Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it's a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you'll never get hurt.
Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he'll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.
The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian "Hook" Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire.
A/N: Rated Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.
This story deals with conning and manipulation, and mentions/includes children with various disabilities.
A huge shout out goes to Allison for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is. Thank you Eva for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process, and also Alma for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.
This is the first time I've written a complete MC before posting the first chapter, so it feels surreal to be presenting this to you knowing it's finished. This story has been a struggle, especially when it came to constructing Emma's character, and I've definitely had some ups and downs during the writing process, but I'm really proud of how this fic turned out and I really hope all of you enjoy it!
There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday.
~Rule #1: Learn how to play the game like a pro. Learn how to play from the best of 'em. Learn how to survive and learn how to win.~
July 9th, 2015—Boston, MS
"Well, this is just perfect," Milah sighs, leaning against the car with her prepaid cellular phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other, hazel eyes piercing down at the screen. Chocolatey brown locks cascade over her shoulders in thick waves, lightly affected by the gentle breeze slicing through the muggy, midsummer air. The brunette is wearing a pair of black denim shorts and a bright red t-shirt, showing off her flat, milky stomach as she waits for her sister.
Emma and Milah are the same age, twenty-four years old, but that's where their physical similarities end. Emma has fair skin, luminous green eyes that sparkle through her thick-framed glasses, and golden sunshine hair pulled back into a high ponytail, the ribbon curls bouncing with every step as she makes her way to the car from the Stop 'N Gas. Alternating between scratching off a lottery ticket with the edge of her car key and chewing on the Slim Jim tucked inside the palm of her hand, she's wearing a white tank top and slim, dark blue leggings. "Damn… I guess it's back to work tomorrow," Emma grumbles through a mouthful of the dry meat snack, tearing the losing ticket in half and throwing it into the trashcan next to the gas pump. As she leans back on the yellow bug next to her sister, she swallows the food in her mouth and takes another bite of the Slim Jim.
"Well that's too bad." Milah tucks the phone in her pocket and takes a long drag of her cigarette, blowing a puff of smoke out of her mouth and letting it drift into Emma's direction.
"Come ooo- onn !" Attempting to wave the smoke out of her face, Emma starts coughing as she breathes some of it in. "How many times do I have to tell you that smoking is bad for you?"
"And Slim Jims aren't? You're eating processed beef that's made up of mechanically separated chicken, and is loaded with salt and preservatives," Milah points out scornfully.
Emma cringes and immediately stops chewing, feeling the urge to vomit. "You mean beef, right?" she mumbles with her mouth full.
"Nope. The meat base is made of chicken," Milah replies pretentiously, a sly grin crossing her lips. "Sounds appetizing, doesn't it?"
Emma's features twist in disgust, she spits the chewed-up remains into the trash can and throws away what's left in the wrapper with a snide retort. "At least I can't be afflicted with lung disease from eating Slim Jims. I'd rather be clogging up my arteries than breathing through a ventilator for the rest of my life. Besides, it's hazardous to smoke near a gas pump." Emma grabs the cigarette from between her sister's fingers and throws it on the ground before crushing it with the sole of her sandal.
Milah becomes bug-eyed at the gesture. "What the hell, Em?! That was my last cigarette!"
Emma sighs and rolls her eyes. "So buy another pack."
The brunette's eyebrows are furrowed together as she scolds Emma, arms flailing in the air. "Yeah, I would, except, now we might have to decide on whether to spend our money on food or rent, so how am I going to buy a pack of cigarettes?!"
Emma eyes her sister warily, her brows crinkling in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
Milah's lashes are pressed together as she squints, flashing Emma her famous ' are you seriously kidding me right now?' mien. "Well in case you forgot, sis, we received an eviction notice this morning, and we had to replace the engine of this old piece of crap!" Milah spats resentfully, gesturing towards Emma's prized yellow bug to convey her point.
