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“Mother, what is so absurd you understood me to say?” Immediately, my mother’s brown skin gets a reddish tone, giving strength to my doubts about this reaction not being caused by her misunderstanding what I said, but precisely because she understood it right.
She blinks her eyes and in her silence, it becomes clear that she is looking for what to say, and the space between us is filled with embarrassment.
“Nice to meet you. Marcos has been talking so much about you for so long...” Again, Antonella comes to my mother’s rescue, addressing my parents, then pauses, and, still with my mother’s hand between hers, says the next words specifically to her. “And I know it’s unexpected and that we’re running everything down with our haste, but I’m not very close to my mother, so it would be an honor if I could count on your help in arranging the wedding,” she asks, and my mother’s eyes can officially be compared to dishes.
I would laugh if I wasn’t too busy feeling absolutely surprised by the situation that unfolded before my eyes without me being able to wait or have control.
This time, it is my father who breaks the silence that settles between us.
“Nice to meet you too, Antonella. Pleasured…” Very quickly, his gaze alternates between the two of us, as if he were trying to unravel an enigma. “Actually, I just had an idea.How about lunch with us tomorrow?”
Antonella looks at me, looking for an answer, and I nod, agreeing.Even because I have the impression that refusing has never been an option.
“Great! So we can talk better, nights like this are always very busy, there are many people to talk to, there are deals being closed. And we really want to get to know you better” he justifies, probably, realizing that my mother will not be able to have any coherent conversation for the next hour, predicting or planning that our interaction will not last much longer.
As if divinely arranged, one of Valente’s clients approaches, requesting my father’s presence in another round of conversation, and he promptly answers, taking my mother, still in shock, along.
“Well, that was a lovely moment,” Antonella comments as soon as we’re alone, and immediately we both start laughing, and even amidst the immense number of people around us, the ambient music sounding low and pleasant, and the buzz of the conversations that surround us, I realize this is the first time I’ve heard her actually laugh, and as everything that comes from her seems determined to do tonight, her laugh knocks me out in exactly the same place where watching her say goodbye to her daughter before we leave the house did.
The sound of Marcos’ laughter lights up the lights of places in me that, until that moment, I could swear were permanently dark. The first impact of seeing him, as soon as I reached the top of the stairs still in his apartment, almost threw me to the ground. Asshole Marcos is beautiful, hot, has a size impossible to ignore and a smile capable of melting any panties that get in his way.
But all of this inside a tuxedo should definitely be a forbidden sight.It’s too much for women’s eyes and hearts.I mean, is he an asshole?Yes!But have you ever seen that chest inside a fitted jacket?
Is he the biggest dirtbag I’ve ever met?Yes!But have you ever seen those thighs wrapped in expensive, sophisticated fabric?
He’s definitely synonymous with trouble, and should I gouge out my eyes without a second thought if that was the only way to keep myself immune to his merman song?Yes, a thousand times, yes! But, fuck!Have you ever seen this man look hypnotized while looking at anyone but you?
What should I think when those eyes seem to ignore the existence of the world and fixate on my every gesture, movement, or breath, as if nothing but me matters?I’m smart, but I’m not insensitive to my own body’s reactions or devoid of hormones.God, I’ve never been so afraid to roll down the stairs as I am tonight.My legs looked like jelly under his gaze and I was sure that if he touched just one finger on me, I would melt if it had only a thousandth of the heat his eyes poured out.
It was a strange moment when I walked toward him as if there was a magnet pulling me toward him, and when, despite my certainty of the need for him not to touch me, I found myself desperately wishing he would, and to my frustration he did not, I touched him.Over layers of clothing, but still, the call I heard seemed to get more intense.It was as if mere contact had potentiated the desire, transforming it almost into necessity.
I got so close to the precipice calledLet Me Be Touched by Marcos Valentethat I was able to feel the kiss of the wind on my face.But as the savior she’s always been to me, Bella called me.My daughter’s voice rang a bell in my mind, reminding me that no matter how loud anything calls me, or how strong any sensation or desire strikes me, it can never be raised to the level of need.The only need I have is to keep Isabella well, happy and healthy.And keeping away from Asshole Marcos is a prerequisite for that.
No matter how much the urge to end in his bed tonight has consumed me whole in just an exchange of glances.I pushed away. I said goodbye again to Bella, promising to let her sleep with me the next day and assumed the most mechanical reactions I was capable of.I accepted the engagement ring for exactly what it is: nothing.
The jewelry is beautiful, sophisticated and screams money, but it doesn’t say anything about me, it doesn’t say anything about Marcos and it really shouldn’t say anything.All the way from the penthouse to the party, I kept myself stuck in my own thoughts, calming the racing beats of my heart and focusing on being exactly what I was supposed to be.An ornament.Ornaments do not think, desire or weaken.Ornaments are just ornaments.
It worked.
Until his hand touched mine to help me get out of the car and my whole body responded.
Until his touch landed on my back to help me walk, and my entire spine crawled.
Until his hoarse, low voice sounded in my ear, his fingers walked a path along my entire bare arm, reached my neck, the back of my neck, and right between my legs, even though he did not come even remotely close to the it.
And now his smile whips right there again. Turned on. I’m terribly turned on by my fake/real fiancé and have no idea what to do with it.I’ve always been aware of how attractive Marcos is, and more than once, I’ve enjoyed fantasizing about being fucked, sucked and licked by him, even before he was aware of my existence.But there is a gulf of difference between what happens in my imagination and what I am willing to let happen in real life.
And never before have I imagined that the day would come when something would cause me to wonder if I would be willing to cross the imaginary line with Marcos. Until today.
“How about that drink now?” he asks, and I agree, still with the smile on my face.
We arrive at the bar, and Marcos waves at the man on the other side of the counter, calling to him, before turning to me.
“What will you have? Champagne?” The smile on my lips becomes bigger, before I bite the bottom and turn my eyes to the side.I know what I’m supposed to drink, but I also know what I want to ask...
I look back at the man in front of me and decide.
“Whiskey, Marcos.Eighteen years, no ice, please...” I look in his eyes for any hint of mistrust that my answer may cause.But I can’t find anything but a raised eyebrow.
