Temporarily Hitched : A second chance fake marriage romance

by Diane Louise

  'What the fuck?' she said into Franco's chest. 'What do they want?'

  He wrapped his hand around her head, shielding her from the onslaught. 'Somebody must have told them about our return from honeymoon.'

  'I can't get out of the car, Franco,' she sobbed. 'Please, don't make me face them. I couldn't bear it.'

  'No,' he agreed. 'If the vultures catch wind of us living apart then everything, the entire exercise, will have been a waste of time.' He instructed the driver to plough on through the crowd and not stop until they were safe within the grounds of his house. 'You can come back to my home. Just until the dust settles,' he said.

  Her muscles uncoiled in his arms as they drove past her home and towards privacy. Knowing that they were on their way to his home and that she was going to spend more time with him made her prickle with optimism. Another chance to demonstrate that she was good for him, that he needed her. Because lord knows, she needed him. 'Thank you,' she whispered.

  'Needs must.' He reminded her coldly. Two little words to remind her that it was just for practicality’s sake. For the benefit of his business, and his future. Not for the benefit of saving their marriage.

  Franco's home was impressive. It wasn't quite as impersonal as his home in Pozuelo, but close to it. Designed to within an inch of its being but not one personal photograph in sight. Had Daniella not been so buried in the up coming performance of Moulin Rouge, life would have been lonely for her. Franco was absent more than he was present. When he was home, they had fallen into the routine of dining together before retiring to bed and having sex. Glorious, never tedious, sex. She still spent the nights that he was away in her own room though, and her belongings never ventured into his domain. If she did leave something innocuous in his bathroom, like a hairbrush, the staff always returned it to its rightful place. Away from him. Likely, at his instruction she thought.

  At final dress rehearsals before opening night, Daniella was barely able to follow along. Sitting alone on the back row, she wallowed in hidden despair, and wanted nothing more than to blend into her surroundings. To disappear from view and the joyful discussions about how fabulous the wedding had been and what a beautiful couple Franco and Daniella made. If only they knew. Enough time had lapsed, so Daniella decided it was time for her to return home. To her home. She couldn't expect her neighbour to go on feeding His Royal Highness, the cat would be missing her tremendously and if she wasn't careful would fall out of love with her and find a new residence. That would destroy Daniella.

  Her team busily buzzed around her, she could see their excitement, it was written all over their faces and in their movements, yet she felt oddly removed from it all. Cocooned in a bubble, unable to process and rejoice in their hysteria. She was beginning to wonder if her love for Franco, and his refusal to requite her feelings, was rotting away at her emotions and dulling her senses. If that was the case, she had to leave his property. As soon as possible. Maybe after opening night. Two more nights wouldn't destroy her.

  She returned home late that night. The novelty of electric gates and motion sensing lights had worn off and she yearned for simplicity. She punched the security code into the door entry system and allowed it to scan her retina. Pushing open the door she tip toed in, why she needed to sneak in after dark was beyond her. All bedrooms were quite a distance from the garage and before entering living spaces there was a maze of corridors to navigate first. Nonetheless, carrying her shoes in her hand she padded along the tiled corridor. She paused outside the kitchen door where a slither of light escaped into the dim passageway. Somebody was awake. Glancing at her watch, she saw it was way past midnight. The residential staff all enjoyed private quarters of their own, they had no reason to be in the kitchen this late. As for Franco, he'd be either sleeping or working in his study. Not in the kitchen. Daniella knew for a fact that he frowned upon late night snacking. When they were in Pozuelo, he had found her buried up to her chest in the fridge at one o'clock in the morning and made it clear he considered uncontrolled and unplanned eating a sign of weakness. She controlled her urges ever since.

