Temporarily Hitched : A second chance fake marriage romance

by Diane Louise

  'I wouldn't consider that for a second,' he retorted, not taking her at all seriously.

  'I mean it. If the only reason you brought me here tonight was to make me jealous then you are a fool. Women like that don't threaten me,' she lied.

  Franco cocked his eyebrow. 'I don't believe you.'

  'Well, believe me.' Daniella stood proud. 'You can do what you like when I'm not around but you will not humiliate me. Do I make myself clear?'

  Franco bit down on his tongue to suppress his laughter. 'Loud and clear, Mrs Zorita. If only more women were so open minded about fidelity, divorce rates would plummet.'

  Before Daniella could tear shreds off of Franco, a commotion in the other room drew their attention. Raised voices and gasps preceded the sound of smashing glass and screams. A female voice shrieked Enos' name and Daniella flashed Franco a wide-eyed look of horror. He placed his drink on a nearby table and fled to investigate.

  'Enos!' Franco flung himself onto his brothers back to retrieve him from atop a mortified looking man. 'What the hell are you playing at?' Shoving his brother backwards, he positioned himself between Enos, who carried the look of a man possessed, and his dishevelled victim.

  'Your brother's a liability,' the other man said as another assisted him to his feet. 'A fucking liability. I don't know why you carry him like you do; he'll be the ruin of the Zorita name.'

  Franco sensed that Enos was coiled to pounce again so held his arm up as a barrier. 'My apologies, I'll take him home, and please, forward any damage expenses directly to me. I'll see they get paid.'

  The man positioned his fingers under his nose to halt the trickle of blood that threatened to stain his shirt. 'I'll also be in contact with my lawyers.'

  'Mr Verela,' Franco said. 'There'll be no need to take that course of action. I'll see to it that everything is put right.'

  Mr Verela. The party host. Daniella looked at Enos, who appeared to carry no shame at assaulting the man who held an awful lot of influence over their future.

  'Please, do not do anything rash. We'll make it right.' Franco slit his eyes towards his brother. 'Won't we, Enos?'

  'Like fuck we will. The man was talking nonsense; I only stood up for our family name.'

  Franco gritted his teeth. 'Won't we Enos?' He repeated.

  Enos stomped his foot like a petulant child.

  'Enos?' Franco was fast losing his cool and if they didn't go home soon Daniella feared more punches would be thrown.

  'Enos,' she said placing her hand on his arm. 'We should leave. Now.'

  He shoved her hand away. 'What would you do, hmm?' he asked her, spittle pooling in the corners of his mouth. 'If a buffoon started spouting lies about you? Telling anybody who'll listen that your brother pulled strings to keep your career afloat. Would you take it lying down?'

  Daniella looked at Franco but Franco stood motionless. His eyes fixated on the floor, nostrils flaring and jaw twitching.

  'Because that's what this prick is insinuating. He wouldn't recognise raw talent if it chewed off his cock and fed it to the dogs.'

  'That's enough, Enos.' Franco barked. 'That's enough.' He turned on his heels and clicked his fingers at Daniella, indicating it was time to leave.

  Alone in her room and still wearing the dress, Daniella sat in silence. Her mind whirling with the evening's events, sleep was not going to come easy. Enos passed out on the journey home while Franco gnawed on his knuckles. His eyes busy, thoughts running through his mind. Thoughts that he hadn't cared to share with Daniella. Eventually she stopped quizzing him and crawled into her own world.

  A soft sound penetrated the silence. At first, Daniella assumed it was the wind rustling the tree branches in the garden, but when it happened again she bolted upright, just in time to see the interconnecting door handle move. Her breath hitched.

  'Daniella.' Franco knocked on the wood. 'Daniella, open the door.' His voice was gentle and carried no menace but still Daniella hesitated.

  'Please, Daniella. I need you.'

  The sadness he expressed crushed her heart. Clearing her throat, she answered. 'What is it, Franco?'

  'Can we talk?'

  To her dismay, the resolutions she had made to herself earlier about not crossing that threshold again began to melt. How could she refuse him?

