Fraud

CHAPTER TWO

Emily

A knock at my door barely grabs my attention. It’s a gentle rap of knuckles that does little to breach the ground-shaking thump of bass in my room, a quick tap that I wouldn’t have heard if I wasn’t standing next to the door when it happens.

Blowing out a heavy breath because I can’t find the shoes I want in the pile haphazardly tossed on one side of my closet, I slam my hand on the knob of the door, twist and yank it open.

My mother’s blue-green eyes stare back at me, her face so pale I swear I can trace the line of small veins beneath her skin. I get my coloring from her. My red hair, alabaster complexion, and turquoise gaze, but beyond that, we’re nothing alike.

She’s meek and mild, never stepping out of line, while I have a fiery temper that nobody guesses about until I’m angry enough for it to explode.

Like now.

I have places to be and I’m already late. Plus, my mother never comes into the children’s wing except to check on my eight-year-old brother, and even then, it’s only for a few minutes until she leaves him with the na

“What?”

She winces at the snap in my voice but then regains her composure, her hands fluttering like butterflies, her lips stretching into a thin line.

“I need to talk to you about a rumor spreading among the families.”

Damn it...

I open the door wider to let her through.

Turning my back to her to keep searching for the silver sandals that will match my white Grecian style dress perfectly, I groan to hear the volume on my stereo lower and the faint squeak of mattress springs when she sits on the side of my bed.

“I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re promised to Mason Strom.”

Bile shoots up my throat to soak the back of my tongue. Not because Mason isn’t beautiful. The opposite happens to be true. He’s too beautiful to be fair.

All of the Inferno is, really, and I have to wonder about the odds that nine boys who grew up together could all have such fortunate genetics.

It’s not Mason himself that makes me sick, it’s the idea that I have no choice in the matter when it comes to who I’ll marry. I’m not even entirely sure why the marriage is so important to my family and his.

The Stroms are old money. Wealthier than even Gabriel and Ta

I feel like an object more than a human being every time I’m gently reminded to whom I belong.

Not that Mason wants me either.

Being forced together has only made us hate each other.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I ask, relief dripping down my shoulders when I finally spot my shoes poking out from under the bed. Snatching them, I sit down to pull them on.

“There are whispers that you’ve been acting inappropriately with the Cross twins.”

My head wrenches her direction. “Where did you hear that?”

She’s not wrong. I messed around with Ezra for a few days, but after ru

How much I want him can’t matter. I’m not dumb enough to lap the poison up just to die on the inside when it’s over.

Ezra kept pursuing me over the next few days after that incident, but then school let out for the weekend and when he returned, his knuckles were busted and his face bruised.

Both Damon and Ezra looked like they’d fought an entire biker gang, their tempers so easily triggered over the past week that everybody has avoided them.

Jackson Porter made the stupid mistake of saying something about it. He left the school with three missing teeth, a few busted ribs and a broken ankle.

As far as the story goes, he tripped and fell down the stairs. But we all know what really happened.

Even if Ezra is at the party tonight, there’s no way I’ll go near him. Not after that reminder.

My mother’s expression doesn’t change. It’s the typical haughty elegance, a required distance between her and anything real in the world. She has children but didn’t raise them. She’s eaten food but never truly tasted it. She preens and polishes everything with a strict adherence to a prim and proper reputation.

The same is expected of me.

“It shouldn’t matter where I received the information, just that I don’t appreciate what the information is. You are to remain chaste, Emily-“

“Oh, drop it, Mom. I have been chaste. I haven’t had a boyfriend, haven’t had sex, haven’t let anybody touch me, just like you’ve demanded. Although, I think it’s unfair considering Mason runs around and does whatever he wants with whoever he wants and nobody says a thing about it.”

Not that I care.

The last thing I’ll ever feel for Mason is jealousy.

“He’s a boy,” she insists, her voice a whisper because even to her it sounds wrong. “You know how it is.”

Before I have the chance to remind my mother what century it is, my phone vibrates from the bedside table. A quick glance at the screen tells me it’s time to go.

“Ivy and Ava are here.”

She’s says nothing as I push to my feet and cross the room. Before I can walk through the door fully, she speaks at my back.

“Keep your legs closed, Emily.”

My eyes roll so hard I can see the back of my skull.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Ten minutes later and we’re on the road. Ava is driving and Ivy is riding shotgun. I don’t mind having the entire backseat to myself. It gives me the ability to focus on the trees passing by instead of their excited conversation.

It isn’t until Ava says my name and lifts her eyes to the rearview mirror that I blink and snap out of my thoughts.

“Did you hear anything we just said?”

Not a word of it.

While they were discussing the latest school gossip and pla

We won’t be officially engaged until graduating college, which gives us another ten years before I have his ring on my finger. But that just means I have to behave like a modest, appropriate future wife while he gets to be the playboy.

Again, not that I care.

Mason could fuck every willing hole on the planet - both male and female - and it wouldn’t bother me in the slightest.

I just hate the idea that every day is one step closer to the grand finale of my life as Emily Donahue. I can’t even be excited about giving up my last name up, or choose not to like some wives do.

Our engagement will be my funeral and I decide right here and now that I’ll wear black on that night to mourn the loss of my identity instead of white like I’m sure my mother is pla

“She wasn’t listening,” Ivy answers when I don’t. “Which means I have to repeat myself and say that one of the twins was just seen making out with Hillary Cornish. Can you believe that shit? She’s a walking STD factory.”

I know what she’s doing and it won’t work.

Ever since finding out I had a few weak moments with Ezra, these two have been all but tying me up and dropping me on his doorstep.