Page 47 of My Dark Prince
I had to hand it to myself – I managed to recover from the initial shock of pretending to be her fiancé pretty quickly.
A few days ago, my assistants had tracked down her apartment – a shitty studio in Downtown Los Angeles the size of my shoe rack. I’d contacted her landlord, paid for the remainder of her lease, and informed him she was moving in with me.
He didn’t ask too many questions, which made me want to strangle him. I could’ve been anyone. A criminal. A debt collector. Bad news.
You are bad news, and you better keep your hands to yourself, motherfucker, Dal’s Southern drawl warned in my head.
Thanks to my foresight, I could show her some of the things I’d overnighted on my private jet from the hellhole she’d shared with a few freeloading rats and a fake houseplant. Her scented candle collection, St. Bernard stuffie she’d had ever since she was a toddler, and her traditional Swiss fondu kit.
Before I’d left for the hospital last night, I’d stuffed my walk-in closet with her clothes, shoes, and toiletries, taking painstaking care to ensure her shit was messily strewn across the bathroom and closet for that authentic touch.
“We live in a grotesquely huge house.” Briar’s head twisted and turned to gulp up the stained glass and French balconies. The entire manor dripped of old-world money, and opulence, and the thin veneer of someone trying and failing to survive his sins. “But it doesn’t look like there’s a lot of staff here?”
“We’re private people.”
And byweI meanthim.
But she wouldn’t meet him. They were going to live under the same roof, and she would never know.
“And we like to have sex everywhere, in odd hours,” I added, gesturing to the car-sized fountain, where water cascaded into a marble basin. The reflection of the crystal chandelier overhead glittered from the surface. “Too many potential lawsuits.”
“We sound feral.”
“I prefer the term madly in love.”
She paused in the game room, spinning the spare chair beside me. “And this is my chair?”
“Molded right for your ass cheeks.”
“Doesn’t seem like my style.”
“You went through aStar Warsphase.”
Actually, I did, cooped up in this place for long hours at a time, desperate to find a hobby again. But with the extent of her memories, she’d believe the truth even less.
We strolled down vaulted-ceiling halls, padded past oil portraits of Trio and Geezer in various historical costumes, and whizzed by the ballroom Romeo and Dallas used for their wedding, returning to the Grand Foyer.
“And that’s a wrap.” I clapped my hands together with a winning smile. “Two pools, one tennis court, a bocci court, and a home gym. Anything else you’d like to see?”
We’d already devoted a good hour to roaming the grounds, half of which she’d spentoohing andahhing over the engineered roses and trying to feed an apple to Al Capony, who wielded a deep distrust of strangers.
He’s still mad you neutered him, I’d told her, mentally thanking Seb for forcing me to geld old Al.
“Yes.” Briar leaned against the wall beside the curved staircase and crossed her arms, peering beyond my shoulder. She jerked her chin toward the second floor. “The south wing.”
“What, this old thing?” I lurched my thumb over my shoulder, chuckling. “Nah, no need. It’s boring. Nothing to see there.”
“It’s got the biggest balcony, a direct view of the lake and some rowing boats.” Briar frowned. “There must besomethingthere.”
That something would murder both of us if we treaded into his territory.
I blocked her path with my body. And I had a lot of fucking body. “That place is off limits.”
Briar pinned me with a searing glare. “What do you mean, off-limits?”
“Which part of the sentence did you not understand?” I enquired politely. I hadn’t realized her cognitive abilities had also been affected by the concussion.
“Let me clarify – I understand all of it and agree to none of it.” Her eyes thundered. “It’s my house, too. You can’t tell me where to go.”
