by Diane Louise
He flashed his pearly white smile towards Tina, who audibly gasped at his presence. 'Would you mind if I took a moment with my fiancé?' He said. Tina nodded enthusiastically, skipped over to the sound team, and whispered excitedly to them.
His gaze fell heavy on Daniella. The same gaze that always seemed to zap the fight straight out of her. 'If you answered your calls I wouldn't need to chase you around town now, would I?' He said before planting a loving kiss on her cheek. A show, Daniella reminded herself, it was all a show for him.
'I'm busy working. Can whatever it is not wait until tomorrow?'
'No.' He stated. 'It will not. I need you to approve this guest list.' He thrust a wad of paper into her hands and her eyes darted between it and him.
'This is the guest list! I've seen smaller phone directories. Why so many people?'
'I am Franco Zorita. If I do not have a lavish wedding people will question it,' he explained. 'And if people question it we will be left open for all sorts of accusations. Accusations which will be investigated. And you know what that means, don't you dear?'
She did.
'If there is anybody you would like to include I will need to know now. Final invitations are being printed and dispatched this afternoon,' he said.
Daniella cast her eyes down the list. She was shocked to see everybody she worked with were already included. Her entire family were there, even the extended, and very much distant ones. She sighed thinking about how her telephone was going to be ringing off the hook as soon as these invitations landed on people's doormats.
A single name jumped out of the page. Her fingers went icy cold and she looked fearfully at Franco. 'Mr and Mrs Hampton are on this list.'
His expression remained blank. 'Is that a problem, you and Misty were inseparable as teenagers. I'd have thought you would love her to attend your big day.'
Daniella wondered if he knew, if he did, he didn't give it away. 'I haven't seen her in a long time, that's all.'
'You haven't seen a lot of people on that list in a long time,' he pointed out. 'Why would Misty Hampton and her husband be an issue for you?'
She chewed on the inside of her cheek wondering if she should take this opportunity to tell him the truth. To tell him that she had betrayed his trust, and that her betrayal had caused both of their lives to take unexpected diversions.
'Ignore me, I'm feeling a little overwhelmed,' she said, deciding that if she did tell him he would think of her as a liar. She would look like she was making a last minute attempt to shift the blame. No. She would have to face her old friend Misty and smile politely as if nothing had ever occurred. As she kept telling herself, it was only a wedding day. There was not going to be a marriage. Once she had said her vows, her father's life would improve, Franco's business would be safe and Daniella could return to obscurity.
'Good,' Franco smiled down at her. 'Please, answer your telephone in future. Unless you want me to chase you around town.' He plucked the guest list from her fingers and kissed her once again, Daniella fought the urge to lean into his kiss.
Slipping her foot into the sateen footwear, Daniella twirled her ankle to admire how beautiful the shoe looked. The entire ensemble was remarkable. If only she felt more like a bride than an understudy. She didn't have long to marvel on how the dress clung to her curves, accentuating her hips and pushing her breasts up into a remarkable cleavage though. She was late. The car purred patiently outside and her father impatiently paced the hall. It was time to leave.
'Oh, Daniella,' he practically melted when she presented herself to him. For the first time since she was a teenager he looked at her with pride. 'Franco is a lucky man, he beamed. 'I can't tell you how happy I am to have played such a pivotal role in bringing the pair of you together at last.'
Daniella smiled at him but it didn't illuminate her face like it should have done. 'Thank you, Dad,' she said. There were many times she wanted to tell him the truth, to blurt out the actual purpose of this marriage. But the time had never been quite right, and she had been sworn to secrecy, so she held back. 'We should leave.'
Daniella played her role well. Walking towards Franco, who looked even more smooth in a tuxedo than she could have ever dreamt, was the hardest part. It was a scene her younger self had envisioned. The irony was, in her fantasies the wedding had been nothing like this. In her dreams it was smaller, private, intimate.
