Asher Black: A Fake Fiance Mafia Romance Novel (The Five Syndicates Book 1)

by Parker S. Huntington

  “There is no baby,” I say tightly, though I don’t have to. I was skinny when René met me, and many months later, I am still skinny.

  He’s just being an asshole.

  Asher squeezes my hand, and I reel my anger back in.

  The familiar blonde beside René steps forward. “Asher, darling, don’t be rude. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your bride to be?”

  She says it so sarcastically, I admire Asher for not snapping, though I shouldn’t be surprised. Asher’s emotions are locked up in a fortress. If he doesn’t want you to, it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. I’m shocked by the sudden realization that Asher confided in me earlier, something I suspect he has never done with anyone else.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  “Forgive me,” Asher says, his voice dripping with condescension and bringing me out of my astonishment. “Viola, this is Lucy. Babe, this is Viola, René’s wife.”

  We shake hands, the feel of her grip uncomfortable in mine. I remember her standing beside her husband at Rogue the night of my engagement announcement. Viola Toussaint is a gorgeous woman, whose beauty seems ageless. She has an elegant air about her, from the way she dresses to the way her hair is pulled back into an effortless chignon. The only telltale sign of her age is her hands, which are slightly wrinkled.

  “Lovely to meet you, Viola,” I lie.

  The four of us, plus Xavier and Asher’s guard, walk further into the arena. After we journey further into the place, I can barely tell that we are indoors. The floors are all artificial turf, and there is even natural light shining brightly through the glass ceilings.

  The only sign that we are indoors is the temperate weather. While it’s a chilly fifty or so degrees outside in the March weather, it’s a comfortable seventy degrees in here. I’m able to take off my coat and leave it at the coat check.

  Asher and I follow René to a tent that is labeled, “Black Enterprises.” As one of the primary donors, Black Enterprises has an entire tent for its executive board and their guests. I’m relieved when I see that Monica isn’t there. She’s probably still licking her wounds.

  Asher pulls me to a corner of the tent and says, “See that man René is shaking hands with?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s Martin Weisman. He’s in René’s corner.” He continues, pointing discreetly at several other men. “That’s the rest of the board. Elliot O’Malley, Owen Carter, and Tim Burks. Will you remember that?”

  I nod, and because I can’t help myself, I say in disgust, “You don’t have a single woman on your board?”

  He gives me an exaggerated groan. “You’re such a pain in the ass,” he says, but he’s grinning.

  I wonder if it’s an act for the crowd.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  He continues, “Martin will vote for René, and Elliot and Tim will vote for me. They’re loyal. The only one that’s up from grabs is Owen. He’ll be the tie breaker. He’s the one we have to impress.”

  I study Owen again. He’s the one that was impressed by my education when it was brought up at Rogue. He has an easy going grin on his face, and he doesn’t come off as evil or creepy, like René does.

  He looks nice enough, so I roll my shoulders back and nod. “I can do that.”

  Asher intertwines our fingers and leads me to the center of the tent, formally introducing me to the men. While he isn’t as kind as Elliot or Tim are, Martin is at least cordial, treating me with much more respect than René does.

  Owen is harder to read. His stoic face reminds me of Asher’s, though I’m starting to grasp that I’m privy to a different, private side of Asher. I don’t know how I feel about that. It’s overwhelming and all-consuming to think about, so I shake the thought out of my head.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  The match begins, so we settle at the front of the Black Enterprises tent, which is prime seating in the center of the field. Even though I understand the game, thanks to Eduardo’s lessons, I can’t pay attention to it.

  I can feel Viola’s eyes on me. She’s sitting to the far right of us with all the other wives. They haven’t extended me an invitation to join them, which is fine by me. I feel more comfortable at Asher’s side anyway.

  I let Viola’s creepy staring go. But after ten minutes pass by, I can’t help but frown. I’ve caught Viola’s eyes on me for the tenth time in as many minutes.