  Could there be an intruder? If there was, Daniella had a choice. She could either return the way she came, and call for help from the garage, or she could bypass the kitchen door and enter the main body of the house via the wine cellar, and risk being seen by another burglar. She cocked her head closer to the door when she heard a gentle mewing. A cat? Franco didn't own a cat. He couldn't stomach animals in his living space. So why could she hear a cat mewl in the kitchen? And a voice. Somebody was talking. To the cat. Pennies began to drop all around Daniella and she relaxed. There was no thief in the night. Franco was awake. But what was he playing at? She nudged the door enough to get a good view and bit down on her knuckle to contain a giggle when she saw him, or rather them. A perturbed looking Franco stood by the kitchen surface with a bowl of cat food in front of him. And a very wary His Royal Highness watched him through slit eyes. It looked like she arrived at just the right time. The pair were involved in some kind of stand off and Franco clearly had not yet learnt that nobody, not a single soul, not even her, ever beat His Royal Highness at a challenge where food was concerned.

  'If you're trying to feed him chicken chunks in gravy he won't have it. Turkey, Beef, Duck or lamb, yes. Chicken, no.' Daniella advised walking into the kitchen and dropping her bag and shoes on the chair. She strode straight over to His Royal highness and scooped him up in her arms where he purred as if he hadn't seen her in years.

  'You named your cat well,' Franco said. 'I should have left him where he was. Contrary mother-fucker.'

  'Take's one to know one,' Daniella said nuzzling into the felines soft fur. 'Ouch.' She winced when she saw the shredded hand Franco held up for her.

  'The little bastard did not want to come with me.'

  'Did you ask nicely?'

  'Should I have to?' Franco asked sucking on a particularly raw looking scratch on his middle finger. ‘I was bringing him to his mistress. He should have been glad.'

  Daniella smiled down at her cat, unable to believe he was there. Unable to believe Franco had retrieved him for her. His loathing of animals wasn't a secret. Even as kids, he had refused to accept a gold fish as a pet, the thought of the creature swimming around in its own urine churned his stomach and a cat's hygiene rituals made him wretch. The thought of an animal licking its own ass clean sent him over the edge. Therefore, having a cat in his kitchen, sitting where Franco prepared food, was a monumental gesture on his part.

  'Thank you, Franco,' Daniella said, and in a heartbeat changed her mind. She didn't have to leave straight away; maybe she could stay for another week.

  Sidling up behind her, Franco wrapped his thick arms around her middle. The sensation of his thumb stroking her stomach made it clench involuntarily. She was beginning to recognise the feeling; she'd heard other women talk about it but never experienced it herself until now. Maternal yearning. Just lately, it surfaced every time he touched her abdomen and she wondered if he was aware because his hands ventured there more and more. Daniella allowed his Royal Highness to jump out of her embrace and lifted her arm over her head, wrapping her hand around Franco's neck as he nibbled on her earlobe.

  'How thankful are you?' he asked.

  'Extremely,' she said, unable to hold a steady voice as his hand slipped up her skirt and his fingers plunged into her already moist pussy.

  'Clearly.' Removing his fingers from her depths he circled her already swollen clitoris. 'Maybe we should take this upstairs.'

  Daniella removed his hand from her underwear before pulling her skirt up to her hips, jumping up she wrapped her legs around his middle. 'Why waste time?' She said, her eyes challenging his intensely lustful gaze.

  He couldn't agree more.

  'What do you mean, accident?' Daniella said down the telephone. Concern etched on her face as she stared at Franco with eyes wider than His Royal Majesty's. 'Are they hurt? Bad? When? How did they manage it?'

  The imp
assioned encounter had once again taken Daniella to some place else. As it always did with Franco, their lovemaking may be unpredictable but the outcome was always the same. Pure, unadulterated bliss. It was while she draped herself over him, reveling in his embrace and recovering from another monumental climax, that her phone had rung. The temptation had been to ignore it. To ignore the outside world for one more minute. Or until tomorrow. Only when the phone chimed again within seconds of ringing off she decided it needed her attention. If there was ever a call she wished she hadn't answered, this was it.

  'Do you want me to come to the hospital?' She slid off the counter top and straightened her clothes. Franco gestured to her, trying to ask what was wrong, but she turned her shoulder to focus on the caller. 'Never mind the show. As long as they'll recover, we'll have to postpone for a few weeks.' She ended the call but kept her eyes transfixed on the blank screen.