All eyes fixed on her, the odd sob escaped from a witness, made her feel a fraud. She wondered where all these people would be when the marriage crumbled in six months. Would any of them rush to her side for support? Would she be able to accept their tea and sympathy knowing she was fooling each and every one of them?
When she arrived at the alter Franco snaked his arm around her waist and whispered that she looked fabulous. She searched his handsome face, trying to catch evidence of sarcasm. A suppressed smile. Anything. But there was nothing.
Her voice robotically parroted her vows to the priest and each syllable weighed heavily on her tongue. Lies, all lies. She should have at least put her foot down when Franco announced that they were to have a church wedding. Surely, God would be watching and judging. Surely, she would pay for taking his name in vain.
Relief washed over her when the time came to leave and they filed out of the church. Franco had erected a marque outside the building, stretching from the entrance to the where the car waited to transport them to the reception. Franco had insisted on it to prevent the media from snapping images of them arriving and leaving. That was one minor relief; he didn't want their wedding to become a media frenzy. There were to be no photo-shoots for glossy magazines and he had appeared surprised when Daniella had agreed wholeheartedly.
'I meant it you know,' he said when they slid into the back of the White Rolls Royce Phantom.
'Which part?' Daniella asked nonchalantly while gazing out of the window. 'The until death us do part bit? Or the sickness and in health bit?'
'You know what bit,' he said under his breath before turning to stare out of his own window.
Yes, she did know which bit but wanted him to say it again. When he had complimented her she had allowed an inkling of hope to seep in. Daniella snuck a peak at the man she had married. He was brooding, in the exact same way he had been the evening she had approached him to declare her undying love. Back then she wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, to sooth whatever appeared to torture his soul. She was taken aback to feel the same desire burn inside her. Only with more ferocity.
'Thank you,' she said.
Franco had not left her side for the remainder of the afternoon. The meal was of course, stunning. The entertainment first class. The guests flattering. Her husband nothing short of exceptionally suave. Then it was time for them to have a first dance. All eyes fell on the happy couple as he led her to the dance floor as the band began to play. Whoops and cheers filled the room as he drew her close, dangerously close, and together they swayed in unison.
'So, Mrs Zorita,' Franco said, his voice smoother than chocolate and twice as sweet. His lips were so close to hers his breath warmed her mouth. 'How has today been for you?'
Daniella smiled. 'The hardest day of my life.'
'Well then,' he said. 'Here's to the next six months being considerably easier for you.'
She turned her face away slightly and cast her eyes to the floor. 'I sure hope so.'
Franco raised his hand to her cheek and pressed gently, guiding her gaze back to his. She blinked back tears and looked deep into his penetrating eyes.
'I think you need a holiday,' he said. 'You work too hard and I know you've been under considerable pressure this last six weeks.'
She scoffed. 'Really? Pressure? Arranging a fake marriage with a man who hates my guts,' she screwed up her face. 'It's been a doddle.'
'Ah, well then I'll cancel the plane.'
Daniella stopped swaying and stared up at him. 'Plane?'
Franco nodded and pulled her back close, so close that his
arousal pressed into her stomach. The feeling of his hardness took Daniella by surprise and she gasped before blushing. Great, now she looked like some kind of virgin. Which she wasn't, kind of. There had been men. Well, a man. Once. But that wasn't something she wanted to dwell on.
'A honeymoon,' Franco said. 'Our flight is prepared and ready to leave.'
'I can't honeymoon! I have work. I haven't packed. There's nobody to feed my cat.' Work, clothes, and the cat weren't Daniella's true concerns though. She knew what honeymoons were for, and that had not been part of the deal. They were to marry, stay married for six months before going their own ways. Sex was not discussed. Ever.
