Yve that we’re in love, it will be the woman I just blackmailed into becoming my fake girlfriend and future fake wife.

I’ll admit, even for me, this is a new low. Yet, I have no regrets, not an ounce of remorse.

Ginevra’s not nearly as innocent as her years would suggest. I can’t wait to show her what a real man can do to her—not those boys that she entertains herself with all the time.

And this boyfriend will have to be dealt with too, whoever the fuck he is–if he’s even real.

W hen my mind is set on a certain course of action, I don’t believe in wasting time. Which is why I’m sitting in Mr. Pontrelli’s office the morning after my party. The poor fool has no idea of the reason for my visit, but he’s already beginning to sweat through his silk shirt.

It’s good to know my reputation still precedes me. I’ve worked hard to earn it.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Baron?” he asks, now that the basic niceties are out of the way—such a waste of time in my opinion.

I make him sweat for a few more moments before I speak. “I’m here to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

His bushy brow pinches. “I… I don’t understand. My eldest two daughters are already married and you can’t possibly mean?—”

“Ginevra.” I lean slightly forward. “I have every intention of marrying your youngest daughter.”

Mr. Pontrelli’s mouth opens, then closes, only to open again. I find his imitation of a fish annoying.

“W-why?” he asks. “What did she do? Did she cross you in some way? I deeply apologize for my daughter’s actions, she’s out of control these days.”

It seems he knows his youngest daughter pretty well. Though that’s not the angle I’m playing at today. If this is to work, then everyone needs to believe that Ginevra and I are actually dating—and worse, in love.

“Of course not,” I clip. “It’s nothing sinister. Have your daughter come down here. She’ll explain.”

He rings for her and we sit in strained silence until she decides to grace us with her presence. When she comes into her father’s office, her face is clean of makeup, her curls are a mess, and she’s wrapped in a satin robe. She’s delicious. It’s nearly seven in the morning and she looks like she just got out of bed.

What a lazy little magpie.

Groggily, she takes in the two of us sitting at her father’s desk. She blinks once, twice, then pops open that pouty mouth. “What are you doing here?” The question is, obviously, directed at me.

I show my teeth—a grin. “Good morning, darling. I’ve come to ask your father for your hand in marriage. It’s time we told him the truth about us.” I turn my attention on Mr. Pontrelli. “Ginevra and I have been secretly dating for several months.”

He eyes me. “That can’t be true. What about Oliver? You’re dating Oliver, aren’t you?” His gaze seeks out his daughter.

Who the fuck is Oliver? The boyfriend? He’s a dead man walking.

She visibly swallows. “That was last year, Papa. Oliver and I broke up. I’ve been seeing Mr. Bar—Blake—in secret, like he said. I lied last night when I told you Arianna invited me to Blake’s party. It was actually he who invited me so we could see each other.”

The lies roll off her tongue so smoothly that I almost believe them. She’s lying right to her father’s face without batting an eye. No tells, nothing to give her away. She’s a wonder to behold.

I store that information away for later reflection.

Mr. Pontrelli looks to me. “You want me to believe that out of all the women in the world, you want to shackle yourself with her ?” He points at Ginevra. “A girl who’s likely to either end up in prison or dead before she’s thirty? She’s a disgrace to this family, a slut, and she’ll only ruin your reputation.”

Ginevra flinches.

Heat rises up my neck. My fingers briefly curl into fists before I deliberately flex them.

“If you think that’s true, then you’ve forgotten my reputation.” My icy tone drains the color from his face. “Don’t you ever call her a slut again, or you’ll experience my wrath first hand. I’ll fucking destroy you, Pontrelli.”

I’m the only person who will be calling her a slut . My sweet little slut, as she takes my cock like a good girl.

“I-I didn’t mean to offend?—”

“Good.” I cut him off. “Then you’ll apologize to your daughter.”

His eyes bulge. I know he was trying to apologize to me, but I’m not the one who needs to hear it. No one, not even her own father, will speak of her in that way. I won’t allow it.

Sitting back, I wait, expectantly. The seconds tick by, tossing fuel on the fire of my irritation.

“Now,” I prompt him.

“I’m sorry.” His words come out in a rush, but at least they’re aimed at Ginevra.

I finally glance her way. She’s pale, her mouth hanging open in shock.

“It’s okay, Papa?—”

“Don’t forgive him,” I snap. “Mr. Pontrelli, what are you sorry for?”

He looks pained as he elaborates. “I’m sorry for calling you a slut and a disgrace to this family.”

“Now simply accept his apology,” I instruct Gin.

She licks her lips, her gaze flicking to me then back to him. “Thank you, Papa.”

She’s being much more obedient this morning and I wonder if it’s because she’s not fully awake yet or simply my unexpected visit.

“Now, where were we…” I drawl, my usual calm having returned.

“You have my blessing, sir.” Mr. Pontrelli extends his hand.

In our world, many of the most important deals are done on a handshake. So I firmly grip his palm in mine and look him in the eyes.

“Welcome to the family.” The pleasantry falls flat. He doesn’t want me anywhere near his family. Which is interesting because most fathers would love to have ties to the Barons. In this case, I can only assume Mr. Pontrelli’s fear outweighs his enthusiasm. Or perhaps he knows that he won’t be making any demands of his soon to be son-in-law—not if he values his life and current position as a mafia don, one of the four remaining Italian families. It’s no secret that I took out the fifth.

I give him a curt nod. This deal is done. First one of the day.

On my way out, I stop at Gin’s side. She turns those chocolate eyes on me, there are so many questions racing through them. I almost want to stay and soothe her—almost.

Stooping low, I murmur in her ear. “I’ll pick you up at eight tonight. We’re going to dinner.”

My fingers brush her satin-clad hip, and the heat of her body sears my palm.

Without thinking too much about it, I place a chaste kiss on her cheek. That’s what normal, loving couples do, right? I wouldn’t know, I’ve never officially had a girlfriend. Never saw the point, honestly.

“See you tonight, darling,” I call as I head out the door. “Eight sharp.”