  'Just talk?' she whispered through the door.

  'Just talk.'

  Her fingers trembled as she turned the lock and stepped backwards waiting for him to enter. Once the door opened and Franco came into view she exhaled. Standing before her was a broken man. A man who appeared to be carrying the burdens of a thousand men on his shoulders.

  'What is it?' she asked, folding her arms across her chest. The last thing she wanted to do was block him out, especially while he presented himself to her looking so forlorn, but her shield was waning and she feared the direction their talk would take them if she allowed it.

  You're still wearing your dress.' Franco observed, closing the distance between them in two powerful strides.

  'Yes,' she answered, taking a step backwards. His proximity teased every one of her nerve endings.

  'You looked ravishing tonight,' he said.

  Daniella blushed. 'Thank you.'

  'I mean it,' he said, snaking his arm around her waist. To Daniella, his hand, hooked securely onto her hip, felt as if it had found its home. 'I know it must have been intimidating, surrounded by the socialites of Pozuelo, but honestly, Daniella.' He nuzzled at her neck, flicking his tongue over her exposed flesh which only served to send her temperature soaring. 'You outshone every single last one of them.' He punctuated every word of his last statement with a teasing nibble, and with every graze of his teeth, her insides liquefied, until she floundered into him.

  'Thank you,' he murmured. 'Thank you for opening the door. For letting me in.' He leaned closer into her. The bulge in his trousers pressed against her stomach. Warning her of his intentions. Reminding her of how amazing the previous night had been and promising to take her there again.

  Daniella relished the sensations of his hand stroking the fabric of her dress, trailing down the halterneck, cupping her breast. She gasped when he curled his fingers and tugged it to one side. Freeing her mound with no regard for the designer gown. Growling, he took it into his mouth and sucked hungrily. Each flick of his tongue against her sensitive nipple caused her sex to throb, to dampen in preparation for him.

  'No.' Daniella pushed him away. 'I can't, we can't.'

  Franco lifted his face, confusion drawing his brows together. 'Why not?'

  Carefully she straightened her clothing, pulling the neckline back into place as best she could to cover her modesty she walked away a short distance before returning. 'You thanked me for letting you in?'

  Franco eyed her sideways. 'Yes.'

  'You never let me in.'

  At first, Franco appeared confused by her cryptic words. When the realisation of where she was going dawned on him, his shoulders slumped. 'I let you in last night.'

  'How much? How much did you really let me in, Franco?'

  'All the way from what I recall.' He mocked.

  'Please,' Daniella crossed her arms. 'Will you respect me, just once?'

  He mirrored her stance before gesturing for her to go on.

  'I've been thinking.' She began, and when Franco opened his mouth to speak, she shot him a warning look, stopping him from taunting her again. 'Is it true? What the Verela man said, about Enos?'

  Franco closed his eyes and sighed with frustration. 'Verela is a big mouthed fool who...'

  'No, Franco. The truth. Only the truth.'

  'What does it matter?'

  'Have you, or have you not, been pulling strings to assist Enos with his acting?'

  Franco pulled his shoulders back. Taking on the stance of a torero squaring up to slay a bull. Tilting his head back, he gazed down his nose at her. 'What are you after, Daniella?'

  She waved her open palms in frustration at Franco. 'I don't want anything
from you. I just want to know the truth. If you've been using your influence for Enos then why is it such a big deal that my father asked you the same thing?'

  'Ah, I see,' Franco placed his hand back on the door to retreat. 'You've found a chink so now you'll utilise it.' He twisted the handle and opened the door an inch. 'Very astute, I obviously underestimated you.'

  Daniella launched herself towards him, planting her hand on top of his to prevent him from escaping. Franco was hiding something from her. She knew it. Tonight, just a moment ago, he had sounded so forlorn; this could be her only opportunity to get the truth out of him before his guard was back in place.

  'What is it, Franco?' she asked, flashing her eyes wide at him, using them to beg for the truth. 'You're a principled man, why would you go against everything you believe?'

  'He's dying, Daniella.'

  Daniella flinched. 'Dying? Who?'

  'Enos.'

