Page 39 of The Billionaire's Fake Fiancée

Hello! It’s the exact thing that happens on every soap opera, and the person is always a fraud. I’m sure they checked Marvin out. Still. A long-lost relative coming out of nowhere?

And he’s acting so shifty!

I force my gaze to the horizon, which is filled with crane things looming above the ships. I tell myself that it’s not my problem if Marvin acts suspicious and sounds like a liar. I’m here for Rex. I’m doing an important job for Rex.

At one point, Gail is talking about their meeting, and everybody is watching her, listening to her, and I happen to glance over at Marvin and he’s giving me the frown again.

A chill rockets down my spine because his eyes are weirdly flat—I’m talking dead-fish-eyes-in-a-butcher-case flat.

What?!

I look around. Nobody sees him staring at me like a freak; everybody else is listening to Gail. I look back at Marvin and he’s still fixing me with that frowny stare. The chill seeps into my veins.

His frown feels like a threat. Does he know I’m suspicious of him? Is that it?

Suddenly his expression goes back to normal. The attention is back on him, and he’s smiling and adding details to Gail’s story. Apparently they both ordered a blueberry muffin.

I smile brightly and link my arm into Rex’s. “Soamazing,” I say, heart pounding like mad.

The talk turns to books. As luck would have it, I’ve read one of the books that Gail has read—a fictionalized account of anthropologist Margaret Mead—and we bond over it, and I fall back to being my normal self, and completely avoid looking at creepy Marvin.

I’m relieved when Rex and I are finally alone, leaning over the railing. Down on the dock, men are doing things with chains and winches.

“Will they never shove off?” Rex mumbles. “I have business to attend to, and there’s a limit to how much I can look at my phone with our hostess right there.”

“So what’s up with Marvin?” I say.

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“The suspicious surprise nephew?”

“What about him?” he asks.

“Do you not find his story a bit odd?”

He turns to me fully now. “What do you mean?”

“A surprise nephew comes out of the woodwork, and nobody bats an eye? The surprise secret baby, relative of a billionaire? You do know that the secret nephews always turn out to be fake, right?”

“Marvin’s not a Driscoll by birth; he’s a Turlington. Like Gail. He wouldn’t be in line to inherit the Driscoll money.”

“Well, he’s drinking champagne on a yacht with the billion-dollar club, isn’t he? And didn’t you get a sense that he’s kind of…not right?”

“Mentally, you mean?” he asks.

“No, he’s just wrong,” I say. “A freak, if you will?”

“He’s a bit ingratiating,” he says. “But he’s with his new family. Maybe he’s feeling awkward.”

“But seriously, you don’t find it suspicious? Somebody coming out of the woodwork to be part of the jet set?”

“Well, of course Gail would’ve had his DNA tested. She’s not a fool. She wouldn’t take a person at his word.”

“Yeah, but you can’t really trust a DNA test,” I tell him.

“Yes, you can,” he says in his stern tone. “DNA tests are established science with a very small margin of error. Marvin wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t who he says he is. Gail would’ve had him fully investigated. She probably ran two tests.”

I shrug.

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