Temporarily Hitched : A second chance fake marriage romance

by Diane Louise

  Screaming, Daniella pulled a shoe from her foot and threw it at the door. 'Bastard,' she shouted. 'You mother fucking bastard.' He must have heard her, she thought. He was probably the other side of that door now, revelling in her frustration towards him, the thought made her skin prickle with rage. Throwing herself onto the bed she sank into the sumptuous duvet and allowed the comfort to wrap itself around her. For some perverse reason Franco wanted her riled, he clearly did not intend to make this a smooth ride for her. So, she resolved, the best form of revenge would be composure. From that moment forward she was to carry herself with grace and dignity no matter what he threw at her. Franco Zorita was not going to bother her more than he already had. Satisfied that she had arrived at a suitable plan of survival she allowed the bed to swallow her whole. Drifting off to sleep her face carried a gentle smile, the smile of a woman with the upper hand.

  Her plan worked. The days following their rocky arrival ran smoothly, they spoke pleasantly when they were in each other's company. Daniella praised the hard work of her theatre company and even felt comfortable enough to share riotous stories of when things had gone awry on stage. She always cut the stories short when Franco gave her that look though. The same one her father gave. The look that said 'why are you wasting your time when you could be so much more.'

  They spent meal times together enjoying long drawn out tapas under the contemporary garden canopy. Daniella worried she would never enjoy food again she was eating so well. She even courageously joked one night that Franco might throw one of his chefs into the divorce settlement. It was only a flippant thought though because the prenuptial agreement she had gladly signed was clear-cut. She was to walk away with nothing once the six months were over and she had not argued. This life, the life of grandeur, of elaborate wealth was not for her. Daniella had freaked out two days ago when she found the wash basket in her bedroom empty. She had gone to Franco worried that there was a lingerie thief. He had laughed in her face, before explaining that the house keeper had taken her washing and it would be returned the next day washed, dried and pressed. The idea of a stranger handling her dirty knickers made Daniella cringe. No, this was not the life for her.

  When they were not eating together, Franco worked and she lounged by the pool or explored the area, revisiting the nooks and crannies of her youth. Places she thought she would never see again but was glad to have the opportunity to revisit.

  It was while out on one of her little explorations of Pozuelo that she strolled mindlessly towards the cemetery. Always having a morbid fascination about burial grounds she decided to spend a few minutes wandering amongst the graves, paying her respects to the deceased. Walking through the gate, she stopped to survey the forest of white crosses and sea of white marble tombs. She nodded her head to the ceramic tile portrait of the Virgin Mary before meandering around the expansive space. Everywhere she looked trinkets and flowers adorned the resting places of those who once walked the paths she now followed. Elaborate crypts stood proud, homes for resting ancestors. She walked a narrow passageway with intimidating walls of graves towering above her. At the end she witnessed a solitary male paying his respects in front of a particularly grand crypt. She quickly averted her eyes, not intending to intrude on his moment of respect, but snapped them back when she saw that the man was Franco. Of all the places to bump into him. She turned swiftly, not wanting him to see her but the sudden movement caught his attention. There was no way she could walk away now.

  'Daniella,' he greeted her while he stood from where he knelt respectfully before the grave.

  She turned back to him, but not before mouthing a couple of curses. 'I'm sorry, Franco,' she said. 'I didn't mean to intrude, I'll just...'

  'No, stay,' he said. 'I was leaving anyway.'

  Daniella nodded but did not believe him. He had been lost in thought about something when she spotted him. 'Your father?'

  'Yes,' Franco rasped regarding the engravings with heavy eyes. 'I come and visit whenever I'm in Pozuelo.'

  Daniella smiled at the memory of the fierce man that had ruled the Zorita family with an iron rod. 'I should expect he would have it no other way.'

  'Actually, no,' Franco said.

  'No? I am surprised,' she tilted her head to one side and searched Franco's face. The self-assuredness that it normally portrayed was gone and in its place was a longing.

  'We weren't on speaking terms when he passed on,' Franco said, still looking at the crypt.

  A small part of Daniella's heart chipped at Franco's confession. 'I'm sorry.'

  'You should be.'

