UNTIL YOU NAME THE TIME AND PLACE.
I thought that if I was someone’s wife, the circumstances would be wildly different. For example, I had thought that my mother, at the very least, would be there. Probably not my father, certainly, but my mother at least.
I had also imagined once, long ago, that my husband and I would be wildly in love.
A fantasy, to be sure, but not an unreasonable one.
What I had never imagined was that I would be sitting, alone, in a Range Rover in the Italian Alps while my new husband investigates to make sure our latest mountain hideout was safe.
And I had certainly never thought that I would be contemplating whether or not we’d be having sex on our wedding night.
After we got back to the little cabin, Marco decided it was time to move again. He didn’t say why, and I didn’t ask. He drove us up the road a ways to a little town, asking around for a place for us to stay. There was, it turned out, a local place that served as an inn, which is where we currently are, with him inside ensuring that there’s no reason to bounce to the next town.
I’d call him paranoid but honestly…
I approve.
The sooner we can figure out who is after me, the better, and unfortunately, we’re no closer to that.
The only thing we’re even remotely ‘close’ to, I suppose, is being man and wife.
And that brings me right back here.
To wondering what the hell I’m doing.
The kiss from earlier feels like it’s still burning my lips. Really, every kiss with Marco is dangerous. It feels to me like… I’m hiking up one of these damn mountains, and someone gave me a shove. I manage to get my footing every now and then, but then another kiss with Marco, another touch from him, another moment where our bodies are drawn toward each other…
And I’m tumbling down again.
Until you name the time and place…
God above, I want him so badly it hurts.
I would be lying if I said that in my wildest, deepest, darkest fantasies, I hadn’t thought about Marco as my husband.
But now that he is…
I don’t know what to do with myself.
The car door opens, startling me. I look up, and Marco is standing in front of me, blocking the cold.
“We’re good,” he says, in that rough tone that sets my nerves on absolute haywire.
The inn, I know, is what he’s talking about. He means that the inn is safe and he doesn’t have any concerns.
But God.
I wish he were talking about us.
Until you name the time and place…
I shut my eyes and step out of the vehicle. I don’t say anything to him. I don’t trust myself to.
Because if I open my mouth?
I might just name that time and place.
The inn is quaint. A very joyful looking woman greeted us in Italian at the door, and Marco responded. I had to pretend, of course, that the sound of him murmuring sweet nothings in Italian didn’t set my skin on fire, and when we arrived in the room I didn’t even look around. I headed promptly to the shower.
And I locked the door.
The hot water, blissfully hot despite the weak water flow, cascades over me. Despite my efforts, I can’t seem to scrub Marco’s lips off of me.
Or the words that are beating a tattoo into my brain.
I change into the silk pajamas that Marco left for me, then cautiously open the door. He’s sitting, stretched out on the bed, and it’s only then that my brain registers the fact that there is a bed.
One.
Single.
Bed.
Tonight… I think it might be too much for me.
He’s frowning, looking at his phone, and in the warm (if dim) light from the one sad bulb under the vintage lampshade, the lines between his eyebrows seem to be etched in marble.
I just want to smooth them away.
He looks up, and his brown eyes trace the outline of my body in a way that makes my nipples stand straight up. I know he notices when his eyes hitch on my chest.
I want to shrink back but…
Instead, I straighten.
“Shower’s open,” I murmur, my voice hoarse.
Marco tilts his head. “Roisin,” he murmurs.
It’s my name. One word. Two syllables.
But somehow it almost undoes me.
“What’s wrong?”
I should lie to him, I know.
Instead, I drift over to the little chair that’s positioned next to the bed. I tuck myself into it, sinking into the plush seat, my feet curling against the cushion. Knees to my chest, I wrap my arms around my shins and tilt my head so I’m not looking at him, but toward the door.
“This just isn’t how I imagined it,” I finally whisper.
I can’t look at him. I hear him shift on the bed, though, and I do my best to keep my eyes trained on the door.
“I know we needed to do this, Marco. I do. And I know you’re doing what you think is best to protect me. But I just… I really thought I’d be married and it would be… it wouldn’t be…”
I stop before the tears scratching my throat come out.
My eyes slam shut so that I don’t cry.
“Roisin,” Marco’s voice murmurs.
It’s close.
I crack an eye open and slam it shut again.
He’s kneeling on the floor.
The image of him, however, kneeling in front of me, will stick with me for the rest of my life.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers.
His voice is hoarse.
I shift, looking at him fully.
“I’m sorry that we did this. If you want it to be annulled—”
“No,” I cut him off.
His jaw slams shut, and I can see a muscle work underneath his bronze skin.
I must be insane. I must be absolutely losing my mind, or maybe there’s some kind of ghost in here that’s possessing me, because when I open my mouth, I am completely not in control of what I’m about to say.
“What if… we pretended instead.”
Marco’s eyes blink, and I can see confusion cross his features. “Pretend?”
