Page 2 of A Love Most Fatal
“If you think fidelity is beyond his capabilities?—"
“No,” Ronaldo is quick to jump in. Cute that he thinks this can be salvaged. He bobs his head, though his eyes show that he doesn’t quite understand. He can barely fathom how a man can or should be faithful to his wife, but I carry on anyway.
“And James is prepared to move to my estate, of course.”
Another brief hesitation, and then, “Of course.”
I know his nephew James has a sizable home of his own, one with a garage large enough to hold all of his trophy cars. He would throw a fit about moving. But really, just what do they expect? That I’d move my entire base of operations? And for what, to preserve his ego? It’s laughable.
I’m not actually considering this, and I haven’t since Ronaldo entered my home with cologne assaulting my nostrils, but I put on a show that I’m thinking it over. I let my gaze coast over the rug, the custom wallpaper, the tall windows, and the many pieces of art and pottery collected over the years. This room alone is probably worth more than the man sitting in front of me.
“Just a few more questions,” I begin.
Leo, my head of security and favorite cousin, is standing by in the room, large and intimidating as ever, and I can tell he’s trying to hold back a smirk. He’s seen this song and dance as often as I have and knows what’s next. He calls itThe Finisherbecause if the bit about monogamy doesn’t send the old men into a rage, this usually will.
“Has he given much consideration to the name?” I ask.
Ronaldo stills his fidgeting.
“The name?”
“His surname,” I clarify. “I won’t be taking his, but I wondered if he’d given any thought to taking mine.”
I say it with as straight of a face as I can muster while Leo tries not to laugh. Ronaldo stutters his response, trying to temper himself before doing what he likely wants to do: throw his cup across the room for the blatant disrespect of me even humoring such an idea. Doing this would end badly for him, so he must choose his words wisely while also telling me to kindlyfuck the fuck off if I think his nephew would ever consider changing his last name to Morelli.
“Certainly you don’t mean this.”
“And why not? If James was marrying Mary, you would expect nothing less of her, no? Because he holds more power than her, right? He doesn’t hold more power than me.”
“I didn’t realize Mary was on the table for discussion.”
“She isn’t.”
“But they might make an excellent pair, no,cara?”
“No.” I stand and smooth out my pants, conversation over. “And don’t call me dear.”
It was a crafty attempt, pivoting to my sister when he realized I was too obstinate to be a viable option for his nephew. Mary, though, would be infinitely worse.
“We’re done here. Go before you start offending me.”
“Vanessa, this would benefit more than just us,” Ronaldo says, standing to match me. His face is reddening by the second and that vein protrudes further on his forehead. I nod at Leo, who comes over and puts a hand on his shoulder.
“My answer is no, Ronaldo. It’s time for you to leave.Ciao.”
He does leave, lacking the smug smile he arrived with. Once the door is closed behind him, I pinch the bridge of my nose and roll my shoulders.
This was the third meeting of its kind this month, and I’m not positive how many more I can sit through before I start murdering innocent men. Well, as innocent as a criminal can be.
I waste no time trading my slacks for spandex and my heels for sneakers before making my way to the basement for evening training. I suspect Leo is off in the guest house—well,hishouse—doing the same.
Mary is already in our gym stretching when I get downstairs, still fuming from the meeting.
“So, are you engaged, then?” Mary asks.
“Please murder me if I’m ever desperate enough to agree to marry James Sinclair. And make it a slow death. Painful.”
Mary laughs and lunges further into her stretch, then moves through the rest of her flow, practically folding herself in half before standing up.