“My sister and my mother know the truth.” Although my mother didn’t exactly react well to it. She loves to put her emotions on me in long, dramatic conversations where I have to reassure her. She’s been that way for as long as I can remember, but it got worse after my brother’s death.
After my parents divorced, she moved to the South of France, and over the years, things shifted to where I feel more like the parent.
On the phone, she told me that she couldn’tbelieveI’d marry someone without telling her beforehand. She was all indignation, and I chose not to remind her of the short-lived marriage she had with her yoga instructor that I wasnottold of until she called to ask for help from my legal team for the divorce.
But she’s fully brought into the fold now and will be at the wedding to pretend to the world like it’s a union of love. There’s nothing my mother loves more than a good stage and a role to play.
“Sylvie offered to make me a dress,” Paige says, and takes another deep breath. “God, we’re such liars.”
“Yes, we are. Does that bother you?”
It would surprise me if it did. She’s been working with Ben Wilde for years; she’s seen his playbook. And then she cut him out to gain co-ownership of the family company that she was set to fully inherit one day anyway.
Lying should be easy.
It’s not my favorite thing. But I’ll do whatever I have to. Maison Valmont is mine to lead, and I can’t fail.
“Are your lawyers handling my uncle’s countersuit?” she asks, avoiding my question.
I drain the last of my whiskey. “As much as I hate ruining a perfectly good evening by talking about him, yes, they are. I told you as much.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“You can’t,” I say simply. “Just like I can’t trust you.”
Her eyes narrow, and she takes a step closer. Her skirt rides up another inch to show off golden skin. “I trust in your self-interest. That will have to be enough for now. But we need to set some ground rules.”
I pull off my cuff links. It’s too hot, and I need these damn sleeves rolled up. “Rules, darling? I thought you hated rules. You certainly hate punctuality.”
“That’s to wind you up, because you clearlyloveit. And don’t call me darling.”
“We need to sell this as a love story,” I remind her. The endearment is over-the-top. Pretentious. It’s fallen from my lips mockingly each and every time, and I smile, seeing the pinched annoyance on her face.
“Yes, inpublic. Are we in public right now? No. And for the record, I’m quite punctual when I’m not trying to offend you.”
“How flattering.”
“The next two weeks, you and I need to be everywhere in public. Shopping together, caught leaving a restaurant, seen on a boat. We want it papped, but it should look casual. Not like we’ve planned it.”
It sounds like my worst nightmare. I reach into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I choose one of the black cards and put it on the table. “Use this.”
She looks at it like it’s a rattlesnake, ready to strike. “And why would I take that?”
I sigh. “You’re my newwife. Borrow the BMW and make sure you’re seen. Go into Milan or Como and spend money in stores. Talk to locals.”
“You want me to spend your money.” She picks up the card. “Does it have a limit?”
“Why don’t you find out?” I tell her.
She smiles, razor-sharp. “You’re going to regret saying that. Because I know how much you value profit, and I’m going to make this burn.”
“Try me,” I say. “I’m rich enough to handle you.”
Her eyes narrow. It’s a challenge, and I’m sure she’ll rise to it.Let’s go,I think. I have more money than she can spend.
“I’ll win, just so you know.” She tucks the card into her clutch. I catch sight of a chocolate bar in there. Interesting. “Now, if I’m out flaunting my rings and pulling my load, then you need tostopdoing whatever it is you did last night.”
“Wilde,” I warn.
