The Fiancé Agreement

by McKenna Rogue

  I stepped back, framing her up in my lens, and waited until she softened into whatever secret place she kept her thoughts. Immediately, I felt a possessive snarl inside of me. I wanted to know those secret thoughts. I wanted to know her fantasies. I wanted everything.

  As I took shot after shot, subtly adjusting her, getting her to tilt her head a little to the right, or raise up an eyebrow, put a hand on her hip, Daphne’s voice cut through my concentration.

  “Why didn’t you direct Marcus and me like this?”

  God, I wanted to turn off my microphones. To focus on the artistry, the goddess in front of me, instead of the mere mortal demanding my attention.

  Before I could come up with something that had the right level of sass to put her in her place without completely offending her, Helena jumped in, saying, “He’s the artist. Let him work.”

  The fact was Daphne didn’t draw my eye. I couldn’t have cared less how she stood, or at what angle I photographed her. The pictures I took of them were fine. They wouldn’t know the difference anyway. If she wanted a professional photo shoot with her fiancé, there were plenty of people who would’ve taken the time to give her what she wanted.

  But I wasn’t one of them. I only used the camera when there wasn’t time to sketch, or I only had limited time with my subject.

  And I loved that Helena wanted to defend my process. That she cared whether I was able to create the way I wanted.

  As I snapped one final picture, I stepped toward her and gave her a soft kiss. “How would you feel about laying the grass?”

  She laughed. “Are you kidding?”

  I gently tugged her toward me, liking it when she was close enough she had to look up at me. “The light’s perfect. Please?”

  She sighed and carefully lowered herself onto the green turf with some assistance from me. “This can’t be a good angle.” Her chin raised, her body shifted, anything she could do to get to the angles she thought would hide the spots she was less than happy with.

  If only she could see herself the way I saw her, instead of the way her mother, her sister, and society had tricked her into believing.

  Kneeling next to her, I adjusted her arms, her chin, her hair, until she was in exactly the pose I wanted. The angle that made me want to drool, to lean down and taste her lips again.

  I didn’t care what Daphne wanted, and I didn’t care what she thought. All I could see was Helena.

  By the time the light shifted again, I had taken dozens of photos.

  And Daphne was impatiently tapping her foot in my general direction.

  Helping Helena to her feet, I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her in close. She practically melted into me, making my heart beat a little faster and my blood pound a little harder. Not only was she affecting my art, my desire, and my thoughts, but my libido too. The more pictures I took, the more I wanted to get her naked and memorize her curves with my hands and tongue until she was writhing beneath me.

  I wished I could make her see how good we were together, fake romance or not.

  “We should get back to Mom. We’ve been gone a while.” Helena’s voice was almost dreamy, soft and feminine like something in her hard edginess had melted a little during the photos.

  Daphne’s frown said more than any words she was using, and I was worried she would have some choice words to give Helena as soon as I was out of earshot.

  I didn’t want any ill-will to befall her as long as I was her fiancé. Our relationship may have had some fake elements, but my desire to keep her safe and happy was anything but fake.

  The walk back to get Scarlet and then to the car was tense, and despite Marcus’s attempts at lightening the mood, I could tell I’d offended the bride by not giving her as much attention as I had Helena.

  Daphne should’ve been happy I gave her any consideration at all. I was there with Helena, not there to be her personal photographer.

  As we drove back to the villa, Helena fell asleep on my shoulder, curled into my chest, all soft, sweet comfort.

  And torturously off limits.

  We were on our own for dinner, and I for one was glad for it. Daphne and her demanding nature were starting to piss me off. Marcus had the patience of a saint or maybe he was just as bad. I certainly wasn’t perfect. I was a moody asshole somedays, but I didn’t demand the sun rise when I told it to.

  The thing that really pissed me off was Daphne had no respect for Helena, for what she wanted, or what made her sister happy.

  And I didn’t care much what she wanted, as long as I could keep making Helena smile.

  “What do you want to do for dinner tonight?” I unbuttoned my shirt, intent on changing into something fresh for dinner.

  Helena was so quiet, I was half-certain I still had my implants off. When I turned around, I realized it had nothing to do with my inability to hear.

  She was staring, mouth hanging open, and eyes wide.

  “Helena?”

  She blinked, slowly bringing her gaze to meet mine. “Uh-huh?”

  “What do you want for dinner?”

  She licked her lips and swallowed, gaining some focus. “I don’t care. You did such a good job picking lunch…” She bit her lip as her eyes dropped back down to my chest.

  It was taking all my self-control not to grab her and haul her over to the bed to find out just how much she was enjoying the view.

  “Come on. We’re in Italy. Surely you have some opinion on what you’d like.”

  She licked her lips again and still wasn’t meeting my eyes. “Why don’t we drive into town and just see what we find? I’m sure anything would be good. Everything seems to be good here.”

  I chuckled and pulled a fresh shirt off a hanger. “Sounds like a plan.” I was tempted to change my pants, just to see if she would check out my ass, or my cock, as blatantly as she was staring at my chest. It was nice to know she wasn’t immune, even if she didn’t want anything serious from this.