  'What is it, Daniella?' Franco asked tentatively. 'What's happened?'

  'It's Tina, and her understudy, Emily.' Daniella tapped the phone against her chin and stared at nothing in particular. 'There's been a crash. An accident.'

  Franco rushed to Daniella's side and placed a hand on her lower back. 'Are they OK?'

  She nodded. 'Yes.'

  'And the show?'

  'We have no Green Fairy so it can't go on. I'll need to postpone it.' Daniella snapped into action. Walking over to the breakfast table, where her laptop was still open from the morning, she opened a spreadsheet and set to work. 'I'll email the audience now, then follow up with telephone calls in tomorrow.' The blue light emanating from the computer screen highlighted her concerned expression.

  'You don't need to do that.' Franco said, taking a seat beside her and lowering the laptop. 'You'll lose money.'

  Daniella frowned. 'True, some people will want a refund, but there will be plenty who will defer their tickets to a future date. I'll offer a courtesy drink at the bar during the interval as compensation.'

  'Daniella, you don't need to do that.'

  'Franco,' she snapped. 'Do I tell you how to run your business?' She opened the laptop lid again but before she could re-enter her password he lowered it a few inches.

  'There is one person who knows the show better than anybody else. And that person is more than capable of taking to the stage and saving the day.'

  The flush of colour still lingering on Daniella's cheeks ebbed away. 'You can't be suggesting that I...'

  Franco shrugged. 'Why not?'

  'Because.'

  'Because, what?'

  'Because I'll be needed elsewhere.'

  'Where?'

  Daniella slammed the computer closed. 'Everywhere!' she shouted, thrusting her hands into the air. 'Costume, make-up, sound. They'll all need me at some point. I can't be on stage. I need to be available.' She stood from the seat but her stomach lagged behind such was the weight that had formed inside. 'Getting on stage is out of the question.'

  'Believe it or not Daniella, you are dispensable.'

  'If you say so.' She let his insult sit for a moment before clamouring to collect her things. 'I'll be working in my bedroom. Good night.'

  Franco growled with frustration. 'What is wrong with you, woman?' He ran his hand through his hair before grabbing her wrist, stopping her from leaving. 'Do you enjoy living on the breadline so much you'll throw good money down the drain to save your stupid fucking pride?'

  Daniella opened her mouth to retort but no words came.

  Franco continued. 'I don't get it. How can you go from being so damn fame hungry that you'll sell out everyone around you, then flick it off, like a switch.' He clicked his fingers for emphasis. 'You have to grow up, Daniella. Take responsibility for your actions. If you shut down the show tomorrow night, it's not just your bottom line that'll hurt; you'll be hurting the pockets of your team too.' He dropped her wrist and jabbed his finger in her direction. 'You'd see them struggle to pay their rent before you swallow your stupid fucking pride?' Shaking his head, he added. 'I'm ashamed of you.'

  She flinched at his words but knew they were true. She couldn't do it though. She just couldn't. 'But...'

  'No excuses, Daniella.' He stood tall, pulling his shoulders back and regarding her like a parent laying down the law. 'You are taking to that stage. I don't care if the prospect fills you with dread. It's time to face your fears. Be responsible for once in your life, Daniella.'

  Chapter Nine

  Now was the time to tell him that she had done nothing in her life but take responsibility. It was due to her dogged responsibility that she was standing in his kitchen. Allowing him to ridicule her, to force her into doing something that frankly, she did not want to do. It was taking responsibility for her actions that had driven her up the aisle and compelled her to enter a loveless marriage. Taking responsibility for other people’s crap was her middle fucking name.

  Franco was not playing fair. She would lay her life on the line for her team, and he knew she would. She would do anything for them. But to go on stage. To taste the divine pleasures of performing for a crowd, the addictive high of putting yourself to one side and becoming another person. The intoxicating buzz from transporting an audience to another place, even for one night. Daniella shut that door many years ago. Bolted it. Bricked it up. Exactly as she should have done with the interconnecting door at Pozuelo. Doors, once closed, should remain closed.