"Hey, my car is not a piece of crap," Emma argues defensively. She opens the driver's door, hearing the hinges squeak as Milah makes her way to the passenger's side.
"I just checked my bank account, and unless you have money I don't know about, or plan on seducing the landlord to get out of paying rent, then we're completely screwed."
"Well, maybe if you hadn't spent seventy-five dollars on the sandals you just had to have, then we'd have more money." Emma is all for buying new shoes, but not if it meant they have to live on the streets because of it.
Milah glowers at her. "They were half off. Besides, you know what they say—give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world. And we're going to need a lot more than seventy-five dollars to catch up on rent. We're going to need some kind of miracle."
"Well, I asked for more hours at the bar, and you've picked up more too," Emma reminds her.
Milah shakes her head as they get in the car. "Still, we're barely getting by. That engine set us way back," she points out in frustration, buckling her seatbelt. "We need to make some money quick."
Emma nods in agreement, knowing her sister's correct. "If only one of us could win the lottery or marry a rich man. I really don't want to spend the rest of my life eating ramen noodles for breakfast, lunch and dinner," Emma mutters, firing up the engine as she fastens her seatbelt. Lifting her eyes, she catches Milah's big hazel ones gleaming at her, a slow, snide smile crawling across her lips. The hairline on Emma's forehead rises as she arches a brow at her sister. "What?"
"That's a brilliant idea, Em."
Waving her head doubtfully, Emma looks ahead as she shifts the gear in drive and starts pulling away from the gas pump. "Eating ramen noodles for every meal? Not really. They're incredibly high in sodium, calories and saturated fat. And weren't you just cutting me down for munching on Slim Jims?"
"Not that. I'm talking about marrying a rich man."
Emma snorts as she turns out of the parking lot, not believing what she just heard slip past Milah's lips. "That would kind of be difficult to do, considering neither one of us is even dating one."
Milah shifts in her seat anxiously, excitement dancing in her eyes. "Em, do you remember about two years ago… when we went to visit Mal and Lily for Christmas?"
Emma thinks about that for a moment, unsure of what Milah is getting at. Mal had taken them in for a short while, after their adoptive mother died when they were seventeen years old. Milah and Emma aren't sisters by blood but they grew up in the foster system together and became inseparable when they were both adopted by a nice woman in Indiana. They had only been out of the system for a year when Ingrid was in a fatal car accident.
Mal is the mother of Lily Page, who was Milah's and Emma's classmate and friend, and took them in while they finished high school. When the sisters moved out, they got an apartment together in Boston. Milah had just turned twenty-two when they went back to visit Mal and Lily for the holidays. "Yeah, I remember. She taught us how to play poker. So?"
"She did, but do you also remember how Mal spoke to us about the con and how we weren't supposed to tell anyone about it?"
"The con?" Emma tries to recall, but really has no clue what Milah's talking about.
"Yeah. Mal told us how Lily's father left when he found out she was pregnant, so after that, she gave up on love. Said it was weakness, and only married her husbands for their money. When Lily turned twenty-one, she got her mother's husband at that time to cheat on her. Then Mal divorced him and got a huge settlement out of it. The two of them took the money, and moved on to the next poor loser who fell into their trap. And they always used fake names so they'd never get caught."
"Yeah, okay I remember now." Emma regards her sister with a cautious eye. "What's your point?"
"Don't you see, Em? We could do the same. We could have Mal show us the con, and how to pull it off successfully."
Shaking her head, Emma quickly declines while biting back a laugh. "I am not doing that."
Milah shifts in her seat, her whole body facing Emma. "Just think—we'll never have to be broke again. We can get a few good marks, take their money and move to Hawaii and buy our own bar on the beach or something. Come on, what do you say, Em? Let's do something bold . Something crazy ."
"We do plenty of bold and crazy things," Emma counters with a laugh.
"Name one."
"What about the time we went skinny dipping in the sea with our former bosses?"
Milah rolls her eyes. "You just proved my point. If that's the craziest thing we've ever done, I think it's time we change that."