  By the time we headed downstairs, Marcus and Daphne were gone, but Scarlet was still hanging around.

  “I thought I could go to dinner with you. Get to know my future son-in-law better.”

  I swallowed hard, nervous about the intense look in her eyes. I still didn’t know how much Scarlet remembered from the night before, but I wouldn’t back down from my defense of Helena, or my intentions to make her happy. “Sure. We don’t have anywhere picked yet, but we were just going to drive into town and see what catches our eye. You’re welcome to join us.” I squeezed Helena’s hand before adding, “Of course, it’s up to Helena.”

  Scarlet picked up her purse as she looked at her daughter expectantly, as if she was just meant to give in, without a fuss.

  I so wanted Helena to push back.

  Apparently, the silence was worse than either though, as Helena and her mother just stared at each other.

  “It was supposed to be a date night. But I suppose you can come.”

  As I led Helena to the front of the car and opened the door for her, Scarlet looked almost upset, even though Marcus and Daphne had done the same thing earlier.

  We found a small restaurant near the city center, busy but not too crowded, and were quickly seated.

  I pulled out Helena’s chair, making sure she was situated, and then, since Scarlet hadn’t sat, repeated the process with her. I would’ve done it happily under normal circumstances, but it felt like every choice made, every action I took, was being weighed, and none seemed up to Scarlet’s level of judgment.

  Out of spite, and because I was tired of watching the woman drink herself stupid, I snapped up the wine menu before Scarlet could grab it.

  “You know, after all the wine at lunch today, and how much amazing Tuscan wine we’re going to have this week, I think it would be nice to go dry tonight. No liquor on the table at all.”

  Helena smirked at me as she said, “That is a great idea.”

  Scarlet looked entirely less pleased at the idea.

  “So, you’re an ar
tist?”

  The interrogation had begun without so much as a preamble or friendly chit chat.

  “Painting, mostly, but some photography and sculpture. It’s my passion, for sure.” I smiled. “Well, art and your daughter.” I reached over and took her hand, bringing it to my lips for a quick kiss.

  “And you think you can take care of her on that? What sort of career is that?” Scarlet’s eyes were on the menu, but it still felt like she was shooting daggers at me.

  “I do quite well for myself. But Helena does have a career of her own. One that I’m quite proud to support her in.” I knew that the shop she ran didn’t bathe her in wealth by any means, but it made her happy. I knew she wouldn’t be as happy somewhere traditional, somewhere where she’d have to follow someone else’s rules.

  She did enough of that already.

  “What are you going to order, Mom? It all looks so good.” Helena’s voice held a little bit of edge to it, but I couldn’t tell if it was nerves or insistence.

  “Ugh, I don’t know. It all looks so fattening. Carbs, butter, cream…” Scarlet sneered. “I suppose the salad would be okay.”

  Helena skimmed the menu, and set it down before saying, “I think I’ll have carbonara.”

  I wished I had my camera out for the face of disgust on Scarlet’s face.

  The meal continued in much the same fashion, with Scarlet cutting at us both at every opportunity, her attitude getting worse and worse the longer she went without a glass of wine in her hand.

  But Helena stood strong, her shoulders back, her head held high, as she pushed back or laughed off her mother’s remarks.

  I shined with pride.

  “Would anyone like to see the dessert menu this evening?” Our server came over cautiously, having started avoiding our table as much as possible with Scarlet’s attitude and comments.

  “I definitely would.” Helena squeezed my hand, as if she were asking for permission. Or looking for reassurance that it was okay.

  Reassurance I was more than happy to give. She could have the desserts she wanted, especially if it would keep making her mother make that face.

  “Really, Hellie? You already had such a rich dinner.”

  “It’s Helena, Mother. I’d like dessert.”

  “Then I’d like a cup of coffee with Bailey’s in it.”

  “You can have coffee, but it won’t have booze in it. You can go without for one meal, Mom. I’m sure you had a mimosa or three for breakfast.”

  I leaned back in my chair, letting the two of them battle this one out alone. Helena certainly didn’t need my influence on it, not with the way she was pushing back. Watching her keep her chin high, shoulders back, and fire in her eyes, was a sight to be seen. I wanted to see that kind of confidence on her all the time.

  “Is this your influence? Are you the reason my daughter’s taken this new attitude? Because I have to say, I would’ve thought someone with your upbringing would have more manners.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe it’s not me that’s the problem, Mrs. Stratton.” I leaned over and kissed Helena’s cheek. “But then, I was raised to believe that women should be allowed to express their opinions, to be vocal when something bothers them. And especially on Helena, I think it’s damned sexy.”

  Helena smirked as her mother looked between the two of us, as if she was trying to decide who to blame, who to hate for Helena’s backbone.

  I hoped she’d blame me. Helena didn’t need to get flak for this, for me, for the rest of her life, just because I nudged her into it.

  13

  Helena

  Mom’s sour disposition turned me off from getting dessert.

  “Why don’t we just head back to the rental? I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

  “For the first time in your life.” Mom’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, but I heard it.

