Temporarily Hitched : A second chance fake marriage romance

by Diane Louise

  'You know. The truth.'

  Frustrated Daniella groaned. 'Please, don't toy with me Enos, I've had enough of that from one Zorita brother to last me a lifetime.'

  'Trouble in paradise?' Enos enquired.

  'Stop it,' she cried, getting impatient. 'What truth are you talking about, Enos?'

  'That bitch friend of yours.'

  Daniella took a sharp intake of breath at the insult. 'Misty's not a bitch,' she said lowering her eyes. 'She's had a hard life.'

  'Darling,' Enos drawled. 'A bitch can recognise a bitch, and that girl had 'in season' sprayed all over her ass.' He enjoyed watching Daniella's reaction to his crudeness before continuing. 'I know it wasn't you who sold out to the papers.'

  Daniella cocked her head.

  'Tut-tut, Daniella,' Enos said. 'You know I never miss a trick. You see, I know that you were batshit crazy about Franco. And I know you were a fame hungry kid. But you were not, still are not, cheap.' He reached out and wrapped a skinny hand around hers. 'You are still a classy piece of work, Nella. So whatever is going on here you have to tell him it wasn't you, it was Scarlet Woman.'

  She smiled at his belief in her but still her head hung in shame. 'I was responsible though, Enos,' she sighed. 'I broke his confidences. I told her his deepest, darkest fears and so ultimately, I am the one to blame, Enos. Not Misty, so can we drop it now, please.'

  'Very chivalrous of you,' he said the moment she finished her confessions. 'But your arguments are weak. Between your father and his little whore...'

  'Excuse me?'

  Enos smiled sympathetically at her. 'Surely, you must have known your father and the little strumpet were fucking?'

  No, she was not aware.

  'Oh come on, the whole biz knew Misty would fuck anybody to get a leg up on the old celeb ladder. Unfortunately she got to your father a little too late for him to have any influence.' He stopped speaking to light another cigarette and Daniella gawped at him. 'Stupid little floozy actually thought he was a prize screw,' Enos laughed.

  Daniella's world went blurry as she attempted to process the news. Little drops of history plucked at her consciousness suddenly, adding things together. Misty had droned on about how lonely she was going to be over summer because, unlike Daniella's parents, hers were working the entire holidays, which is why Daniella invited her to Spain in the first place. Her father had been happy for Misty join them. Her mother not so.

  'Is there anything else I was too blind to see?' she asked bitterly before stopping herself. Enos was just the messenger, his message was ten years too late, but he was still only filling in some blanks, she shouldn't take her anger out on him.

  'Just one thing,' he said exhaling smoke through his nose. 'My brother loved you to pieces, he was going to approach you before you left for England, but your dizzy little friend fucked that right up.'

  Daniella shook her head. 'No, that's one thing you're wrong about, Enos,' she allowed a single tear to roll down her cheek. 'He didn't love me at all, I approached him before the whole media circus happened and he spurned me.'

  'Why do you think he did that?' Enos asked seriously. 'Not that it matters any,' he said searching her face for signs. 'He's married you now hasn't he? So love must have conquered all. Right?'

  Daniella kept her gaze blank, drawing upon every minute of professional drama training to keep her face neutral.

  'I can tell, you're holding something back, Daniella,' he said.

  Drat.

  'Listen,' he shifted so he was sitting shoulder to shoulder with her. 'I don't know the full facts about what's happening here,' he shuddered. 'To be honest I don't need to. But what I do know,' Enos dropped his cigarette on the otherwise immaculate floor and stubbed it out using his foot. 'Franco is not a complicated man. He expelled a lot of energy dragging the reputation of Zorita Holdings back to where it was when our grandfather founded the business. What our father ruined, Franco rebuilt. And daddy will never be around to tell Franco what a great man he is. That has made him cross.'

  'I know all this,' Daniella said.

  'Always were the impatient type,' he smiled warmly. 'OK, I'll cut to the chase. Franco is a handsome man, a ridiculously wealthy man. He has had a string of floozies hanging from his arm for as long as I can remember.'

  Daniella flinched at the mention of other women.