Emma stares at the road ahead of her, gnawing on her bottom lip. "But we're not like Mal and Lily. What if we end up falling in love with one of the marks? I mean, do you really think we can pull this off?"
"Sure, why not? Neither of us have ever been good at commitments anyways. But, we've been good at one-night stands and sex with no strings."
Emma has to admit, Milah's correct on all counts, yet she still feels the urge to argue her reasons. "Well, yes, but those were only physical involvements and we always go to the guy's place, making a dash before morning. Now you're talking about one of us going on romantic dates and getting a man to fall head over heels in love and make an actual commitment before ripping his heart in two?"
"So? I can totally do that. I'll be the primary and you can get them to have an affair; that way you won't have to worry about the relationship part. All you have to do is look good, dress sexy and be your charming self, like when you pick up a guy at the bar. Only he'll be married and rich instead of single and broke… and he'll be my husband."
This is completely insane.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Emma can't believe she is actually considering this plan. It seems so wrong to her on many, many levels. "I don't know…"
Milah pulls one of Emma's hands from the steering wheel, encases it between her own and looks at her sister with pleading eyes, her left wrist revealing the tattoo of a raven's wings spread across the inside.
"Please? Just consider it, that's all I'm asking."
Emma also has a tattoo on the inside of her left wrist, only it's the wings of a white swan. They both got the tattoos using their fake i.d. cards, just after getting adopted by Ingrid at age sixteen. The wings symbolize their freedom from escaping the various foster homes, and they would never take it for granted. And yet, this little scheme they are contemplating would certainly take that freedom away if they ever got caught and landed in prison.
Emma turns her head, briefly glancing at her sister, who is making a moue with her lips. "You're insane," she titters, waving her head in bewilderment.
Milah grins at her cheekily. "And you love me for it."
May 5th, 2018—the outskirts of Storybrooke, ME
Emma's long blonde locks whip through the air, relieved to be free from the confinement of the red-haired wig as she tilts her head to the side and smiles at her sister, Milah. They're just leaving the outskirts of Maine in their brand new flashy red Corvette Convertible with the top down, wearing designer sunglasses and silk dresses with thousand-dollar Giuseppe Zanotti shoes. And they have eighty thousand dollars to their name which will pay for their living expenses while they sink their claws into their next new mark.
After Mal's training, they'd started out small, tricking strangers at grocery stores by convincing them they'd forgotten their purses, or that their cupboards were bare and they needed to feed their starving children when they were using maxed-out cards so they'd be declined. The restaurant pranks were their most popular techniques; they'd plant a strand of hair or piece of glass in their food, or they'd discolor the chicken with red food dye to make it look raw in the middle and receive a free meal out of the charade. Or they'd sit at the bar wearing their sexiest dresses, luring men into buying them all the cocktails they could possibly stand before fleeing to the cab the men paid for when the sisters became too drunk to drive, leaving the poor guys all hot and bothered with no money in their pockets.
The more cons they played out, the easier it became. Emma was always wary about it and her conscience often got in the way, but she slowly came around because she didn't want to let her sister down. Milah, however, was a natural. She had no problem lying and flirting with strange men to get her way, and always took the lead whenever they were working as a team. Soon enough, it was on to the big leagues.
Their first real mark was a computer geek from MIT who worked at Google, was a momma's boy, and had never cooked a meal in his whole goddamn life. The millionaire may have been smart, but luckily he wasn't clever enough to let his brain do all the thinking or let his mother talk some sense into him. Either that, or he was just that desperate when a gorgeous brunette, who was way out of his league, showed interest in him. They were married three months later when Emma kissed him so Milah could walk in and catch them. Emma cried that night for ruining the man's life. Several more cons and broken hearts later, the consequences of their actions gradually had less of an impact on her due to Milah's constant encouragement and incessant reminders that it's better than sleeping on the cold, hard floor in a crowded homeless shelter or a cardboard box on the streets.
