Chapter 4: Messy

The tiny dog barked.

It was not a cute bark. It was the bark of a creature that had seen empires fall and was disappointed in all of them. It was wearing a tuxedo.

Queenie, who was still three feet off the ground in Lucifero Sinclair's arms, her faded yellow Target dress riding up and her tote bag spilled open on the dance floor below, decided to be honest with the woman who could probably have her disappeared.

"Hi. I'm a catfish. But I'm also here as a fake girlfriend. Which is... different from a catfish? I think? I have a contract!"

Silence.

The entire Sinclair mansion — 100 people who had been filming the Don kissing the plus-size girl in the yellow dress like his life depended on it — went dead silent for the second time that night.

Lucifero finally lowered her. Slowly. One arm still locked around her soft middle like he was afraid she'd run. He had to, because she was about to.

Eleanor Sinclair stood in the doorway, silver hair immaculate, black suit immaculate, tiny dog in her arms named Chairman Meow, looking at the scene: her son, her daughter's best friend, her head of security giving a police officer a bath in her electric blue pool.

"Fake girlfriend," Eleanor repeated, pleasantly.

Viola, from the top of the stairs, made a noise like a dying air conditioner. "Mom. I can explain."

"Oh, you can absolutely explain, Viola Sinclair," Eleanor said, walking forward, heels clicking. "You can explain why you hired your best friend to pretend to date your brother for your birthday party when your brother already thought she was his real girlfriend of three years."

Queenie's brain short-circuited. "Wait. You KNEW?"

Viola slid down the banister. Literally. In a sparkly dress. For drama.

"Okay! Okay so maybe two weeks ago I panicked! Mom was going to set Lucifero up with Katya Volkov whose dad owns half of Russia and a tiger! And Lucifero hasn't dated anyone since... ever! And you, Queenie, are literally the only girl he has ever talked about! So I thought — if you just came for one night, pretended to be his girlfriend, Mom would get off his back, I'd get my trust fund early, and you would get two thousand dollars and that annotated Pride and Prejudice you wanted!"

"You told me it was $2,000 to be his fake girlfriend because he needed to look stable for investors!" Queenie whisper-yelled, still trapped against Lucifero's chest. His hand was huge on her waist. Hot even through the fabric.

"It IS for investors! Emotional investors! Like Mom!"

"I told you it was $9.99 a minute for emotional support, not Mafia scamming!"

"And I doubled it!" Viola said.

Eleanor pinched the bridge of her nose. Exactly the same way Lucifero had earlier. It was genetic. The terrifying Don migraine was hereditary.

"Viola," Eleanor said, "how long have you and Queenie been best friends?"

"Three years! Online! Since she helped me appeal my library ban for keeping Fifty Shades for six months!"

"And Lucifero, how long have you been talking to Queenie online?"

Lucifero didn't let go of Queenie. If anything, his arm tightened. His grey eyes were locked on Queenie's face, furious and something else.

"Three years. Four months. Since she answered my support ticket about a blocked account and told me I had 'big sad divorced energy but in a hot way.'"

"I thought you were a 45-year-old divorced man named Larry who collected stamps!" Queenie blurted at him, tilting her head all the way back to meet his eyes. She was 5'3" and curvy and furious and her lips were still swollen from the kiss he had no right to give her. "You said your hobby was 'organizing small papers!'"

"Stamps ARE small papers," he said defensively.

"You said you were in import-export!"

"He IS in import-export!" Viola said. "He imports problems and exports bodies—"

"Viola!"

"—bad vibes! He exports bad vibes!"

Eleanor clapped once. Sharp. The sound cracked like a real gunshot, and even Marco in the pool froze.

"Everyone out," she said sweetly. "Everyone who does not live here, work here, or is currently being held hostage in my pool, get out of my house. Violet, darling, take your microphone and your champagne tower tears outside. Uber is on me."

Violet Jones, mascara down to her chin in her black bodycon dress, pointed a shaking finger at Queenie. "She scammed him! She said she was a catfish! He has a shrine!"

"It was screenshots!" Queenie yelled. "Older pictures! With better lighting! Everyone uses a filter!"

"They were not filtered," Lucifero said quietly, so only she could hear. "It was you. In the yellow dress. Always the yellow dress."

His voice did something to her knees. She hated him for it.

The crowd cleared in under two minutes. People who know real power when they see it move fast. Soon it was just the chandelier, the empty dance floor, Queenie's tote bag with her granola bar and library keycard spilling out, one lost heel, and the family.

Marco dragged Officer Daniels out of the pool. Daniels was Viola's ex from high school who became a cop, still in his soaked expensive uniform.

