Taming the Heiress

by Tiffany Graff Winston

  I'm hot on her trail when she rushes out of the theater, but just as I'm about to grab her hand and puller back towards me, we run into a person I really don't want to see right now.

  "Kaiden!" she says happily and I smile a sour grin.

  "Hello, mother," I greet her, finally stopping right along with Francesca, who immediately blushes a deep shade of beetroot. I bet she's wondering whether my movie star mother can tell what we just did when we should have been watching her newest flick ...

  "And who is your little friend?" she asks curiously, looking at Francesca out of the corner of her eye.

  Here's the thing.

  I've never brought a girl home, never voluntarily introduced someone to my mother.

  Sure, she knows I have quite the reputation, and she's met some of the girls I dated, had flings with, even. But somehow, I want to shield Francesca from her imploring gaze, as if afraid I'll lose her to my mother.

  How sick is that?

  Reluctantly, I introduce the two with a fake smile plastered across my face.

  "Mom, this is Francesca DeMarco," I say, stepping aside so the two can shake hands. "Francesca, this is Monica Hunter."

  "Pleased to meet you," my mother says pleasantly as she checks out Francesca, and she says something nice in response but it's so quiet I can barely make out the words.

  My mother scrutinizes Francesca's appearance and it's the most awkward minute I've ever had to live through. I know I've been seen with some pretty questionable women, but having my mother stare my almost-date down is pretty awkward nonetheless.

  "I like your styling," she finally offers with a merciful smile, and Francesca smiles gratefully while I breathe a sigh of relief. She might not know it, but a compliment like that from my mother means a lot.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Hunter," Francesca says, smiling a little awkwardly. "You look beautiful today. Are you wearing Cartier?"

  My mother's hand flutters to her neck, where a thick necklace encrusted with jewels is resting. "Indeed I am," she says, looking intrigued. "You have a good eye."

  Francesca blushes with pleasure and it makes me weirdly happy to see these two connecting like they just did. My good mood might have come too soon though, because my mother has a new slew of questions for us, starting with one I very well can't answer.

  "So!" she says enthusiastically, looking around, probably to check if there's a photographer around that she should pay attention to. Finding no one of importance, she focuses back on us. "Did you enjoy the movie?"

  Francesca flushes in such a deep shade of pink it's almost purple and I actually have to bite back a laugh. My comments, however, come out uncensored.

  "Loved it, Mom," I say enthusiastically. "I think Francesca liked it even more than I did though! Every time I looked at her, she was flushed and fanning herself. Especially during the sex parts."

  Francesca looks like she wishes the earth would open underneath her and swallow her whole, but not before she smacks me silly. And it makes me weirdly happy to get a rouse out of her.

  My mother looks quite shell-shocked as well, but pretty soon, her expression is replaced by a pleasant smile. "Yes, the love scene were very artistic, weren't they?" she says dreamily.

  Let me tell you, I caught a glimpse of the sex scenes while I was playing with Francesca, and nothing about seeing your mother's bare breasts jumping up and down on a big movie screen screams artistic to me.

  But I can't resist the opportunity to torment my little sex kitten even more.

  "Indeed," I say with a somber nod. "Francesca is quite artistic, that's probably why she got so into them. I could swear I caught her panting at one point."

  My mother laughs pleasantly, the sound of which is cut short as her name is called by a slew of photographers. She excuses herself politely and I'm left alone with a steaming date by my side.

  "Wasn't that fun?" I ask with a smirk on my face, finally turning to look her in the eye.

  And what I see surprises me, because Francesca's eyes are filled to the brim with hot tears of humiliation.

  Before I can react, her hand hits my face with a loud 'smack' and she turns around and storms off, while I stand there, the sound of her slap resonating in my ears and a burning sensation spreading through my cheek.

  "Trouble in paradise, Kaiden?" a photographer shouts at me, and of course, I realize they got it all on their cameras.

  How's that for a hot story?

  Chapter 8

  FRANCESCA

  I don't think I can eat another scoop of ice cream for the rest of my life.