  Daniella flinched. 'Excuse me?'

  'It was because of you the man I spent my entire life trying to impress died believing I was a traitor.'

  Daniella's jaw slackened. 'I don't understand,' she said wrapping her arms around her body, protecting herself from the sudden drop in temperature. 'How can it be my fault?' She added meekly.

  Franco glared at her in silence. A muscle in his sculptured jaw twitched as he bit down on his back teeth. His eyes blinked as he waited for her to come up with the answer by herself.

  'Was it,' she sucked at her bottom lip. 'Was it the articles? The things that were said? About me,' she paused. 'About you.'

  His eyebrows rose in mock humour. 'Clever girl. Ten out of ten.'

  Daniella's shoulders slumped. 'I'm sorry, Franco, but you must know that if I could turn back time I would have...'

  'Not been so desperate for fame that you would sell out everybody who thought you cared about them?'

  'That's not what I was going to say, I was going to say that I...'

  'You would have had more respect for me,' he said, jabbing his thumb into his chest with such force it must have hurt. 'For my family,' he stepped closer to her and grabbed her shoulders. 'For yourself.'

  The guilt that had plagued Daniella over her indiscretions when she was younger had always lurked on the edge of her conscience. Threatening to consume her. It affected every subsequent life decision she made, some good, some bad. Suddenly, in this wretched moment, it was clear that the suffering she endured didn't even scratch the surface of the agony her actions had inflicted upon Franco. 'I would never have...'

  Franco didn't wait to hear what she had to say. His face plunged towards hers and greedily his lips attacked her own. Her hands took a life of their own, rising to meet his chest, they should have been pushing him away, but they couldn't. Instead, her fingers curled, grasping his shirt as her mouth relaxed against the heat of his. She responded hungrily. Needing to express her innocence, if her words couldn't convey how she felt then maybe he could read it in her eager response. Their tongues danced a dance, a dance of despair, of guilt, of remorse. Franco removed his grip from Daniella's shoulders and embraced her, wrapping his arm around her lower back, pulling her close, until his arousal could no longer be ignored. The hardness flooded her with a desire for him that she thought she had buried. She had thought wrong. Her desire made itself evident in the firmness that grew in her breasts, the slickness that developed between her thighs, and the way her body lost all strength and relied wholly on his to hold her upright.

  A growl rumbled deep in Franco's throat, the mating sounds of an alpha male preparing to take his prize. The sound prickled Daniella's senses, caused her blood to thrum and her heart to skip not one, but two, three beats. Then a coldness descended as he ripped his mouth from hers and jerked her away.

  'Give me one good reason why I should give you what you want?' he snarled.

  Daniella, disorientated and exposed, couldn't wrap her head around the sudden change in him. She needed clarification. 'What I want?'

  'Don't play the innocent, Daniella,' he said with an accusatory tone. 'You have an agenda. Women like you always have an agenda.'

  Daniella stumbled backwards as if he had assaulted her, which would have hurt a lot less than his words. 'Women like me?'

  He laughed, a laugh riddled with sarcasm. Running his hand through his heavy mane of hair
he looked her in the eye. 'I didn't get to where I am today without understanding people,' he said. 'I'm not naïve, and your previous behaviour demonstrated that neither are you. Did you hope that by cornering me here I'd be weak?' He raised his arms in the direction of his father's grave. 'Did you think that by offering sympathy I'd help to further your career as well as drag your father out of the hole he's dug for himself?' He stuck out his bottom lip in mock pity. 'Is your failed career worth prostituting yourself for?'

  She closed her eyes as the understanding of his meaning settled. When Franco looked at her, he still saw the young girl with burning ambitions, ambitions that burnt out a long time ago. 'I'm not a failure, I am, was, happy with my life until you walked back into it.' She said, trying in vain to correct his assumptions.

  He laughed again. 'I've followed you and your life with great interest, Daniella. I read the papers, it's beneficial for me to know who's hot and who's not, and you my dear, are not.'

  'I don't need to listen to this.' Daniella walked away before remembering one more thing. 'You are my husband by law and in law only. I do not need to explain myself to you. At all. Ever. Conversation closed.' Flicking her hair over her shoulder she stomped away, her legs threatening to cave beneath her they shook so violently.

