Chapter 3

Just a little tighter.

“This is absolutely disgusting!” I snarl. “I’m not going to land a husband by showing camel toe!”

“Jesus, Ivy—have I taught you nothing? Men are visual creatures, and the older they get, the more it takes to entice them.”

“I’m getting out of this fucking leotard.”

“Stop acting like a petulant child!”

“We’ve been at this for two hours. If I haven’t taken an acceptable picture yet, it’s not going to happen.” I grab a towel and wipe the sweat from my forehead.

She rolls her eyes and mumbles, “Why the hell hasn’t Miss May gotten back to us?”

We were told up front that this process could take months, but of course, my mother sees the passage of time as an indication that I’m somehow flawed.

“Maybe we need to take a trip and have you photographed surrounded by elegance…” Her words trail off as she thinks over the details.

“The men looking at my profile will know I’m not rich, and they’ll find it suspicious if I’m surrounded by luxury. They could even question my…purity, as you so disgustingly call it.”

She nods. “Right, right. It’s a good thing you’re so smart. You could rise high within the ranks, achieving a status I couldn’t.”

I’ve told her time and time again that this is a one and done, but she refuses to believe me. But the truth is, it could be out of my control.

Hopefully, the man I marry will leave me enough for me and our child to get by after the Sisters take their cut, which will be half. But if there are any surprises with the estate, freedom might be beyond my reach, and I could end up like my mom.

Another dark thought crosses my mind. One that seems all but unfathomable.

“Momma, what if the guy that picks me is actually…a good guy?” I ask nervously.

She chuckles darkly. “A man in the age bracket we picked who desires to marry a nineteen-year-old virgin is not a good man. Quite the opposite.”

Mother’s phone pings with a notification, and I watch as her face twists with fury.

“That smug little bitch,” she mutters.

“Did someone else take the lead for the cleanest crime scene?” I ask.

And yes, that is an actual competition that my mother has won two years out of eight.

“If only that were it. Augusta Halbeck has just announced her engagement.”

My brow pinches in confusion. “She hasn’t taken a mark in ten years, after she offed that billionaire…”

“And she doesn’t have to. This is her way of boasting.”

“How juicy?”

“Oh, he’s ripe. Nearing seventy, but still has all his hair and teeth. Hedge funds, real estate, a hint of royal blood.”

“Have you considered taking a mark?” I ask.

“You know damn well I can’t,” she huffs.

“Things change. It’s been a while since you’ve been active, and a lot of distance has been put between you and your last husband.”

“Tell that to the recluse,” she says under her breath.

My phone vibrates with a call from Miss May.

“Is it her?” Mother’s green eyes practically beg for it to be.

I nod as I hit accept.

“Hello, Miss May! It’s good to hear from you,” I say with a measured amount of enthusiasm.

“Dear Ivy, I hope you’ve been well. Forgive me, I don’t have much time, but I wanted to tell you that a gentleman is interested in connecting with you tonight. Would you be available for a video chat at 5 p.m.?”

“I will make myself available. Will I be told who he is ahead of time?”

“I’ll be forwarding his profile and a short message from him after I hang up. The gentleman is…transactional. Exactly what you’re looking for…and don’t be surprised if it ruffles your mother’s feathers.”

Glancing at my mom, I say, “Thank you.”

“Good luck,” Miss May says before disconnecting the line.

“Well?” Mother is hovering over my shoulder, excited to find out who I’ve been matched with.

An email pops up and I click into the link provided.

I’m looking to expedite a marriage in order to produce an heir to my family’s legacy line. If you’re interested in living comfortably whilst having no real control over your life, I’d love to move forward with the process by week’s end.

I suck in a breath, but it does little to help the queasy feeling roiling my stomach.

“Short, rigid, to-the-point,” I finally say.

“It’s almost too good to be true,” Momma says. “Click on his profile.”

“I think I’ll take it from here,” I tell her.

Eyes me suspiciously, she says, “Click-on-his-pro-file!”, enunciating each syllable sharply.

With no choice but to obey, I click the link and pray to the great widow above Momma doesn’t lose her shit.

A picture fills the screen of a dark-haired man without a single strand of gray. The very opposite of what my mother intended for me.

She gasps, grabbing my phone from my hand. “This must be some mistake!”

“It’s not,” I deadpan.

“Oh, no—this is forbidden! He’s only thirty-two, thirteen years too young!”

“The age rule got abolished with the introduction of crypto-millionaires,” I tell her.

“But he’s old money!” she snaps. “They are far too careful with their precious heirs. You’ll draw attention to us. How could this be happening? I specifically told Miss May?—”

“I adjusted the perimeters.”

“What? Why would you be so stupid?”