  For the past week, all I've been doing is being cooped up in the apartment, eating junk food when my tummy aches get too bad. Basically, I've been existing on Ben & Jerry's Cookie Dough, and a box of donuts Emmalee brought to my place a few days ago, worried about me.

  The donuts are all that is left now, since I can't fathom eating another spoon of ice cream, and since they're so old they've gotten moldy, I'd rather not risk it.

  At that point, I realize I can't stay in my apartment for ever.

  Never mind the fact I've been told that by Emma, my housekeeper, my brother and both my parents. I needed the time to heal, because the past week has been nothing but a shit storm of blog posts, tabloid articles and general terrible gossip.

  It started with Kaiden's damn interview. And then someone took a photo of me arriving at his place, which was just perfect, because it kicked off further speculation.

  Of course, it wasn't mentioned until the day of the premiere, when I was too busy to pay attention to the media. Then, all hell broke loose the day of the movie premiere ...

  There were photos of everything - save for our little touch and feel exploration in the theater, thank God. If anyone were to know about that, I would just about die of embarrassment.

  But there were plenty of other photos ... Like me, red as a tomato, in the middle of an embarrassing conversation with Monica Hunter.

  Fucking Monica Hunter, who's won two Oscars, and I was being teased about being fingered in front of her. Can I die now, please?

  And then there were the photos of me slapping Kaiden, which of course, fired off a whole new story and plenty of speculation about what happened.

  Let's just say our faces have been plastered on every gossip website, many of which took it upon themselves to tag me in their posts to make sure I saw it. Who does that?

  I don't let myself think about him.

  Meaning, I try to stop it, but occasionally it does happen.

  I'm too embarrassed to even think about what I let him do in the theater, but what's surprising is the fact that he hasn't made a single comment to the media about us. Actually, the tabloid's favorite movie star kid has been keeping low, not even photographed with a pretty model, leaving a club and looking completely shitfaced.

  It's mildly shocking.

  But I don't let myself dwell on it too much, because Kaiden Hunter is a complete, utter asshole, and I don't want anything to do with him.

  My phone has been ringing off the hook, though I haven't bothered to check my messages yet. Not many people have this number, so I have no idea whether the media got a hold of it or what.

  However, staring at the moldy donuts I realize something's gotta give.

  With a sigh, I take a long shower, dry my hair and sit down to do my hair and makeup. Somehow, despite the fact that I've been existing on junk food for the past week, I seem to have lost weight. My cheekbones are jutting out even more than usual, and it's not a good look for me.

  With a sigh, I glance at my answering machine, wondering whether I should just delete everything. On a whim, I press the button to hear my messages, of which I have 37.

  I take my makeup brush and start to apply eye shadow, when Kaiden's voice comes across the line and I immediately drag a line all over my eye, ruining my makeup before I've even started.

  I pout and start to remove the eye shadow, ignoring his pleading voice in the machine, but too stubborn to turn i
t off. Or at least that's what I'm telling myself ...

  He starts with apologies. He's sorry, he fucked up, he was nervous, he feels strange around me. He trips over his words in a rush to get them out, and it's kind of cute.

  Next, he tries flirting with me, which makes my blood boil in my veins. It's still kind of adorable though, and I don't mind hearing the compliments after a week of self-pity.

  Then we have mild annoyance because apparently, it's been three days since the premiere and I haven't bothered to answer my phone, plus Emma won't give him my address.

  Poor thing.

  And smart Emma.

  But why am I kind of angry at her, then?

  The messages go from angry, frustrated, flirty and then some more apologizing, and by the end, I'm completely exhausted. But my makeup is finished too, and I've gotten dressed as well. So I take a deep breath and prepare myself for my first foray into the outside world after a week of absence.

  I figure a little shopping never hurt nobody, so I call my driver and he confirms he'll be waiting for me downstairs in a few minutes.

  Feeling restless, I finally decide to just head outside and get some fresh air.