"MA'AM!" Daniels yelled, shivering. "YOUR SON SHOT ME WITH A BEAR TRANQUILIZER! THAT IS ASSAULT ON AN OFFICER!"

"Officer Daniels," Eleanor said, not missing a beat, "would you like a towel, a brandy, or a $10,000 donation to the precinct's holiday fund and we pretend you slipped?"

Daniels stared. Dripping. Betrayed by everyone.

"...towel and donation?"

"Marco. Towel. Checkbook. And find him some dry pants."

"ON IT, BOSS LADY! WE'RE BEST FRIENDS NOW!" Marco yelled, hauling Daniels away. "You wanna see my tranquilizer gun collection? I have one for rhinos!"

When they were gone, Eleanor turned back to the three of them. Chairman Meow had been set down and had trotted directly to Queenie and sat on her foot, growling at anyone who came near her. Claiming her.

"So," Eleanor said, looking between Lucifero holding Queenie and Viola looking guilty. "Let me get this straight. Viola, you hired your best friend of three years to be your brother's fake girlfriend for tonight to stop me from setting him up."

"Yes."

"Lucifero, you have been in love with your sister's best friend for three years and have been paying $500 a week to talk to her on a customer service chat line."

Lucifero's jaw clenched. "I wasn't paying to talk. I was paying to keep her company open. They were going to fire her for spending too long on my tickets."

Queenie's mouth fell open. "What?"

"And Queenie," Eleanor continued, "you agreed to be a fake girlfriend for $2,000 because Viola promised you a book, even though you thought my son was a sad divorced stamp collector named Larry."

"I needed the annotated edition," Queenie whispered.

Eleanor stared at them for a long second. Then, to everyone's horror, she started to laugh.

"Oh, this is delicious. This is better than reality TV. My son, the Don who makes grown men cry, has been catfished by his sister's best friend who he was ALREADY in love with. And now you," she pointed at Queenie, "have to pretend to be his fake girlfriend when you actually ARE his real girlfriend, you just didn't know it."

"I'm NOT his real girlfriend!" Queenie said. "We never met! He paid $9.99 a minute! That's technical support with flirting!"

Lucifero finally looked down at her, and his voice dropped. Quiet. Intense. The voice that had kept her on chat for three years until 2 AM talking about books.

"Mika," he said. "You told me about your mom's funeral. You told me you wear yellow when you want to feel brave. You told me you failed your driving test three times because you get anxious at stop signs. Don't tell me that's customer service."

The nickname again. Mika. His name for her since day one. Because he said Queenie was too formal for someone who laughed like sunshine.

Queenie felt tears sting her eyes. "Don't use that—"

"Her name is Queenie," Viola interrupted, panicked. "And Mom, the fake dating thing — it's just for tonight! Right? Just tonight, then we tell everyone it didn't work out!"

Eleanor's smile vanished. She pulled out her phone and turned it around.

On the screen was a photo. Not from Lucifero's desk. A new one. Sent five minutes ago to Lucifero's private number. No caller ID.

It was Queenie. Today. In THIS exact faded yellow dress. Walking up the long driveway to the mansion. Taken from the bushes by the gates. Long lens.

Underneath it, a text:

IF SHE'S YOURS, SHE'S MINE TOO. - L

Queenie's blood went ice cold. "I never sent that... I don't... that's today. That's right now. I walked up that driveway..."

Lucifero went rigid. Every soft, exhausted older brother piece of him vanished and the Don was back. His arm yanked Queenie fully behind him in one smooth motion, his body a wall between her and the windows.

"L," he said, voice flat and deadly. "Lucian."

Viola went white. "No. No no no, he's in prison in—"

"He got out early. Last week," Eleanor said quietly. "I didn't want to ruin your birthday."

Chairman Meow started barking frantically at the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the pool.

Marco's voice screamed from the kitchen, "BOSS! WE HAVE A PROBLEM! OFFICER DANIELS' RADIO SAID THERE'S A BLACK SUV THAT RAN THE GATES—"

The mansion's security alarms exploded. Red lights flashing. A deafening shriek.

And from outside, beyond the electric blue pool where a cop had just been tranquilized for fun, came a real gunshot. Loud. Unmuffled. Cracking through the glass.

The windows on the east side shattered.

Lucifero threw himself over Queenie, taking them both to the floor behind the DJ booth as Viola screamed and Eleanor shouted for Chairman Meow.

And in the broken window, silhouetted against the pool lights, stood a man in a black suit holding a gun, smiling right at Queenie in her yellow dress.

"Hi, Mika," he said.