Page 42 of The Alpha's Fake Mate
Despite my dad’s ethically questionable business practices of owning an Omega farm, I had been raised with standards, morals and manners. Perhaps everything we did in our society was about identity, or lack thereof, and wearing masks to fit in, to protect ourselves, or to feel good about ourselves was learned. But it wasn’t all pretend. I was a good person. And in all my thoughts of a future that might include a family and love, I never dreamed of wanting a mate who didn’t love me in return.
“First and foremost, I need to say this. If you don’t already know it. I will never disrespect you. I will neverforceyou into anything.”
“Hmm.” Holland again glanced about the room. “It’s simple. I have a year’s reprieve, then, until Bosk comes to challenge your claim, demand a blood test I will not pass, and collect me.”
I had already thought about all the angles. Did he think I hadn’t? But I knew him from his emails. Holland liked lists. He liked organization. Right now, he was adrift.
“As I said, the blood tests can be faked. We have time. Right now, try to relax.”
“Ah, relax. A simple solution not quite so easily achieved. Fake claims and blood-tests can be discovered. How can I not think about what might be coming for me? Even now?”
He was right.
“If it comes right down to it, I can hide you forever,” I said. “I have ample funds. Bosk would never find you.”
“And I’d continue to be a prisoner.” He nodded.
“Not my first choice. But I’ll do whatever it takes. I will not turn you over to him.”
“It’s exotic to think of being a criminal for the rest of my life.”
What could I say? Was that sarcasm? With Holland, who could tell? And how could I tell him without looking like a besotted fool that I would do anything for him? Even something criminal.
Where that had come from, I didn’t know. But it was the truth.
Our food came soon after his glib statement, and gave me an excuse not to reply.
Holland ate about half his meal. As preoccupied as I was with having Holland come to live with me, I still managed to eat most of mine. And indulge in a second glass of wine.
Back in the limo, with a sack between us of Holland’s leftover food which he’d insisted he wanted wrapped up to go and not wasted, the air felt humid and cloying despite the air conditioner.
We glided down the road facing another half hour of sitting in silence before we reached my driveway.
I could have Bosk killed.
The thought came on fast. It was not out of nowhere. Who could help but think the world would be better without those like Bosk in it?
My discomfort traveled to my extremities, forcing me to resettle my weight in my seat.
Holland glanced at me, eyes heavy, as if he’d read my thoughts.
He hated me, no question, and there was nothing I could do about it.
Chapter Eleven
Holland
The knot of coldness in me would not retreat.
It had been almost seven months since I’d been attacked. It was April, still spring, but the jeweled eye of summer was approaching and I saw it clearly in the foliage that surrounded Orion’s long drive that led to his massive house. It was his father’s house, I knew, but his now, not really his choice. He’d told me as much in the things he’d revealed to me as we shot emails and messages back and forth to each other online for months.
Seeing the blooming bougainvilleas in their ecstatic pinks, and the oleanders with their soft white and rosy-pale flowers did nothing to warm me. The jacarandas dripped idle purple nearer to the front of the house. They couldn’t penetrate me.
The brat I felt unfolding within me looked for a pool.
I said it again, through gritted teeth this time. “It’s so big. Which wing is mine?”
Looking unperturbed, Orion leaned forward. “The house is huge. You will have your own room.” He chuckled. “Yes, your own wing, if you want it.”