  As soon as I step out on the pavement, I regret my decision. There's a whole bunch of photographers camped out in front of my building, and I can barely shade my eyes with a pair of sunglasses before they start snapping their cameras in my direction.

  Questions about Kaiden are fired at me, and I ignore every single one.

  Probably because at that moment, I spot the man himself standing across the street from me, partially hidden by a tree and disguised with a newspaper.

  It actually makes me smile, it's that silly.

  He motions for me to come closer, and I don't know why, but I really want to.

  So for once, I listen to my heart, not my head. I follow him into a side alley, shaking the photographers off and almost bumping into Kaiden when I turn the corner.

  "Fuck, you scared me," I curse out loud, then clear my throat, feeling embarrassed by his mere presence.

  I'm afraid to look up, because his closeness alone makes me lose my mind. I'm angry, feel cheated and annoyed, but there's still that underlying current of attraction between us ... And I'm afraid that if I raise my eyes to his, I'll lose any resolve I had when I came out of the building.

  Thank God I'm wearing sunglasses.

  "Francesca," he breathes and my heart does a wild thing in my chest, hearing my name on his lips. He should say it more often, it sounds that good.

  "Yes?" I reply icily.

  He flashes me an embarrassed grin, scratching his head, obviously gathering the courage to apologize to me in person, too. "I've been a jerk," he finally admits. "Sometimes it's hard to get out of my own skin ... I think you just drive me a little bit crazy."

  I raise my eyebrows, not bothering to say a word, but imploring him to go on with my gaze alone.

  "Fuck, I don't know," he says, frustrated. "I just ... I really like you."

  I snort and he starts waving a hand in the air. "No, I do ... Not like anyone else before you. And I'm so scared you'll realize I'm not good enough for you, you'll just write me off."

  I can feel the sincerity in his voice and I finally take my sunglasses off, looking him straight in the eye. "I don't like people messing with me," I say sternly.

  "I've noticed." His grin grows wider and an impulse to smack it off his face overtakes me. As long as it's followed by a long, slow kiss ...

  "Please, I need you to be respectful," I ask him, and this time, I think he can see I'm being serious. "I'm fine with banter ..." I reach over to him, gently stroking his arm. "But I like to keep my image spotless, and you're really not helping with that, saying things like you did at the premiere."

  He actually looks sheepish for a moment, but as my hand moves up his biceps, he grins slowly, lazily. "Like what you feel?" he asks, his voice rough.

  I shrug, smiling a wicked grin myself. "I could do better," I tease him.

  "Oh yeah?" His eyebrows shoot up. "I bet I can take him."

  "We'll see," I promise him, turning around to leave the alley. Just as I'm about to go, he grabs my arm and pulls me back, wrapping me in a tight embrace.

  "Going somewhere?" he whispers in my ear. "But we're nowhere near done ..."

  And then he kisses me, just like I want him to. His breath is hot and minty, and he pulls on my lower lip with his teeth gently, making me go crazy. His tongue darts in my mouth, licking mine, making my head spin and my stomach drop.

  His hand finds the small of my back and he pulls me closer, making me whimper as his hands roam my body.

  "More?" he asks, teasing me, moving away just a few inches. But it's too much, and I want him back where he was right away.

  I don't respond, instead pulling him closer until our lips collide again.

  But then, the perfect moment is spoiled by a bright light flashing in my eyes.

  "Francesca! Francesca! Look this way," someone shouts and I immediately move away from Kaiden's embrace, looking like a deer in the headlights as photographers swarm us.

  Fuck, we should've been more careful.

  I know the question is coming, so it shouldn't be a surprise when someone asks me about my father. But nonetheless, my heart falls deep, crashing against my ribcage when they do.

  "What is happening, Francesca? What about your engagement? Does your father know you're cheating on your fiancé?"

  Kaiden looks at me with complete shock as a slew of questions are fired at us, and my heart skips a beat, knowing my game is finally up.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Chapter 9

  FRANCESCA

  I feel like I need to take a moment to explain myself.