  Her sharp intake of breath made him snap. 'You must have noticed that he is an ill man?'

  'No,' she said. Shaking her head in disbelief. 'I didn't.'

  'How could you not know, look at him? He's emaciated.'

  Daniella leaned against the wall and wrapped her arms around her stomach. 'That's for his project. His job. He's playing the part of a dying patient.' She looked at Franco. 'He was talking about it last night.'

  Franco shook his head. 'No, Daniella. He's ill. His liver. It's failing.'

  'Failing? Can nothing be done?'

  'No, Daniella,' Franco sighed and lowered his hand. 'Nothing can be done to save him.'

  'But surely...'

  'I said no.' Franco put an instant stop to her questioning. 'It is too late.'

  A heavy silence hung between them. Daniella rapidly blinked back tears, thinking of what to say, but the platitudes that sprang into mind felt too feeble. Nothing she could say would alleviate Franco's pain. Or make the horrible thing go away. She watched him, standing motionless in front of her. An orphan, alone in the world, except for his brother. Daniella too, if only he would grant her access to his heart.

  'That's why we are married,' he said.

  'What?' she asked, unsure if she heard correctly.

  Franco sighed and walked over to the bed. He sat with hunched shoulders, looking like a broken man. 'Our marriage was not essential. It didn't need to happen.'

  Daniella folded her arms around her chest as a cold chill worked its way through her bloodstream. She had no idea where Franco was going with his confessions but a tugging in her gut warned that wherever it was, it was not going to be pleasant. She bit her lip and said nothing.

  'Mother had an ultimatum in her will,' he said. 'There was a choice, more to her conditions than I have told you, Daniella.' Franco raised his eyes and regarded her through his thick eyelashes. 'Her shares would go to the Verela family if one of two things did not happen within six months of her passing.'

  Outwardly, Daniella remained silent, but her mind jarred with turbulence.

  'Either I was to marry, and remain married for six months, or...'

  'Or?' she urged

  Franco continued with apprehension. 'Or, Enos was to discontinue his acting career, take up a full time position with Zorita Holdings, and never return to the stage again.'

  The trees bristling in the breeze outside her open window whispered to her, she tried to listen, but their murmurs were nonsensical to her ears. 'But,' she said. 'Why? What was her purpose?'

  Franco shrugged. 'I asked myself the same question, Daniella. I came to the conclusion that she just wanted one of us to be happy.'

  'Happy?' Daniella said. Her voice laced with disdain for the dead woman. 'Forcing one of you to live a miserable life?'

  'I know,' Franco agreed. 'That was my first thought. That it was her final jab at sharing her misery around. Once the dust settled, and my rage dissipated, that was the only thing that made sense, which I could believe without hating her.'

  Daniella sat beside Franco on the bed, so close their shoulders grazed, the impact the tiny touch made on her skin was so intense she shifted away, her priority was to focus on Franco's story, not on her own lusty thoughts.

  'To force a dying man to abandon his dreams,' she said. 'To coerce her son into a marriage that would only serve to make him miserable? Those were conditions that she set to make you happy?' Daniella ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the nape of her neck, as though the pull would provide answers. She was aware of Franco's eyes following the direction of her arm, before landing on her chest. His eyes sparking against the blackness.

  'She was a sick woman, Nella.'

  'You're not kidding.'

  'No, I mean she was ill for a long time,' he explained. 'I never told her about Enos’ failing health. It was more than she could have coped with.'

  Daniella considered her words carefully. Franco had obviously worked through a maelstrom of emotions to arrive at his conclusions. It wasn't her place to question his mother's motives, or to query his compliance. 'So, you sacrificed your own happiness for him. For them.'

  Franco propelled his eyes away from her. 'Yes,' he hissed. 'I suppose I did.'

  Daniella's stomach knotted. That was not what she hoped to hear. Secretly she harboured more than erotic urges towards him. Sex was nothing if she couldn't make him whole. If she couldn't be the one. She wanted to be the woman to make him better, to be his motivation, his rock.