As if he read her mind, Franco kissed a finger and placed it to her lips, where it flicked a switch and sent little bolts of electricity through her veins. 'I am not a monster, Daniella,' he assured her. 'You will not be pressurised into anything. If you choose to consummate this marriage then it will be your choice.' He pressed himself closer to her. His erection prominent, and her own sex throbbed in response. 'Of course, the sooner it happens the sooner you can sign the divorce papers and go back to your charming little life.'
Daniella flinched and thought about pulling herself away, but refrained. They were surrounded by people, people who were enjoying watching a beautiful young couple supposedly enjoying their first dance as man and wife. She was in no position to cause a scene. 'Why do you do that, Franco?'
'Please,' he grinned down at her and spoke through frozen lips. 'Don't pretend there's nothing in this arrangement for you.'
'You're a bastard,' she said through an equally frozen expression. 'I will never consummate this marriage.'
He shrugged a shoulder and tilted his head indifferently. 'Your loss.'
Finally, the music came to an end, and so did their dance. The guests whooped and cheered. When the band struck up a new song, they took to the dance floor in droves to begin the party.
'We're leaving now.' Franco said quietly in her ear as she hugged a well-wisher.
'Did you not listen to a word I said?' She said out of the side of her mouth. 'I can't honeymoon with you, I have responsibilities.'
'Yes, you do, you have responsibilities to me, as my wife. Everything else has been taken care of so please, say your goodbyes and I'll meet you in the car.'
Daniella watched him stomp off through the crowd, her blood boiled wildly and thrashed through her veins. Franco was an enigma. Never in her life had a man caused her to swing from rampant desire to bitter contempt in the time it took for a band to play one piece of music. She considered leaving. Finding somewhere she could hide and reclaim some of her sanity. But no. Franco was not going to win this time. The man was far too used to getting what he wanted and it was now Daniella's job to bring him back down to earth with a bang. Gathering her skirts so she didn't trip she followed him with equal purpose. Franco Zorita was going to rue the day he thought she would be an easy wife to take.
Chapter Four
The Lamborghini’s wheels screeched to a halt outside The Zorita residence in Pozuelo De Alarcon and Daniella exhaled. 'Tell me again why you felt the need break the land speed record?'
Franco ignored her, hopped out of the car and bound around the bonnet of the car to open her door. Daniella blanked him for a moment and sat taking in her surroundings. The beauty of the place had escaped her memory. The whole place, everything about it was so serene. The landscape, the house, even the sky it seemed, was preened to perfection. Her heart sank when Franco disclosed the location of their mystery honeymoon. She had not set foot in Pozuelo since the house opening party that fateful summer. Her parents sold their holiday home the following winter and a purpose to revisit never arose. Until now.
'Are you getting out or not?' Franco said. 'The luggage will beat us into the house at this rate.'
Daniella climbed out of the leather bucket seat and stretched her tense limbs. 'Tell me about that?' She said. 'Why did we not use a more practical car to transport us here with our luggage? Must you always be so damned extravagant?'
Franco tutted. 'Must you always be so boring?'
'Not boring, sensible,' she argued, drinking in the size of his house. It was bigger than she remembered. 'Nobody ever knows when the rug might be pulled from under their feet.'
'In answer to your first question, I like the Lamborghini. Spain builds roads perfect for this type of car.' He closed the door behind her and trailed his hand over the glossy black paint. 'In response to your statement, you are correct. Nobody ever knows when to expect uncertainty,' he glared at her. 'Or who might cause that uncertainty.'
Daniella swallowed hard at the blatant reminder that he had known hardship. Maybe not hardship like other people experienced. But he was experienced in clawing pieces of a shattered reputation back into order, and the awareness of who caused those difficulties rested heavily on her shoulders.
'Now come inside. I hired an interior designer to modernise the entire house last year. I think you'll like the upgrade.' He turned and walked up the zigzag path towards the front entrance.
'Are you not going to carry me over the threshold?' she called after him.
'Carry yourself,' he yelled back.