  'Admit it, Daniella,' he called after her. 'You need me.'

  She considered stopping. Continuing their little tit-for-tat but instead carried on without looking back. Did she need him? No. Did she want him? Yes. She needed to not want him. What she needed was to get away. Today.

  Chapter Five

  'Sorry, Dad,' Daniella said aloud as she threw another armful of lingerie into a bag. 'I tried, I really did.' She cast her eyes around the room looking for what else she could throw into her case. Franco's case. It belonged to Franco, and she was going to bloody well make sure it got back to him, along with all the other stuff he had gallantly provided for the surprise honeymoon. It had irked her when he'd shown her the matching set and explained that it was full with everything she might need. She'd thought it obnoxious that he assumed he could guess her tastes well enough to shop on her behalf. It had riled her further when she examined the contents and realised he in fact did. Satisfied she had packed everything away she flopped down on the bed to catch her breath. Hanging her heavy head she sighed. What a mess.

  A knock on the bedroom door caused her to snap her head back up. 'Hello,' she said expecting it to be the housekeeper announcing the arrival of the taxi. She groaned when Franco stepped into the room. 'Go away, Franco,' she snapped, jumping back to her feet and grabbing the luggage.

  'Where do you think you're going?' he asked walking over and taking the heavy bags from her hands.

  Furrowing her brow she shook her head in disbelief. Did he think he could say those things to her, be so cruel, and she'd stay to revel in his abuse? 'Where do you think?' she bit out.

  Raising an eyebrow questioningly, he curved his lips into a needling smile. 'Home?'

  'Of course.'

  'Then what?'

  Tearing the cases back from him she ripped a fingernail clean from its bed. The searing pain caused them to clatter at her feet and bile to rise in her throat. But the pain was not about to distract her.

  'Get back to my failed career, forget about you,' she said, jamming her finger into her mouth to suck on the injury. 'And this.'

  'Can you not wait a few more days?' he said walking to the side of the bed and retrieving a tissue. He sauntered back and took her hand in his, gently wrapping the tissue around her damaged finger to stem the flow of blood. Daniella gawped at him, unable to fathom how he could switch from spraying her with acidic vitriol one minute to playing the part of caring nurse the next. 'We have a guest visiting this evening' he said. 'Somebody I think you might like to see.'

  'Oh?'

  He raised his eyes from where her hand lay limp in his to meet her confused gaze. 'Enos.'

  Enos! Franco's larger than life and extraordinarily flamboyant brother. 'Enos?'

  'Yes, you remember Enos, don't you?'

  Daniella clicked her tongue, of course she remembered Enos. Once a person met Enos, they could never forget him. 'He's coming here?'

  'That's what I said,' he replied, rolling his eyes and dropping her hand. 'So I need for you to be dressed for dinner and ready to be sociable by seven o'clock. Do you think you can manage that?'

  'Is he staying for long?' she enquired ignoring Franco's derision. Her heart lightened at the prospect of Enos dissipating the tension that hung over them. The news of his arrival sure made the thought of remaining in Spain a much more pleasurable one.

  Franco shrugged. 'Nobody ever knows with him, you must remember what a loose cannon he is.'

  Oh yes. Daniella could vividly recall Enos and his wild ways. 'That boy never was for taming,' she said nostalgically.

  'Hmmm.' Franco agreed, 'So you'll stay?'

  'For Enos,' she said defiantly.

  'For Enos.' Franco repeated, squinting his eyes. 'And maybe for me?'

  She didn't raise her eyes, simply stared at her bandaged finger, nor did she verbalise her answer, but yes, maybe a little bit for him.

  'Good.' Straightening his back, he shed his role of nurse and reverted to his irritable self. 'One more thing, Enos doesn't need to know about our little arrangement. OK?'

  'OK,' she agreed. However, the Enos she recalled was an astute character. There was a good chance he would be able to tell immediately that the marriage was all a big, fat, sham.