"So how was the wedding?"
Milah shrugs, a half-hearted smile curving her lips. "It was fine."
Even through the dark shades, Emma can tell something is wrong with her sister. She can always read her like a book. "You okay?"
"Yeah, absolutely. Why wouldn't I be?"
"I don't know, but I know when something's bothering you. We're sisters remember?"
Milah's smile grows as she slowly turns up the radio. "Of course, and you're also my best friend, Em," she adds, speaking over the music as she leans over and kisses Emma's cheek. "It's just exhausting getting married and going through a divorce, that's all. And I kinda miss my blonde wig," she says with a small laugh before briefly glancing down and admiring her feet. "But that's okay. Give a girl the right pair of shoes…"
"And she can conquer the world," Emma finishes enthusiastically.
"I promise, sis… everything… is… fantastic."
The song Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds is playing as the music envelopes their ears. Milah throws her arms up in the air and Emma laughs, raising one hand while the other is still on the wheel. She grabs her sister's hand and they start singing loudly with the words of the song. Emma can't wait to get to their next destination. "Palm Beach, Florida, here we come!" Emma shouts at the top of her lungs.
"Whoohoooooo!" Milah utters in excitement, both of the them floating on a cloud; nothing in the word could possibly bring them down.
Approximately two days and 1,529 miles later—Palm Beach, FL
"What about him?"
Emma dismisses the question with a soft shake of her head, grimacing at the idea of having to kiss the old man leaving his huge mansion—he looks as though he's on the brink of death. She's already had her fill of the previous man with a cane—Milah's latest ex-husband. "I don't think so," Emma grumbles, proceeding to cruise through the wealthy neighborhood. The avenue is stretching wide and flat in front of them, a perfectly-aligned row of palm trees on either side as the sunlight scatters through the gaps. They've been on the road for twenty-four hours over the span of two days, and regretted the decision of not traveling by plane (Emma is afraid of flying), so it's a relief to finally reach their destination. And as tired as they are, they're bound and determined to find their next mark.
Emma's eyes are spanning over the nearby houses when she spots a modestly attractive man stepping out of his Mercedes Benz. He appears to be in his mid-thirties, has curly brown hair and is wearing an Armani suit. Perhaps a CEO of a large corporation? "What about him? He's kind of cute." Just as Emma asks, another man, this one with dark hair who is equally as attractive and young, steps out of the house greeting the other with a hug. "Brothers maybe? That could be fun."
Emma receives an eye roll as she stops at a red light.
"We don't play more than one guy at a time, I can only marry one, Em. And competition creates complications, especially between brothers."
Despite her words, Emma continues to observe them as Milah looks ahead, but to the blonde's dismay, the two men start kissing—making out to be more precise. "Ummm… I take that back… not brothers… and you're definitely not their type."
"What do you mean I'm not their type?" Milah asks, clearly offended as she tilts her head to see what Emma is looking at. "Oh… I don't do gay guys either."
"Maybe they're bi? You could have a ménage à trois," Emma teases with a laugh as the light turns green and she gently steps on the gas.
"No thanks," Milah replies, her words laced with distaste. "Get real, Em. Maybe you're into that, but I'm not."
Emma shrugs. "Suit yourself."
Half an hour later, they arrive at the condo they're staying in for the next two or three months, depending on how long it takes Milah to get the next man to marry her. The last one took two, but that was a new record for her. And he was only worth six hundred thousand. His last name was Gold, but he sure as hell wasn't made of it.
They enter their room, blown away by the accommodations as they take a tour of the place. The beachfront apartment contains a large living space with a tan leather sectional, a matching loveseat and a large flat screen TV in the lounge area. There's a separate laundry room in the apartment, and the kitchen is equipped with granite countertops and all of the stainless steel appliances they could possibly need.
The glass patio doors afford a spectacular view of the ocean, and opens to a balcony scattered with outdoor dining furniture and a sunbed.