  I whisper under my breath, “Viola keeps staring at us.”

  Asher gives me an imperceptible nod and squeezes my hand, which is quickly becoming our way of communicating silently with one another. Then, he surprises me when he lifts our joined hands and places an open mouthed kiss on my wrist.

  His tongue swirls around the sensitive skin, even sucking gently for a brief moment, sending a shocking jolt to my aching clit. It’s over as quickly as it began. He presses another swift kiss on my wrist and one more on my cheek before he returns his attention to the game as if what just happened is normal.

  I’m glad I slipped on my sunglasses a few minutes ago. My face is undoubtedly flushed, and my widened eyes would have portrayed my surprise. I know that was just a show for René’s wife, but holy cow.

  Man, am I affected.

  If Asher keeps this up, I’m screwed.

  When the match is finished, everyone stays in the tent to socialize. Thanks to Eduardo, I’m well-prepared for this. Asher and I separate. While I go to butter up Owen’s wife, Madeline, he goes to charm Owen.

  Madeline was the only brunette in the VIP lounge that night at the club. Turns out she is also pretty nice. She’s chubbier than I recall her being, but she carries the weight beautifully and gracefully. She’s one of the prettiest women I have ever seen, and when I tell her this, she gives me a sweet smile and compliments my eyes.

  “Are you two planning on having children anytime soon?”

  I groan. “Not you, too?” At her confused look, I say, “The reporters were hounding us on why we’re getting married so soon. They think it’s out of wedlock.” I roll my eyes and pat my flat stomach pointedly.

  With my luck, some photographer probably just snapped a picture as my hand connected with my belly. I can imagine what the headlines would read—Asher Black’s Fiancée Rubs Pregnant Belly at Charity Polo Match.

  “Ah,” she says, her amusement sincere. “No, I was just genuinely curious.” She points to her belly and grins. “If they ask you that again, you should point them in my direction. This is what a pregnant belly looks like. I’m due in seven months.”

  Oh.

  Now her weight, which is centered on the little pouch of her belly, makes more sense. In my defense, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen a pregnant woman. Plus, what’s growing in her belly isn’t even as old as my supposed relationship with Asher, which is not very old at all. That’s a sobering thought. I clench my fist tightly, fighting the urge to glance at Asher.

  Forcing myself to focus on Madeline, I ask, “Boy or girl?”

  A melancholy expression flits across her face before she smooths it over. “Owen wants to know, but I refuse to find out. We didn’t wait to learn the genders of our last two kids, so I want to be surprised for this one.” She pauses, her voice tentative. “It’s actually been something we’ve been fighting about lately. It sounds so stupid when I say it aloud. Maybe I should just give him what he wants again, or maybe he should be giving me what I want because the last two went his way. I don’t know. Either way, we’re fighting about it, and it sucks.”

  “One of my foster moms got pregnant,” I begin, startling myself.

  I hate talking about my foster families, but here I am, about to do it. Is it because I sincerely like her? Or do I want her to like me for Asher’s sake? Maybe a little bit of both.

  I continue, “She was one of t
he better ones. I really liked her and her husband. They were kind to one another, and while I don’t think they were in love, they were good friends.” I sigh. “Their relationship was built on that friendship, too. At the time, that was the closest thing I ever saw to love—between spouses and even between parents and their children. I never witnessed love. But them? They were friends and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. But they changed after they got pregnant. Their fights were tearing their marriage apartment.” I eye Madeline’s belly. “Want to guess what they fought about?”

  Madeline’s eyes widen. “Learning the sex of their baby?”

  I nod my head. “Yep. Every day.”

  “But that’s so stupid,” she says indignantly.

  “Exactly.”

  “Oh.” She pauses. “Did you just call my fights with my husband stupid?”

  I smile a little. “If I recall correctly, you did.”

  We laugh together when she grins. “I did, didn’t I?”

  I shrug. “If it helps, I was thinking it, too.”