  His finger stroked her thigh through the material of her dress and she looked at him. Not all was lost. She could still be all those things. It needn't be forever. She could be his everything for now. She could assuage his pain; make him forget his miserable predicament for a few minutes. Along with her own.

  Her hand trembled as she reached over to Franco's crotch and released his cock from its restraints. She was surprised by how solid it was, how eager he was for her. She wanted to mount him, to take control. To show him that she was all woman. That she could give him all he needed, and more. With weak legs, she stood before him and looked down, calling upon a higher power to provide her with just a modicum of courage, just enough to take the lead. Franco raised his hands to her hips and pulled her forward a few inches. She stumbled into him and melted when he nuzzled his face into the apex of her thighs. He filled his lungs, inhaling her scent through the fabric. His appreciation made her knees buckle and momentarily, she caved, almost allowing him to take control. To take her. But not tonight. Tonight she was in charge. She was going to take him. She pushed against his solid chest and he rolled down, his arms stretching above his head. Closing his eyes, he relented to her.

  Gathering her skirts, she climbed atop of him. Rotating her hips, she teased his manhood, sliding her sex backwards and forwards, tantalising his cock with the smooth satin crotch of her underwear. She could have climaxed with just the anticipation of what was to come.

  A gargle of satisfaction rattled in his throat, telling her that his arousal was growing out of control. She took that as her cue to move things forward so, sliding her hand between her thighs, she slipped her panties to one side and with a single smooth action, lowered herself onto him. The sensation of his girth filling her, stretching her, warmed Daniella to the core. Together they rocked. Their motions subtle, but enough. Enough for the silent tremor of an impending orgasm to fizz through her entire body. Causing her inner walls to clamp down hard on his dick, milk him of all he had to give, drain him of his woes.

  Once spent, she lowered her head down to his chest and closed her eyes. Listening to the rapid rhythm of his heart she was hyperaware of her own, beating in harmony with his. Their noiseless lovemaking had filled a void. The absence of words that needed to be spoken, for sanity's sake. But not tonight. One night, but not this one.

  Chapter Eight

  London was a world away from Pozuelo. Rolling through it in the back of Franco's chauffeur driven car she felt more like a tourist than a lifelong resident. Had it changed so much in just two weeks? Or had she? Franco worked the entire journey ba
ck, and she busied herself with crosswords, books and watching lovers stroll through the airport. The couples she watched walked in unison, arm in arm, chatting gleefully about, well, Daniella could only imagine what about, but they looked happy. Franco had tried to be upbeat since the Verela party but something had been amiss. They had made love at every opportunity, their groins like magnets unable to peel themselves away from one another. Sometimes tender other times wild, like untamed beasts, rampant and incessant. There was one thing they had not done though. Talk.

  Half concentrating on the page of her book and half watching Franco's handsome face she wanted to speak. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask when she would see him again but there had been no indication that their original plans were to be deviated from.

  'We will have this honeymoon,' Franco had said on their outward journey. 'Once we return we shall return to our ordinary lives. We shall attend social functions together as man and wife for six months to keep the wolves from the door. Once that time is up I will instruct my lawyer to release the funds to your father and then begin legal separation proceedings.'

  Two weeks ago she had leered icy stares into the back of his head. Wished him unwell. It had only been a fortnight since she would have done anything to avoid being in the company of Franco Zorita. The man had manipulated her situation for his own benefit. The man was a control freak who reveled in other people's misery. He was total asshole. Those were her opinions only a short fourteen days ago.

  Now though. Now she wanted him to lift his eyes from the tablet screen and smile his dimpled cheeks at her. She longed for him to ask. Why wouldn't he ask God damn it? Daniella, will you come to my home, live with me, spend the rest of your life with me. Was it really so hard to say?

  As they rounded the final corner towards her home, the brouhaha their arrival caused startled her. A hoard of men, and women, wearing cameras around their necks charged toward the slowing vehicle shouting questions. None of them fully audible over the cacophony. Leaning into Franco, trying to crawl inside of him and out of view, she shaded her face from the paparazzi. Each one of them pressing their camera lenses up to the privacy glass. Each one of them trying to get the money shot.