In each of the two bedrooms, there's a full patio window and a four-poster queen size bed adorned with a mountain of frilly pillows and silk drapes surrounding the bed. The en-suite bathroom that joins the two bedrooms contains a jacuzzi tub and shower encased in glass doors.
Emma and Milah are squealing in delight, completely in awe as they soak everything in. Between all of the crowded foster homes and the studio apartments they lived in which were ran by slumlords, this is by far the nicest place they've ever stayed in.
After getting settled and unpacking some of their things, Milah decides to test out the bathtub while Emma goes for a walk. It's still early in the evening and she's utterly exhausted, but she craves some time on the beach before retiring to her bed. The ocean always calms her.
Hook Jones is in jeopardy of losing his world number one ranking this week at the Players Championship in Ponte Verde, Florida. According to the scenarios presented by Twitter user VC606, there are four players who could overtake Jones this week.–
The sun is cresting the horizon, leaving an array of colors across the sky as Killian moors his vessel to the port. He normally likes to start the mornings on his yacht whenever he can catch a break, but watching the sunset is just as calming. It allows him to reflect and plan his game before the tour. Some days are a zoo, with the cameras and crowds following him around on the green; the feeling of being closed in is the worst part about being a golfer. Being on the sea is his escape.
It's really quite ironic because ever since he was a child, he's been surrounded by people, even after he lost his family. He's traveled around the world, and when he's in Palm Beach he spends a lot of time with the children, who are his biggest fans. As much as he enjoys being around them, he's always craving to have someone with him while he's on the tour—someone by his side… someone along for the ride.
With his vessel securely anchored in place, Killian makes his way from the marina and passes a few patrons, offering a courteous smile and a small wave. Most of them are familiar to him, and some are obviously here on vacation.
Normally, tourists wear shorts when it's sixty-eight degrees and end up looking like lobsters after spending four hours in the sun. Locals, on the other hand, wear winter jackets when it's a touch below seventy degrees and always have deep brown tans. Killian can always distinguish a local from a tourist, not only by the hue of their tan, or lack thereof, and the way they dress, but also by the excitement buzzing in their eyes. Most of them spend their days snapping photos, drinking in the view and thinking of ways to move here, while the residents of Palm Beach spend their lives trying to find a way out.
Nearing the beach, Killian feels the cool breeze touching his skin and blowing through his hair. This is one of cooler evenings in May, although he's been accustomed to much more frigid temperatures from all of his traveling.
His mind is frazzled with thoughts of the new foundation he had spent many years dreaming up and planning, the charity event to kick it off and the Players championship, where he is hoping to maintain his number one ranking. With everything going on, he has to be mentally prepared for the game, but he's not worried. He's always hungry for more wins, no matter how many he already has in the bag. Golf is his true love, and the game is all about focus and preparation.
However, nothing could've prepared him for the vision currently demanding all of his focus when his eyes fall upon a beautiful woman. Well, an angel to be more precise, with skin fair and pure, golden hair shimmering, even in the dim light of the evening air.
Bloody hell , she is breathtaking.
She's walking barefoot along the beach, wearing a white layered mini skirt, a beige sweater and a wide-brimmed sun hat, her long golden hair flowing in soft waves. Her gorgeous legs go on for days, she has high cheekbones and glossy pink lips, and her emerald green eyes are lit up like a firefly in the night. Her creamy skin looks like porcelain, and a calm expression is settled over the beautiful features of her face as she gazes across the ocean.
She is definitely not from around here. Even if not for all of the evident signs, he would remember seeing a lass like her.
Killian watches from the shadows of the pier, trying not to be seen. There's an aura about her that pulls him in like waves of the sea. Before he knows it, she is walking away, leaving him dizzy and discombobulated as he struggles to remember what he was doing. He has to shake his head and collect his bearings, heading for home in his blue Mustang, but how in the bloody hell is he supposed to forget a woman like her?