Bjorg nursed a tumbler of scotch when Victor Falcone entered the office with an enormous smile and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you in person."
Bowing his head, he warlock shook the young man's hand. "Likewise."
"My grandparents died in a plane crash a few weeks ago. My mother feels upset and did not want to travel. However, it means we can discuss the details of the nuptial agreement in private. My parents are too traditional for some kinds of conversation."
Bjorg did not show his surprise and nodded. "I see."
Dragging his intense gaze over the leather-bound volumes, the Brazilian inventoried the rows of shelves, He had more and better at his apartment in Rio de Janeiro, so it did not impress him as the clock in the foyer did, but the coat-of-arms on the stone mantelpiece pleased him.
He smiled, thinking, "My wife is noble. It will sound good in interviews."
Bjorg noticed where Victor's eyes stayed longer and smirked as the young man commented, "The house is in the tourist pamphlets, but they don't offer your library for visitation. You have a beautiful collection."
The Knaast priest shook his head and pointed at the two bookshelves. "It's not the family library. These are mine." Bjorg walked to the shelves.
The mahogany furniture reached the highest friezes in the plastered ceiling and covered two walls of the ample room. "I can show you the library later."
Victor licked his lips, and nodded once, turning to the large office desk with a laptop and a small pile of folders that stood before the tall windows.
"I see you bring work home."
Bjorg followed his eyes and shrugged. "Is there any other way of keeping tabs on things," he asked and showed a small nook with a couch and two armchairs in front of the hearth.
"Have a seat, please," the Knaast invited.
Falcone complied, and Bjorg went to a small brass and glass bar. "Scotch?"
"24 years?"
"Sure."
"Yes, please."
The warlock poured the caramel liquid and passed it to his guest.
"Our librarian buys from auctions and regular book stores. These are my favorite."
Falcone's eyes lingered over the spines. "Business, philosophy, economy. Interesting topics."
"We have a full catalog of rare books, but my mother-in-law would put a price on my head if I opened the library for visitation. It is the reason the room is not in the pictures for the public. " The Knaast sat on an armchair and crossed his long legs.
Victor sipped his drink. "The documents you sent my lawyers listed this house as one of Sylvia's assets."
"Yes, it belonged to her mother. My wife was the only daughter of the deceased duke."
"I am not a noble. Thank you for receiving my proposal. "
Bjorg smiled. "Oh, but you are. Modern nobility lies in the bank account. Otherwise, it's an empty notion. My governess is the perfect example. She is a French duchess."
Victor lifted an eyebrow but nodded. "I got your point."
The two men talked trivialities until Sylvia entered the room, making no sound. She noticed her father had her fiance sitting with his back to the door so she looked at the silky black hair on the back of Victor's head and bared her teeth at her father. "Aargh. Let's do it."
Bjorg breathed in, "Be nice," he sent the warning into her mind, lifting his chin towards the door. "My daughter is here, Victor."
The man stood up and turned to greet her. He heard a chuckle from behind his back and couldn't help but snort at her stupid face. She was agape.
The words tumbled out of Sylvia's mouth, plucked from her addled brain. "You are the most handsome thing I have ever seen."
"Thank you. So are you."
The renegade general had thrown on Sylvia's lap a gorgeous fiance who could be a cover model with no shame.
He was over six feet tall, also broad-shouldered, and his biceps showed a habitual fitness routine. His pecs marked the white Pollo shirt he wore with the buttons open as the gape revealed his tanned, corded neck. His defined thighs showed in the designer jeans.
Sylvia swallowed hard and Bjorg grinned, watching her mind fill with very dirty thoughts. But she did not even notice her father's intrusion, so engrossed she was in Hazug's surprise gift in front of her.
Victor's plump lips opened to allow a pink tongue to run over the whitest teeth, as his deep green eyes inspected her as bluntly as she did him. His gaze lingered on her breasts, and his long thick lashes swept down to her shapely legs visible below the hem of a short red dress. The nostrils of his roman nose dilated, and he smelled her perfume. Only one curved brow lifted when he saw her feet.
Sylvia Knaast was barefoot. Her delicate toes, manicured and painted with coral nail polish, rested on the soft brown rug.
She followed his eyes and giggled. "I am home and I never wear shoes at home in summer. It is too hot."
Victor's lips turned into a lopsided smile. "Hot. Yeah, hot," he said, with his voice so full of lust and mischief the second meaning sounded loud and clear to everyone's ears.
Although Bjorg wasn't pleased with that moment, instead he felt like strangling his crazy daughter. He chewed out his words.
"Go upstairs and put on sandals, Sylvia."
Victor clucked his tongue. "Humor me, please, Bjorg. Let her be herself. I am sure she can act as the perfect hostess if need be."
Sylvia smiled, hooked. "He's charming, dad. And look at those biceps. I feel like nibbling every single inch of him."
Bjorg sighed and shrugged. "You must tame her, Victor. She is opinionated."
Falcone bent his head. "I know everything she is. For three years I have a PI following you and sending me reports."
The Knaast priest froze. "He knows you were a prostitute." Bjorg felt murderous.
Victor smirked at his future father-in-law and continued. "Every picture, every detailed recording brought me here with my eyes open. You are perfect for me, Sylvia Knaast," the Brazilian mogul's hoarse voice declared.
"Alfred is a dead man walking. He sold us," Bjorg growled to Sylvia as Victor strolled towards her.
"No. I paid the traitor, right? My fee was high, you said it yourself. Now, ignore that for now. Just chill out and pay attention, father! It's not a problem at all," Sylvia urged as Bjorg blinked.
"Come again," the priest asked the other man.
The Brazilian smiled. "Can we sit?"
He offered Sylvia his hand, and she took it and purred. "You are an interesting man."
They went to the couch, and Bjorg sat before them. "Can you elaborate, please, Victor?"
"Good politicians sent amazing careers down the drains living a double life because they married a saint but kept a wicked mistress somewhere. That is a mistake I won't commit."
The Knaast priest tilted his head. "Go on."
"I want to be the President of my country but I have specific tastes. I chose Sylvia because I want a whore for my bed and a lady for my parties. Your daughter is my dream wife."