  'But,' Enos continued. 'He married you, he could have married any of them, and believe you me, not one of them would have turned him down. I saw his face as you approached tonight, Daniella.'

  'Oh?' She had to admit she hadn't. It had been Enos' haggard appearance that stole her attention when she arrived. She hadn't paid Franco any heed she realised guiltily.

  'He lights up as soon as you're near, Daniella.'

  'Really?' It certainly didn't appear that way, she thought.

  'Yes, he does. I for one am not surprised. If you were my type I'd be proud to have you as my wife too.' He knocked her shoulder with his. Stirring some positivity from within her, enough to encourage a small smile to tease the corners of her mouth. 'That's better,' he said. 'Franco has stronger feelings for you than you realise, Daniella. I'm glad you two stopped dicking about and got it on.'

  She puffed out her cheeks and exhaled. That was the thing. They hadn't 'got it on'. Franco said moving things in that direction was her choice but he kept such a distance she was positive he was more than happy to keep things platonic. Franco was a virile man, testosterone oozed out of his every pore, so if he wanted Daniella in that way he would have made more of an effort to seduce her by now. Although Enos was correct about most things, he was wrong about that. Franco did not harbour feelings for Daniella, not amorous ones anyway. This was purely a business arrangement for Franco. And in a few short months, she thought sadly, Enos will be her ex-brother-in-law in the same way Franco will be her ex-husband.

  However, his words swirled around and around in her brain all through dinner. She was vaguely aware that the food was as magnificent as ever and Enos had dominated the conversation. Even Franco was in the most relaxed state she had witnessed him in since their reunion. She floated in and out of the chitter-chatter, distracted by the revelation of her father's extramarital affair and the prospect that Franco may have feelings for her. Daniella's mind scoured the last few weeks, searching for clues. Evidence that would prove Enos right. All her mind’s eye would present were arguments to the contrary. Feeling like a third wheel she excused herself early, leaving them having a heated discussion about which one had stolen their Nanny's knickers from the washing line and thrown them in the pool. Before ascending the stairs, she paused to sneak one more glance at the two men on the terrace and her eyes locked with Franco's. Embarrassed to have been caught looking she snapped her face away, but not before she saw him wink at her.

  Winked. He winked at her. A small sign but a sign nonetheless. Or was it? Was he thanking her for being discreet about their arrangement? Or was he keeping up the show. Winking so Enos would see his subtle affection towards her. That had to be it.

  Daniella lay in bed, her eyes transfixed on the ceiling, trying to find some rhythm in the shadows dancing above her head, delicate ripples caused by the moonlight bouncing from the swimming pool; she hoped against all odds that the movement would lull her into a deep sleep but her hyperactive brain was having none of it. Throwing the sheets to one side, she swung her feet off the bed and sat upright. Her gaze landed on the connecting door. Irritated by the site of it she groaned. That door. Two inches of wood was all that stood between her and Franco. Two flimsy inches. The jovial voices outside had silenced several hours ago. He was probably sleeping behind that door. Sleeping like a babe. She stood and took two shaky steps towards the door, which suddenly appeared far more domineering than it had when she'd climbed into bed earlier.

  No! She couldn't do it. Shaking herself into reality, she shrank her shoulders. To go to Franco now would be committing emotional suicide. No. It wasn't happening.

  Yes! The devil
whispered in her ear. All you want to do is talk to him, it said, to get some clarification about his feelings towards you. Where's the harm?

  Daniella raised her fists and knocked her knuckles against her temples in an attempt to shut the voice up. The potential for harm if she opened that door were infinite. The voice refused to shut up though.

  He's in there, Daniella. Open the damn door. Twisting a bloody doorknob does not commit you to anything. You can leave whenever you want.

  The sane side of her wanted to argue but the fiendish voice wittering in her ear won out. Resting her fingers on the handle, she pushed to dislodge the latch. The door opened wide with minimal effort, almost as if there was an ethereal being assisting the entire process. Her breath hitched when she laid eyes on him. Slouched over a laptop, lit only by a dim desk lamp and the blue-white light of the screen. He wore nothing but a pair of casual jogging trousers, his chest bare, sinewy muscles defined even when relaxed. She was drinking in the mirage when his eyes lifted to meet hers and a smile spread across his face.