  She barks out a surprised laugh. It fills the room, causing Asher and Owen to look over. Madeline sends Owen a loving grin and a wink. He looks surprised, which makes me think that they really have been fighting a lot.

  “You know,” she begins. “You’re not as bad as I thought you’d be.”

  “You’ve known me for all of two minutes. Just wait. My horns are retractable. You just caught me at a good time.”

  She giggles. “No, really!” Her face turns serious. “I normally hate the girls Asher brings around.”

  “Are they anything like them?” I glance towards Viola, who’s laughing with Martin’s wife. When I passed by them earlier, they were rating people’s outfits. No one received more than a two.

  “They’re worse. Asher’s girls are vapid airheads. At least Viola and Marla have two brain cells to rub together.”

  I nod. I can respect intellect. I just think nicer people deserve it more, though how nice can Madeline and I really be if we’re talking about other people behind their backs?

  “That bad?” I’m referring to Asher’s girls.

  “Whatever you’re picturing, it’s worse.”

  I think of Nicole. “I’ve sort of met one. I’ve never actually talked to her, but I’ve seen her from afar.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Nicole.”

  “Oh.” She grimaces. “That one stuck around longer than welcome.”

  I laugh, because Asher was planning on having her be his fake fiancée, but he has me instead. And now that’s looking like it’s turned out to be a positive thing. To be fair, I actually like Madeline. I’m not even trying to butter her up now. At first, sure, but now I’m just enjoying talking to a woman that I respect.

  Madeline gives me a hesitant look.

  “Just say whatever you want to say.” I playfully roll my eyes and nudge her with my shoulder. “I don’t scare easy.”

  Just ask Asher. He used to be a mafia fixer, and I’m living with him.

  “Just curious, and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to because it’s a really invasive question, but why are you guys getting married so soon?”

  I groan internally. I’ve been dreading this question. I spare a glance at Asher. He’s talking to Tim, but when I catch his eyes, he sends me a sweet smile. It feels so… real.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  This isn’t real.

  But I really want it to be.

  Maybe it’s because I’ve never had the privilege of being in a genuine relationship, or maybe it’s because I like the person I’m discovering he is. But when I get past his previous mafia ties, everything about him is perfect. Don’t get me wrong. I know he has flaws, and he’s not the perfect guy, but he’s perfect for me.

  I remember what I said to Aimee a long time ago.

  I want a guy I can talk to comfortably. Someone who makes me feel safe and wanted and beautiful.

  The funny thing is I said those words thinking Asher was anything but that. I know better now. There’s no one in my life I’m more comfortable talking to than Asher, and after our conversation earlier, I’m starting to think he feels the same way. And while I have Xavier and the other guards, I feel safest whenever Asher is with me. Even when he sends Xavier and my night guard home and it’s just us, I feel safe. Earlier, when he told me I look beautiful, I genuinely felt it.

  But does he want me?

  I’m not sure.

  He’s too hard to read.

  Three out of four isn’t so bad, though.

  Isn’t it?

  “Ah,” Madeline says, giving me a knowing look when I finally turn back to her.

  I’ve been staring at Asher for a little too long, but what’s even more surprising is that he’s been staring back, a heated look in his eyes. A look that makes me think he hits four out of four of my criteria.

  “Ah?” I ask, trying to recover but still distracted.

  “You love him.”

  My eyes widen, and I almost drop the champagne flute I’m holding. I quickly force myself to recover, hoping my reaction doesn’t come off as weird. “Yes, I do. I really, really do,” I lie.

  And honestly, it’s too soon to love him.

  I’m just now realizing I not only consider him to be a friend but also someone I like romantically, and now she’s accusing me of loving Asher?

  I know for a fact that it isn’t true.

  But… it can be in the future.

  If I open my heart to him.

  Madeline grins at me and says, “Come on. Let’s go over there and cut the man some slack. Your fiancé has been staring at you since you started talking to me.”

  My eyes widen. I can’t help but ask, “He has?”

