Chapter 19: The Conditions

Valentina

The food still sits untouched between us, steam curling up like smoke signals warning me of the conversation ahead.

Matteo leans back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass with slow deliberation. “There are a few things we need to discuss.”

Of course there are.

I fold my hands neatly in my lap, all poise and patience, even as I feel the first flickers of dread start to gather at the base of my spine.

He continues. “First, I wanted to explain the urgency behind the wedding.”

I raise a brow, letting my smirk curve just slightly. “Ah, here it is. I knew there had to be an angle.”

His gaze sharpens. “What do you mean?”

I shrug. “It just didn’t make sense. A man like you doesn’t marry someone he met for one night—especially not over a poker game. So, lay it on me. What’s the play?”

He lifts his glass, takes a sip, and then sets it down with a faint clink. “My grandfather.”

I blink.

He elaborates. “He controls the family assets. All of them. Real estate. Companies. Trusts. And he won’t transfer them to me unless I meet two conditions—number one, I have to be married. Number two…” His mouth twists with reluctant distaste. “I have to have an heir.”

I choke slightly on my water. “An heir?”

His eyes flick to mine, unwavering. “Yes.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”

“Oh, yes it is.”

The finality in his tone makes my stomach tighten. But before I can formulate a retort, he continues.

“And there’s one more thing,” he adds. “My grandfather needs to believe this is a real relationship. If he gets even the slightest whiff of it being fake, he’ll leave everything to my idiot cousin Donnie.”

I blink again, absorbing that. “So that’s it. The missing piece.”

He watches me carefully, silent.

“It all makes sense now…” I murmur. “Why you stacked that last hand.”

His jaw ticks. “I didn’t stack anything.”

I tilt my head. “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“I won fair and square.”

“Mmm,” I hum, unconvinced. “You needed someone you could control. Someone desperate or foolish enough to play house with you. No normal woman would agree to a setup like this. And if she did, she’d be overeager, too polished. Your grandfather wouldn’t buy it. You needed someone unexpected.”

I meet his eyes.

“Someone like me.”

He raises his glass in mock salute, the faintest smirk curling his lips.

Bastard.

“But,” I say, lacing my fingers on the table, “what’s to stop me from blowing the whole thing wide open? Telling your dear old grandpa the truth. That this is all one elaborate lie to steal your inheritance.”

His smile vanishes.

He leans in slowly, voice dropping to a velvet warning. “Then I guess we’d find out exactly how much you value your life.”

The air chills around us.

He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to.

“I don’t make empty threats,” he adds, his tone as calm as it is lethal.

I stare at him, heart thudding once—then twice, then settling into a slower rhythm. I don’t flinch.

Instead, I reach for my wine, take a sip, and offer him a dry smile.

“Well,” I say, “at least now we’re being honest.”

I swirl the wine in my glass, watching the way the sunlight cuts through it like a blade. He doesn’t break eye contact.

Then he shifts back in his chair and says, “My grandfather will be here next week. He’s staying the entire week leading up to the wedding.”

My brows lift. “So, a full week of playing happy couple. Sounds exhausting.”

“You have no idea,” he mutters, then fixes me with that steel-laced stare again. “Do I need to book you some crash-course acting classes, or do you think you can handle it?”

I place my glass down, tilting my head. “Don’t worry, I’ll woo your grandpappy.”

He glares. “Don’t call him that.”

And—surprisingly—we both let out a small laugh. Real. Brief. Gone before it can soften either of us too much.

Then his face tightens again. Back to business.

“Next thing—” he says, “You have an appointment tomorrow morning. OB/GYN.”

I blink. “I’m sorry—what the fuck for?”

“A full checkup,” he says evenly. “I want to be sure your lady parts are all in working order—healthy enough to carry a child. And I need confirmation you’re free of diseases.”

My jaw tightens. “I can assure you I am.”

“The only thing that assures me,” he says, lifting his glass again, “are lab results.”

I narrow my eyes.

“The appointment is at nine a.m.,” he continues. “A driver will pick you up at 8:15.”

I exhale slowly through my nose, tamping down the urge to throw my wine across the room.

“Fine,” I mutter. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” he says, suddenly standing and walking to the head of the table. “We’re beginning acting practice. Now.”

I raise a brow. “Acting practice?”

He gestures to the untouched food between us. “Let’s eat, pretend to enjoy each other’s company, and come up with a convincing backstory about how we met.”

I stare at him for a beat.

Then I slowly pick up my fork.

“Well,” I say, “at least one of those things might be possible.”

Before he can respond, the door bursts open without so much as a knock.

I turn, instantly annoyed. “Do you not know how to knock?”

The same young maid from earlier stands in the doorway, pushing a dessert cart. Her expression is all feigned innocence, her tone falsely sweet.

“Oh, I didn’t think it would be an issue, sir,” she says quickly. “You’re having lunch, and I needed to deliver dessert.”

Matteo doesn’t respond, which I suppose she takes as permission to continue. She wheels the cart forward, uncovering the silver dome on the top tray with an exaggerated flourish.

“Chocolate torte,” she purrs, setting it down in front of him. Then she reaches for a small plate at his side and “accidentally” knocks a fork off the table.

It clatters to the floor.

“Oh!” she gasps. “I’m so sorry!”

Instead of simply walking around the table, she bends at the waist and leans over Matteo to retrieve it—directly across his lap. Her short skirt hikes up as she stretches, revealing a scandalous amount of skin and a tiny scrap of lace that barely qualifies as underwear.

I can’t stop the sound that leaves my throat—half scoff, half disbelieving laugh.

Matteo’s hand shoots out instinctively to steady her as she wobbles, landing squarely where modesty has clearly given up the ghost—on one barely-covered cheek.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I say flatly. “God, you’re such a little slut, aren’t you?”

The girl freezes mid-movement, eyes wide as she straightens. “I—I didn’t—”

I cut her off with a wave of my hand. “Save it. What’s your angle, really? Trying to mark your territory in front of me? Some kind of dominance display?”

Her face drains of color, and I keep going, calm and cold. “It doesn’t matter anyway. You just made the dumbest move of your life. You could’ve kept sucking his dick—or whatever it is you actually do for him—but instead you decided to show off.”

I smile sweetly. “Now you’re out of a job.”

Her mouth falls open, but before she can speak, Matteo sits back in his chair, his expression unreadable.

The girl glances at him in a panic. “You’re going to let her talk to me like that?”

He doesn’t even blink. “You can’t disrespect a Genovese—future or otherwise—and get away with it.” His tone is steel. “Leave the premises immediately.”

The silence that follows is delicious.

The maid’s eyes fill with tears as she grabs the handle of the cart and hurries out, face burning scarlet. The door clicks behind her, the echo sharp and satisfying.

For a long moment, Matteo says nothing. Then he exhales, leaning back slightly. “I—”

“So,” I interrupt, reaching for my wine again. “How’s my acting? Still worried I’ll blow it?”

His brow furrows, just slightly. “You’re not jealous?”

I take a slow sip before answering, savoring the taste. “I just told you fifteen minutes ago I wasn’t jealous.”

He studies me, clearly trying to figure me out.

I smirk. “But if we’re selling this thing, don’t you think it’s important that your staff see me demanding the respect of a proper fiancée? Otherwise, Grandpa might start to wonder if his precious heir’s new bride is being treated like a doormat.”

He watches me for another long, silent moment—then, unexpectedly, a small smile curves his lips. One that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Well,” he says quietly. “Maybe this will work after all.”