  'Daniella,' he purred. 'I was half expecting you to never cross the threshold.' His eyes remained fixed on hers as he stood and stalked towards her.

  Although, she hadn't crossed the threshold yet. She could still turn back; leave before she made a fool of herself. 'I'm sorry to disturb you, Franco,' she said lifting her foot to retreat. 'I opened the wrong door, I was sleepy you see and was going to the kitchen for water.'

  Franco continued to prowl towards her, unperturbed by her flimsy excuses.

  'Would you like me to get you one while I'm down there?' she offered but before she could escape, he snaked his hand out and grabbed her wrist.

  'Come, let's talk,' he slurred, his accent appearing thicker, or was it her brain numbing at his closeness? He tugged on her arm and with no defiance, she stepped towards him. Over the threshold.

  The moonlight from her room flooded through the open door and cast shadows over Franco's face, accentuating every chiselled angle of his enigmatic face, every curve of his sumptuous lips. Highlighting every blaze of desire sparking behind his mystifying eyes, the eyes that inspected her barely dressed body. The eyes that burnt holes in the flimsy material of her summer sleepwear, rendering her naked to him. Shifting her eyes around the room, she wasn't sure where to look. His eyes were too intense, she feared they would drag her under a spell from which she may never wake up. But his body was too divine to casually observe. The taper from his chest to his torso begged to be explored. The taut skin of his defined stomach, cut short by a ring of grey material, which with zero effort could be discarded, exposing, well, exposing the part of him she longed for and yet feared the most.

  Hooking a finger under her chin, he lifted her face from where it had fallen, to meet his gaze. 'You look, but dare you touch?'

  She burned with embarrassment at where her eyes had landed, and where her thoughts had roamed.

  'You can touch, Daniella,' he continued. 'I won't hurt you.'

  She swallowed hard. Oh, he could hurt her. He could hurt her in more ways than he could possibly imagine without ever once raising a hand in anger.

  'I can't.'

  'You can,' he urged. 'You just have to let go of your doubts.'

  Raising her eyes to his she found a speck of courage. 'Should I have doubts, Franco?'

  He swallowed and dipped his head towards hers. 'I don't know, Daniella, I don't know,' his lips locked onto hers. Tenderly. A far cry from the fervent kiss of this morning, which had left Daniella dazed and confused, emotionally beaten and bruised. Her lips parted and he flicked his tongue across her teeth, a secret password to which they responded. Eagerly, she welcomed the kiss and stepped forward to bridge the gap between them. Her curves meshed perfectly against the rigid lines of his body, his arms encircled her. One strong forearm rested on the curvature of her lower spine and the other snaked its way up her back. His hand cupped the back of her head, taking the weight, allowing her to melt into his embrace.

  'Franco, I...' she whimpered when he removed his mouth from hers.

  'Quiet, Daniella, later we speak,' he breathed while planting soft feathery kisses down her throat. Small sparks danced wherever his lips graced her flesh. Gentle spasms threatened to buckle her legs. Sensing her weakness, Franco scooped her clear into the air and carried her, like a war hero, to his bed. Placing her down, he took his time to admire her before climbing on top of her, his muscles flexing beneath his skin resembled a cheetah stalking its prey. He may have looked like a wild beast preparing to tear her limb from limb but he carried himself with grace. Applying enough weight to let her know he had every intention of taking her, but not causing her an ounce of discomfort. With every touch, every stroke, and every kiss, her anxieties about this whole thing dissipated, no man would project such tender affection to a woman he couldn't tolerate, surely.

  A groan poured out of Daniella as he shifted his weight and pulled her vest top to one side, his fingers teased her nipple, making it sit up and beg. Making every nerve ending in her body sit up and beg.

  'Your body, Daniella,' Franco said, his voice vibrating against her throat. 'It is divine. Simply divine.' He descended, pausing to nibble and suck on her exposed breast before lowering himself further.

  Every muscle in Daniella's body seized when the realisation dawned on her what he was going to do. 'Franco, you can't...'