Smiling to herself at his relentless efforts to be downright bearish, she followed him. She decided that once they were settled, she would take herself for a walk to create a bit of space between her brutish new husband and herself. Try to sneak a peak at her family's former holiday home. She wondered if it had changed. If a new family had made their mark there. She wondered if they were happy in the house because her family sure had been, in the early years at least. Her mother had loved Pozuelo. Close enough to Madrid for her not to feel isolated from society, but the lack of tourists and celebrity meant she could leave the house without her make up. She could scrape her hair back and let loose with her daughter for a change instead of being relentlessly pursued by the media. In her memory, Pozuelo housed some of the happier memories of her mother. The real woman, the woman beneath the super model. In later years though, when she began to lose the fight against nature, Pozuelo became a place for her Mother to hide for other reasons, a place where she could wallow in the life that was sliding out of her grip.
'Are you coming in or not?' Franco didn't even bother to mask the impatience in his voice.
Daniella blinked back the tears burning behind her eyes and walked through the glass door. The luxurious beauty that he, or his designer, had created inside the open plan living space startled her. 'Wow.' She remarked.
'I know, lovely isn't it?'
She agreed completely. Whiteness enveloped her. Whiteness and clean lines sprawled as far as she could see. Glass tables allowed the sunlight pouring through walls made of glass to flow through the clean living space. Behind the glass walls lay the terrace from which she had observed her father and Franco discussing something important ten years ago. And beyond that, the crisp blue pool which had served as the backdrop to her failed attempt of seduction.
'Come,' he ordered, striding towards the open staircase to the first floor. 'I'll show you to your room.'
Following him up the stairs, she feared for the pristine floors and prayed she hadn't trailed any dirt inside on her shoes. The landing was equally as impressive, although lacked any personal touches. No family photos lined the walls, only abstract paintings in aqua and gold. There was nothing in the building that didn't belong there, that hadn't been designed. 'Do you spend much time here?' She asked.
'Not as much as I would like.' Pushing open a white door Franco revealed a bedroom of colossal proportions. A super king sized bed shrouded in white dominated one wall and the views of the luscious Spanish countryside through the floor to ceiling glass windows astounded her once more. 'The bathroom is through there,' he said pointing to a narrow corridor tucked away in the far corner. 'And here,' he continued while taking long graceful strides towards another door before flinging it open. 'Is the door to my room.'
Daniella startled. 'Connecting rooms?
'
His lips twisted into a smirk. 'Were you hoping to share a room?' he taunted. 'There I was thinking you were going to play hard to get.'
'I don't plan on playing anything,' she said indignantly. 'I just didn't expect us to be so...'
'So close?' he offered.
'Exactly.'
He closed the door again and walked towards her, stopping centimetres away causing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. 'Like I said, Daniella,' he said raising his hands and stroking her arms, turning them to jelly. 'That will be your choice. I have never forced myself on a woman and am most certainly not going to force myself on you.'
'Glad to hear it,' she said, her voice more husky than she would have liked. 'It's nice to see that at least some slithers of the old Franco still remain intact.'
'Oh the Franco you loved, still probably love, is still here. Just older and wiser.'
Her jaw dropped at his assumption that she could still feel that way towards him. Especially now. Franco hated her. That much he made perfectly clear. For that reason, she needed to guard herself, both physically and emotionally from him. No. There was no room for love here.
'I'm sure I won't have to wait long for your visit though,' he continued. 'I can sense your desire from here.'
Enough was enough. Shrugging her shoulders backwards she yanked herself from his grip. 'Leave, Franco,' she spat. 'Now.' Folding her arms around her chest, she wrapped her fingers around the biceps where his hands touched her just a moment before; the flesh there behaved with belligerence and longed for his return, much to her dismay.
'Very well,' he said bowing slightly before retreating towards the connecting door. 'I shall see you at dinner.' He opened it and slid out leaving Daniella alone, with nothing but blood rushing through her ears for company.