  Madeline laughs. “Don’t act like you’re surprised. The two of you are the real deal. You two can’t even keep your eyes off of each other. I’m so jealous of you guys right now. It’s been so long since Owen and I have been like that.”

  Or we’re just gifted actors, I think, as Asher gives me a convincingly sweet kiss on the lips when we reach him. I lean my head against his shoulder as I focus on what the people around us are saying.

  René, Owen and Martin are speaking French. I glance at Asher. I didn’t know that he speaks French, but when I realize what they’re saying, I know for certain that he doesn’t.

  Because if he knew what they’ve been saying about him, he would be pissed.

  René and Martin are shit talking Asher in front of his face, and while Owen looks uneasy, he isn’t defending or denying anything they’re saying.

  I’m pissed the fuck off when I interrupt, “Chacun voit midi à sa porte.”

  It’s a French proverb that literally translates to, “Everyone sees noon at his doorstep.” What it means is everyone feels like their opinions are the objective truth, but really, they’re clouded by their own personal interests.

  I’m essentially saying that René’s words are spoken out of self-interest.

  I just stabbed a metaphorical knife in René’s protruding gut, and I’m about to twist it. “Je me demande ce que vous voulez gagner en parlant mal de l'amour de ma vie.”

  I wonder what you wish to gain by speaking ill of the love of my life.

  There’s silence for a moment before René reacts. He takes an aggressive step forward, his fists clenched in fury, but Martin grabs a hold of his arm, and René stops. The look of rage remains, though. Madeline glances uneasily between René, Martin and me before settling her eyes on her husband. Both of Owen’s brows are raised.

  I can feel the tension radiating off of Asher. I squeeze his hand reassuringly and press an apologetic kiss to it. He wants to know what I said, but I can’t tell him in front of everyone. Doing so would just bring more attention to his inability to speak French, something René can continue to use to Asher’s disadvantage.

  A few more seconds of tense silence pass before Owen barks out a loud la
ugh. A delighted smile crosses his face. “She speaks French!” he says like it’s the most wonderful thing in the world.

  And it’s starting to feel like it is.

  They’ve been trash talking Asher in front of his face, making him look foolish in the process. They’ve probably done it before, too. And now, they’ll have to think twice before doing it again.

  René’s eyes narrow in suspicion. He’s visibly calmer now. “Yeah… Where did you learn to speak French?”

  “I spent the last two years volunteering abroad, mostly in predominantly French speaking countries in Africa. I picked up a thing or two.”

  “A thing or two,” he parrots drily.

  I like to think it makes him sound like an idiot.

  And because I can never help myself, I say, “Now, if you guys don’t mind, Asher and I must leave. He may be too polite to say anything, but I’m uncomfortable being around people who would trash talk my fiancé, let alone do it so brazenly and distastefully.” I turn to Madeline and hug her. “It was a pleasure to meet you.” I genuinely mean it, too. Then, I turn to Owen and say, “Anticipation can be more valuable than knowledge.” I gaze pointedly at Madeline’s belly. “But neither anticipation nor knowledge are more valuable than love.” My words are clear enough to get my message across but cryptic enough that all the other prying ears won’t understand what I’m saying.

  Owen looks stunned. I probably overstepped my boundaries, but I don’t dwell on it as I grab Asher’s hand and lead him to the coat check with Xavier and Maybe Dominic trailing closely behind us. Asher is tense as we wait in the long line for our coats.

  I turn to face him, slipping both hands under his coat to massage his back. I can feel how coiled his muscles are. When I stand on the tips of my toes and kiss under his jaw, I feel a muscle in it clench.

  I don’t know what I’m doing.

  Standing here with my arms in Asher’s coat jacket and my lips brushing against his jaw is intimate. But I’ve already overstepped my boundaries with Madeline and Owen, so I might as well overstep the ones between me and Asher. I’ll relish this moment without caring for the consequences that will inevitably follow it.