  I'm not a bad person, I'm really not ... But it just so happens I might be engaged at the moment to a man who is most definitely not Kaiden Hunter.

  Here's how it all happened ...

  3 months ago

  "Francesca! Come in here," my father beckons me to come into his office. With a heavy sigh, I exchange smiles with my mother and walk into his study at my childhood home. It's a house in the suburbs on NYC, and I've spent my whole childhood here.

  I have fond memories of the place, but I have a sinking feeling that is about to change.

  I step into the study, my father already sitting down at his desk. As I do the same, taking a chair opposite of his, I realize we're not alone.

  There's another man in the room whom I don't recognize. He has short, very dark hair, almost black eyes and a hint of stubble on his face. He's very handsome.

  Oh boy.

  "Francesca, cara mia, I want you to meet Cristiano Antonetti," he says proudly, pointing to the man sitting next to me. I give him an awkward wave, which is followed by a smirk from the man.

  So, he may be handsome, but he obviously has no manners or a sense of politeness.

  "Pleased to meet you," I say through gritted teeth, and he doesn't say a word back to me. Nice."Why am I here, Daddy?" I turn my attention back to the man of the hour.

  He sighs like he's carrying a heavy burden, rubbing his eyes. "I've told you to call me papa," he says sternly, and now it's my turn to snort.

  "Dad, we're not in some mafia movie," I say, trying to make him believe me.

  "We are Italian!" he exclaims loudly, as if to prove a point.

  "You were born in Queens," I point out, and he gives me a look I know means I need to shut my mouth now, so I sigh instead. "Why am I here?" I repeat impatiently.

  "To meet Cristiano, of course!" my father says happily, coming around his desk and pressing his heavy hands against the man's shoulders. Cristiano smiles at me, revealing his perfect smile.

  Fuck, he really is handsome ...

  "Cristiano here is a friend of the family," my father says proudly, and I have to bite back my next comment. Really? Why don't I know him then?

  "He has come here today to finally meet you," Dad
dy continues, looking at me enthusiastically, though I still don't have the slightest idea what this is all about. I implore him to go on with my eyes, and he claps his hands excitedly.

  "Dear Francesca, Cristiano is the man you're going to marry!" he says loudly, looking like a giddy child. I'm thankful I don't have a drink with me, because if I did, I would be sputtering liquid all over the place at this exact moment.

  Instead, I just sigh heavily, thinking this is just another one of my Dad's wild ideas. "What?" I ask tiredly, too exhausted to fight him.

  Maybe I can reason with my father.

  "You are to be engaged within the next three months!" my father practically screams.

  Yeah. Sure.

  "Dad," I say slowly. "I hate to point it out, but I don't even know this man." I smile apologetically at this Cristiano fellow, who just looks at me like he has his own ideas of what he'd like to do with me.

  Tough luck, buddy.

  "Not a problem!" my father claims, clapping Cristiano on the back. "You like her, right son?"

  Cristiano looks me up and down as I fume, apparently deciding whether I am worthy of him. "Sure," he finally says, firing a wicked grin in my direction. "She would do."

  "Do?" I repeat incredulously. "You think I would do?"

  I get up abruptly, wanting to curse them both, but I hold my tongue. "Daddy, this is insane. I'm not going to marry some dude you chose for me that I just saw for the first time."

  My Dad looks at me sternly. "We are an Italian family, and it is not uncommon for the fathers to pick out their daughter's husbands," he points out.

  "We're from NEW YORK!" I say loudly, unable to hold myself back any more.

  "Francesca!" my father raises his voice too, banging a fist on his desk. "I am not going to let you scream and shout at me. It will be the way I said, whether you like it or not."

  "Sure," I say bitterly. "Everything always has to go according to your plan, right? Well, good luck forcing me into a wedding dress and dragging me down the aisle."

  With that, I storm out of his office, hot tears burning my eyes.

  ***

  I know he didn't let the idea go. He would call me, leaving me messages, trying to set me up with Cristiano. As much as I begged my mother to convince him to stop, he wouldn't give it up.