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.”