  Trailing his tongue across the length of her stomach and swirling it suggestively around her belly button, he stopped and laughed. 'Oh Daniella, I can,' he lapped the tip of his tongue against her inner thigh, dangerously close to his final destination. 'And I will.'

  Her thighs attempted to clamp together in protest, but failed. For as soon as his fingers hooked into the waistband of her shorts and trailed them down her prickling flesh they relented and relaxed for him.

  Daniella virtually leapt off the bed when he first made contact with her sex. Only Franco's brute strength held her still long enough for her to immerse herself in his attention, to relax into his worshipping of her. It took merely seconds of him feasting on her folds, of teasing her sensitive nub, before she began to lose herself. An intense power took control of Daniella; Franco felt it too as he clamped his hand across her stomach without once losing rhythm. As the power rose from the tips of her toes and spread through her veins, she clasped the sheets with her fingers, bracing herself for the explosion. Her vision whitened as Franco's tongue worked itself into a frenzy, urging the detonation forward, working tirelessly to bring her to climax. His dedication was rewarded when, with a ferocious roar, Daniella was brought to the brink. Her thighs clamped against his head and her body jerked out of control. Spasms washed over her as she lowered herself, a vertebra at a time, back onto the bed.

  'See,' he smirked down at her. 'I told you I could.'

  Daniella had no words. She simply wasn't capable of devising a coherent sentence anymore. Instead, she reached up and pulled Franco towards her for a kiss. He tasted of her; the bittersweet piquancy of her honey lingered on his lips and tongue but it didn't last. She kissed him with such abandon and so much honesty that the taste was soon gone and all that remained was the savoury flavour of his masculinity.

  'Make love to me, Franco,' Daniella begged, mortified at the desperation in her voice but she couldn't mask it. She was desperate for him. Had been desperate for Franco for as long as she could remember.

  'Are you sure, Daniella?' he asked. Her name rolling off his tongue, ringing in the air surrounding them.

  Daniella nodded, although sensitive from his relishing of her, the apex of her thighs smarted so much it was painful, her body called for him, needed him. Franco thoughtfully chewed the inside of his cheek and for a moment, a horrible lonely moment, she thought he was going to decline. That he had come to his senses and remembered that she was here to repay a debt, and only that reason. Her face flushed with humiliation and she squirmed inwardly.

  'If I take you now,' Franco said, his brows furrowed with sincerity. 'I
fear I will never stop taking you. I will take you morning, noon and night and I will fuck you until you are a quivering wreck of your former self. Is that what you want, Daniella? Is that the future you see for yourself?'

  No doubt about it. In that moment, Daniella wanted nothing more than for Franco to take control of her. To claim her as his. Fucking, and being fucked by him was a much repeated fantasy which resided in the darkest corners of her mind. Far-fetched fantasies which up until now had been safe because they would never in a million years become reality. Swallowing all apprehensions, she closed her eyes and tilted her chin in the slightest of nods.

  'Very well,' Franco said standing to the side of the bed and removing his clothing. Unveiling himself to her. She couldn't, daren't, look. Daniella considered running but she couldn't. Paralysed by desire. Hooked by lust. Caught up by intoxication, she yielded herself to him.

  He nudged the head of his manhood against her. She flinched, her delicate sex still recovering, but still, urged him on. His dick, hard as marble and twice as strong, inched forward, until he filled her completely. His entire body quivered and his face was one of utter concentration as he fought every urge in his body to climax too soon. They moulded to each other, like two halves of a necklace that were once one. The perfect fit. Together they rocked. Her, tilting her hips towards him, wanting more. Him, rooting for something, an answer to a secret of which only she knew the answer. Their dance, choreographed to perfection, gradually increasing in tempo. His thrust became more confident. Her wanting hit a crescendo. His grinding escalated to an impassioned fury. Her nails dug into the damp skin of his back. Pulling him in deeper until Franco cussed profusely, his guttural cries unfurling into the night when, with one final thrust, he climaxed. The power of his orgasm tipped Daniella over the edge and she too hit dizzying heights of unabashed pleasure. Shivers rocked her to the core, excessive at first before tapering off, allowing her to descend back down to earth where she joined her lover in a mutual state of drained euphoria.