  “You know what, Mom? I’d rather be fat. I’d rather eat what I want, when I want, than be a skinny, miserable drunk like you. If you can’t keep your judgment to yourself, if you can’t act like a decent fucking human being to your own kid, then this wedding can be the only wedding you go to for your daughters and the last time I see you for a while. I’ll put on a smile for Daphne, and I’ll make everyone believe everything’s just peachy, but when we’re back in the U.S., I’m done.”

  “Helena…”

  Funny how she could remember what to call me now.

  I stood up and shook my head. “No, Mom. Nothing else needs to be said. You’ve had the chance for twenty-seven years to talk to me kindly. I don’t want to hear it now.” I leaned down and kissed Gio softly. “I’m going to take a walk. I’ll meet you by the car in five.”

  I stormed off before either of them could say anything else.

  The air outside was cool, almost chilly, and just what I needed to shake off the anger fighting through my veins.

  I hated my mother sometimes. I hated that I couldn’t just tell her off, that I hadn’t ever been able to be this straightforward, this honest with her, until I was lying about everything else. I didn’t know what I did to make her hate me and be so disapproving of me, but I was done feeling like her miserable mistake. It was no way to go through life.

  And I couldn’t get over the urge to just grab Gio and fuck him without worrying about what tomorrow would bring, or the day after the wedding for that matter.

  I just wanted to throw caution to the wind and let go.

  “Helena? Are you okay?” Gio’s voice was like a balm to the frustration burning me up from the inside out.

  I shook my head. “I just don’t get her. I’ve tried to do everything she’s ever wanted. I did her stupid pageants as a kid, until I hit puberty and the hormones filled out more than just my hips and breasts. I tried to date the men she’d approve of, guys from good families, good upbringings, who were just terrible human beings. Men who told me time and time again that I would be so pretty, if I just lost weight.” I wrapped my arms around myself, hugging in tight. “I’ve never been good enough. Not with Daphne there, her perfect little mini-me.”

  Gio’s hands covered my own, pulling my own arms away so that he could replace them with his. “I know I’ve spoken out of turn a lot these past few days, and I know it hasn’t made anything easier on you.” He rubbed my back softly in gentle circles. “But for what it’s worth, seeing you stand up to her tonight like you did was incredible. And it was so fucking sexy, I can’t even tell you.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, right.” I looked around. “Where’s Mom?”

  “I got her a ride back to the villa. She’s taken care of. For the rest of the night, it’s just you and me. Now that you have me alone, what do you want to do with me?”

  I leaned my head on his shoulder, taking a few deep, calming breaths. “Can we just go for a drive? Get away from everyone for a while?”

  “You got it. Anywhere in particular?”

  Laughing, I bit my lip. “Rome for the night?”

  “I think Rome’s like a four-hour drive. I’m not saying we shouldn’t go; I just think we should think about it.” He pursed his lips, and then pulled out his phone. “Pisa’s only an hour. We could rent a room for the night, make them think we snuck off for a romantic rendezvous, come back late in the same clothes we wore to dinner.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “Anywhere but going back to that damn house.”

  He kissed my forehead and held me against him for another moment, long enough to let my eyes close and my breath calm. When he stepped back, he moved slowly, until my hand found its way into his, and we walked to the car hand-in-hand, close together, like any other couple out for a nice night in Italy.

  Gio found a hotel not far from the leaning tower, and he parked outside it. “You’re sure about this? You probably won’t hear the end of it from Daphne.”

  “I’m sure.” I was sure about a lot of things, ones I wasn’t quite ready to verbalize. But for the time being, I’d settle for a room away from my nosy family who didn’t understan
d.

  He squeezed my hand as he opened the car door. “Then let’s go see if we can’t get a room.”

  “Gio?”

  He paused, looking over at me. “Yeah?”

  “Would you…” I chewed my lower lip. “It’s stupid. Never mind.” I pushed open my door and got out before he could say anything.

  He wrapped an arm around my waist and led me to the front door. “Don’t think I won’t ask about this again once we’ve got our room. I like when you say what you need, what you want.”

  I shivered in anticipation, wondering how much he’d press. If he’d demand it of me.

  If he did, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop myself from asking for the darker, dirtier fantasies that kept playing through my head.

  Only a suite was available, and Gio moved around the space like he owned it. He opened the curtains, so that the warm orangey glow from the streetlights filled the room, without making it too bright.

  It was almost romantic.

  “What were you going to ask me in the car?”

  I froze, swallowing hard. “It was nothing.”

  He walked over and ran his hands over my arms, down to my hips, and back up again. “Helena, I know I haven’t known you all that long, but I know that you don’t say things that you don’t mean, and you don’t often open your mouth without good reason. What did you want to ask?”

  “Why don’t we get some wine? Maybe order room service dessert?” I pulled away and walked over to the hotel phone, looking for a menu.

  I heard Gio move around the room, but he didn’t come near me again. He didn’t touch me.

  But I felt him all around me. It was like he’d gotten under my skin, infused himself into every cell of my body, and we hadn’t done anything more than kiss.

  I couldn’t ask him to have sex with me. It was too much, more than he’d already signed on for.