“Because I figured I’d mitigate the risk of having him succumb to a heart attack on top of me, as you requested.”

“You fool! We need to undo this.” She pulls out her own phone to call Miss May.

“Mom, you’ve literally controlled every aspect of my life since the moment I was born, but you’re not controlling this.”

“Like hell?—”

“If you try to pair me with an old man, I’ll simply refuse the assignment.”

“And become a servant to the Sisterhood?” Mother snaps, appalled.

“I’m not plying my charms on a set of old, saggy balls. Get over it.”

A look of resignation replaces her fury. “Fine, but we need to get you dressed appropriately for the video call.”

She does my hair, nails, makeup, and carefully picks out my wardrobe while refusing to speak with me. And as much as I may resent my mother, I have to admit; she knows what she’s doing.

A man who’s chasing a nineteen-year-old virgin doesn’t want a salacious vixen, so my soft red curls and my sweet pink lips are the perfect lure. My dress is cut low enough to reveal a hint of cleavage, but only enough to keep him thinking about me.

I look innocent enough for church, but underneath my outer veneer, I’m pure poison.

“He knows what he wants, so don’t extend the conversation. I’m going to pop in once, because men are always curious about what you’ll look like when you age. Especially one so young.”

“You act like I’m robbing the cradle when he’s thirteen years older than I am.”

“You will regret this,” she warns.

“Not if I pull this off.”

She decides that the patio overlooking our garden would be the best place to sit for the call, because at five, there’s still enough light in the sky to showcase my fiery hair.

While I look sweet and innocent, my mother”s dress is downright scandalous, giving him a sinful show of what I will look like in years to come. At thirty-six, she hardly looks older than mid-twenties, and she often gets carded when she buys wine. At four years older than my potential intended, I wonder what he’ll think of her.

At 4:45, I take another look at my match’s profile, which is sparsely filled out.

Mateo Rossi of Rossi Industries. Tall, broad of shoulders, impossibly dark hair, and two coal eyes that burn with intensity. He could have any woman he wants, yet he’s picked me.

Coming from one of the richest families in the United States, the Sisters won’t be happy about this, because some fish are too big to fry. But that doesn’t mean they’ll deny me my mark, especially since they’re in to gain half.

Mother comes over and reapplies my tinted lip gloss. “There,” she smiles at me, “you’re absolutely stunning.”

At 5 o’clock on the dot, my computer lights with a conference requisition.

Smiling, I take a deep breath and hit accept.

He appears instantly, and I’m captured in his intense gaze. I try to maintain my smile, but my lips fumble.

“Hello, Ivy,” Mateo says in a voice like sandpaper.

“Hello,” I reply back.

“Your profile says you’re looking for a wealthy husband and hope to solidify your comfort with a child.”

My profile did not say exactly that, and I dislike the way he chose to paraphrase it, though I cannot deny the truth of it.

When I fail to reply, he continues with, “If that is what you are looking for, you’re in luck. With me, your comfort is all but guaranteed, just so long as you fulfill your end of the bargain.”

“You want an heir?” I say, my voice raised in question even though I very well know the answer.

“Yes, and the conception must happen quickly. Would you be opposed to taking fertility drugs?”

“Fertility drugs? But I’m?—”

“Yes, you are nineteen and your tests have proven you fertile, but if I don’t have an heir conceived soon, I stand to lose my inheritance. So please, answer my question: are you opposed to taking fertility drugs?”

“No—”

“Good, then I’ll send a doctor sent over after we end this call.” He squints into the screen. “Do me a favor and scrub the crap off your face.”

“Pardon?”

“When I tell you something or give you an order, you’re to say ‘understood.’ Understand?”

I swallow hard, trying not to break under the pressure. “Understood.”

“Your makeup, take it off. I want to see what you look like fresh faced.”

My mother, who’s standing behind the computer, rushes to grab a package of makeup wipes.

And because she’s opportunistic, she takes advantage of the situation and smiles into the camera as she hands them to me.

“Who’s she?” Mateo snaps.

“That’s my mother. We’re close.”

She gives me a wink and a thumbs up as she goes back to where she was standing.

I spend the next minute scrubbing the makeup off, cursing when my lightly applied eyeliner becomes a black smear.

“Look at me,” Mateo barks.

I obey, mortified by how disheveled I look.

“Why do you hide your freckles?” he asks.

“My concealer doesn’t give me a choice.”

“And neither will I. You’re no longer wearing it. You can wear lip gloss and a little mascara, but the dark eyeliner makes you look desperate.”

“Understood.”

“Do you agree to the match?” he asks. “If so, I will have arrangements made and sent to you.”

“I agree.”

“If you have any questions, I’ll give you the contact information of my assistant, and you can ask him, as I’m a busy man.”

“Understood.”