"Are you wet enough?" He questions with hooded eyes.
I nod curtly. "Only the sound of your voice and my pussy jumps in excitement."
"Good. Turn around." He orders as both hands grip my waist, flipping me around before I can argue. "Sit on it and go...
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I observe every inch of myself through the mirror, detesting my appearance. This illusion—the make up, the dress, the jewelry, my eyes, it's all so disgusting. A lie. My sister and father have successfully made me into a clone but I'm not about to make this easy for them.
They need me and it's obvious, so this? This might be their game but they'd have to play by my rules.
I begin to wonder how long my father had this plan thought out as I take off my dress, cleaning off the heavy makeup on my face. There has to be something he's not telling me.
Could it be the reason he made certain I never got introduced to the underworld? Because he didn't want people knowing he had two daughters who were nearly identical? Because he intended on using me when I became an adult?
It had to be, considering how meticulous he was in making sure I remained hidden.
But why me?
"What is keeping you so long, Mirabella?" The door to my room swings open and I eye my father through the mirror.
Of course he's boiling in rage, seeing how I changed out of his perfectly planned outfit into something more comfortable and lightened up my makeup.
"This is not how Annabella would be dressed for this dinner," he grits through his teeth and I scoff.
"Quite unfortunate that I'm not Annabella. Didn't you say he knows little or nothing about her? Well, I'm certain he'll observe nothing."
"Don't push—"
"We're late father." I shove him aside and walk out the door.
Like I said, their game, my rules.
♡♡♡
I walk into the restaurant hand in hand with my father and as we approach the private area, I spot my soon to be husband's silhouette, perfectly seated at the head of the table in the dimly lit room.
My heart begins pounding hard against my ribcage the moment we connect eyes and I fidget with the hem of my dress.
Papá pulls out a chair, urging me to sit by Matteo's corner as I exchange pleasantries with his parents who seem very friendly and welcoming.
"You're late. And one would think you were making an effort to look good." Matteo's deep, intimidating voice reverberates in my spine and I suck in a breath, turning around to find him leaning forward, exposing himself to more lighting.
A scanty breath escapes me as I begin taking in his features.
One would think that a man with a reputation such as Matteo's would be disgusting to look at but that is not the case. This man seated by my side, looking at me disgustingly with his extremely intimidating, hazel eyes is a very breathtaking man.