  'It's not facing a fear, Franco,' she corrected him. 'It's letting sleeping dogs lie.'

  He pursed his lips and nodded his head, disbelief flinting from his eyes. 'If you insist.'

  'I insist.'

  'Then there is nothing I can say to change your mind.'

  'Absolutely nothing.'

  She could see though that there were things he wanted to say. There were things she wanted to say too. If only they could communicate as beautifully as they made love.

  'It isn't a fear of performing, Franco,' Daniella said, offering an olive branch.

  'Then what is it?'

  She paused before answering, not sure of how much to reveal. 'I made the conscious decision a long, long time ago never to perform on stage again.' Slumping down into a nearby chair, she placed the laptop beside her and rubbed her lips with the tips of her fingers. She hadn't spoken of her decision to quit her pursuit of fame in a very long time and doing so now, under the deploring stare of Franco, was hard. 'When I returned from Pozuelo as a teenager, I was angry, and confused.'

  'We were all hurting back then,' he said.

  She looked up at Franco who relaxed his posture and leaned against the oversized fridge, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed across his chest, in full listening mode.

  'Don't you think I know that?' Daniella said. 'My family were angry with me. My mother couldn't wrap her head around anything. My father stopped talking to me.' Her nostrils flared at the thought of her father. Seven years ago, she had assumed his silence was down to disappointment. Now she knew about his plotting, scheming, and philandering, she wondered how much of his sullenness was driven by guilt. 'The media attention was out of control. I couldn't breath.'

  Franco said nothing but continued to nod, encouraging her on.

  'I went on a date once, do you know what happened? When we were leaving the restaurant a bloody paparazzi asked him if he was aware that he was dating a kiss and tell girl.' Daniella forced out a laugh. 'He made it sound like I made a career out of divulging my sex life to the media. We never did go on a second date. In fact, for a long time, there were no dates. That reputation stuck. Like a fucking leech.'

  'That was then,' Franco reasoned. 'And this is now. I'm not suggesting that you audition for a West End show. I'm suggesting, for the sake of everybody, you bite the bullet, cover for your colleagues, and let them all be paid for the work they have put in so far.'

  He was correct. Up until now, Daniella had managed to escape the stage but her luck had run out. So, with a heavy heart, she reopened the laptop and navigated to her email account. But not to can
cel the show. Instead, she messaged every member of her team and advised them of temporary changes to the cast list.

  Why the hell had Tina never mentioned how much the costume itched? The fabric against her skin was driving her wild. However, Daniella was surprised to find that she was able to slip into the miniscule green blend of sequins and tulle with ease. She had always considered Tina to be her thin friend. Putting it down to the stress this year had delivered, she vowed to make the most of her new, slimmer physique and continue to avoid midnight snacks.

  After what felt like only thirty minutes of sleep Daniella had woken that morning and leaned across the bed to retrieve her phone. The number of messages in her inbox blew her away. People asking if she was OK. Why she had decided to take Tina's place. Was she sure. Was this an April Fools. The messages went on and on. The flurry of excitement hadn't settled when she'd arrived that afternoon either. The friendly jibes and goofy jokes from her amazed colleagues took the edge off Daniella's anxiety, albeit temporarily. Now here she was. Her hair gathered up in a sultry up-do. Her face caked in make-up. Her body doused in glitter and wearing the smallest costume of all, she was ready to play her part. Well, physically ready at least. With every passing moment and 'break a leg' comment, her chest tightened and her last shred of mental readiness eroded. The urge to flee crept in. Slowly and discreetly, at first, but now it tugged at her eyes, pulling them towards the illuminated emergency exit sign. Could she do it? Could she run? She had to admit that it certainly felt like the easiest option. Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply, filling her stomach with air, before exhaling, mentally picturing her body from her head to her toes as she did. Her fingers were wrapped so tightly in the tulle skirt her blood supply to the extremities was threatening to quit. Uncurling her hands she took a moment to ensure the rest of her was relaxed before taking three bountiful strides towards the stage.