  Daniella was roused from her sleep to the sound of voices drifting in through the open window. A glance at the clock beside the bed informed her that she had slept for hours, far more hours than she had intended. Shocked into life she shot out of bed and checked her appearance. Great, she'd even been drooling. Fixing her hair, she slicked on some makeup and shimmied into an elegant tube dress. Throwing her feet into a pair of dressy flat sandals she clip clopped down the hallway and practically danced down the stairs, being mindful not to slip. Floating stairs, she decided, looked striking, but were actually a death trap.

  The brothers were sprawled on recliners catching up with one another when she arrived by the poolside.

  'And here is the lady of the night.' Enos said, beaming the brightest smile she had seen in a long time in her direction. He stood to greet her with open arms and Daniella gasped at the sight of him. Before her was a man half the size of the boy she remembered.

  'Enos, you look...' She struggled to find a complimentary description as she embraced him, the sharp angles of his bones not a welcoming sensation. 'You look...'

  'Ugh, I know,' he released her and flicked his wrist dismissively. 'I'm playing the part of a cancer survivor,' he rolled his eyes. 'The weight loss is a chore but that's the price one pays for fame.'

  Over his shoulder, Daniella caught a glimpse of Franco's face, a look she couldn't read flashed across his dark eyes before he quickly turned his head to survey the view. 'So, you're still acting?' she said, sitting down on the end of the recliner he occupied moments before.

  'Of course my dear, without performing I am nothing.'

  Franco groaned and Enos shot daggers at his brother. 'At least I have a passion, Franco dear,' he goaded. 'Silly me,' he theatrically covered his mouth with his hand. 'Of course you have found a passion, haven't you, in the delectable Daniella here.'

  Daniella blushed. 'Oh, Enos,' she said tapping him on the arm, not wanting to touch him too hard for fear of snapping the limb in two. 'You know how to charm a lady.'

  He took her hand and swung it playfully. 'You mean to say my brooding brother here doesn't?'

  She removed her hand from his and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, suddenly aware that if the conversation carried on like this, Franco was likely to blow a fuse. He didn't take too well to mockery. 'So, what brings you to Pozuelo?' She asked changing the topic. 'We were both sorry not to see you at the wedding. Isn't that right, Franco?'

  Instead of being drawn in as D
aniella hoped, Franco grunted again. It seemed her arrival had zapped his capability to string together coherent sentences. Oh well. At least if he wasn't being obtuse then maybe she and Enos would have a good chance to catch up properly.

  Enos flopped back down, dropping his sunglasses back over his eyes to shelter them from the vivid evening sunset. 'My apologies,' he said. 'I was otherwise engaged.' His voice was wistful for a moment before he caught himself and bubbled back into life. 'I'm here now,' he slapped her thigh. 'So you can tell me all about the big day, I want details, lots and lots of miniature details.'

  'Right,' Franco cleared his throat and stood to leave. 'You ladies discuss chiffon and stationary while I go and see how the staff are getting on with dinner.'

  Daniella and Enos watched as Franco sulked away, as soon as he was out of earshot Enos slid his glasses down his nose. 'Spill.' He said.

  Daniella, still admiring Franco's silhouette sighed. 'It was just a normal wedding,' she said. 'The cake was...'

  'I don't give a shit about the cake,' Enos flared, 'Why did he marry you?'

  Daniella snapped her eyes down to him. 'Why does anybody marry anybody?' she said with a shaky laugh.

  'Well, in the real world for love obvs, but this isn't the real world, sweetheart,' Enos pointed out. 'This is Franco's world, and Franco always has a motive behind everything he does. The last time I saw him he wouldn't have the Porter name uttered in the house so why the change? Spill,' he repeated. 'Now.'

  Daniella shrugged her shoulders. 'People change.'

  'Horse shit.' Enos bolted upright. 'You're lying, Daniella, you always were a crap liar.' He drained a glass of liquor as if it was water.

  She shrugged again but kept her tongue glued to the roof of her mouth in case she said something that would cement his suspicions about her marriage. Enos, realising Daniella was not about to divulge, sat back and covered his eyes again. 'So, he found out the truth?'

  'What truth?' Daniella asked, knowing Enos was fishing from a different angle but unable to suppress her interest.