I nod. I gulp, trying to fight against the fluttering of my pulse in my throat. “What if we pretend that this isn’t fake. That it’s real. That we’re married and it’s… how it should be,” I whisper.
Marco De Luca is a tough man to shock.
But shock is written across every one of his features right now.
“What…”
“Pretend that I’m your wife. That this is our first night together as… married…” I murmur. “That we chose this. That we’re—”
I can’t say the next part.
That we’re in love.
I don’t think I need to say it, though
Marco’s eyes look at me with so much longing, I know he knows what I’m thinking.
“Roisin…”
“I know it’s not real. I know it’s not,” I murmur. “But just pretend… because this is the time, and this is the place.”
I peek at him from under my lashes.
The longing I saw there earlier? It’s been transformed.
And pure, raw lust spreads across his features.
“Do you know what you’re asking me for?” he growls.
I nod.
I can’t do much more than that.
Marco moves.
In one swift motion I’m in his arms, then another I’m being dropped onto the surprisingly comfortable bed. I want to giggle, or squeak, or just react somehow because I’m overwhelmed by too many thoughts all at once and if I don’t do something, I’m going to explode.
But then Marco’s lips are on mine. His big body covers me.
And I don’t have time to think, or do anything other than just feel.
Every time before, we’ve been so desperate. Quick. It’s been frenzied, like a fire that neither of us has any control over.
Now though?
It’s almost like time is slowing. Marco kisses me in a way that’s almost leisurely, like he’s taking his time with me.
Like we have all the time in the world…
Fuck.
Because if we were newlyweds, we would.
It feels like a dagger in my heart, realizing that he’s taking my request to pretend so seriously.
But if he can pretend… so can I.
Arching my back upwards, I murmur, “You’ve been waiting for so long. Through the whole ceremony.”
Marco freezes, like he’s trying to figure out what I’m saying.
I look up at him, where his hands are positioned on my stomach, gently tugging up the white silk pajama top.
Then, he seems to register my words. Part of the light in his eyes seems to dim.
Come on, Marco. Pretend.
I don’t know if he can hear my silent words or not, but he seems to figure it out.
“My family was so annoying,” he says roughly.
Okay then. I’m somewhat relieved that he’s going to play along. “They’re just happy for you.”
“They can be happy for me without being in my business,” he rumbles.
I laugh, and it’s not fake. It feels so… normal.
Then, Marco’s tongue traces my belly button, and I moan.
“Take this off,” he groans, tugging my shirt.
I pull the silk up and over my head. It whispers to the floor, and his fingers hook in the pajama bottoms, making quick work of them. Naked before him on the bed, I want to shy away…
But that’s not how I would want this to go.
If it were real.
“We should invite them over soon,” I murmur.
Marco looks at me, his eyes dark, pupils blown out to the edges of his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about my fucking family right now,” he rasps.
I do laugh then.
Then, when his mouth latches onto my breast, I scream.
He knows how to work me. I’m not sure how he knows. But every motion seems perfectly tuned to me. His fingers press inside me, curling into a spot that makes every single part of my body shake with pleasure. His mouth bites, licks, and nibbles at my skin, like he’s determining precisely where to drive me insane.
I don’t know how, but Marco plays me like he knows exactly how, and within minutes an orgasm rips over me.
I’m still rocked by it when Marco kneels, pushing my legs apart.
Somehow he’s shed his clothes, and I sit up slightly on my elbows…
When I see him, his body caressed in the warm light, I can’t help but sigh.
He smirks, noticing my interest. I watch as his hand travels down, before he palms his rather considerable erection.
“It’s all for you, Roisin,” he rumbles.
He’s just pretending.
“Good,” I purr, leaning back. “Because you’ll never have anyone else.”
The words seem to hit him physically, because his cock twitches in his hand.
Within seconds, he’s positioned at my entrance. I feel him there, then gasp.
“Fuck, Roisin,” he murmurs. “You’re so fucking tight.”
“All for you,” I whisper.
His eyes roll back in his head.
When Marco enters me fully, I half expect him to return to that feverish pace we had in the car.
He surprises me again, though, when he begins to move in long, full strokes.
He’s thick. Every pulse makes me shudder, the echoes of my previous orgasm rippling again. I’m almost there when Marco stops, looking down at me.
“Not like this,” he whispers.
He moves us, without pulling out, so that he’s sitting upright and I’m straddling his lap. From this position, we can look each other in the eyes.
I go to look away, but Marco pulls my face to his.
“I want to see you, darling.”
Darling.
I know it’s fake.
But when we start to move, almost as one, I can almost believe it.
My eyes are locked on Marco’s. My breathing changes, until I see myself breathe in line with his chest as it rises and falls.
One of his hands drifts down to my clit, and I shudder as he touches me.
“Come with me, Roisin,” he grunts.
I can’t resist.
His thumb touches me once, and I shatter.
I gasp, falling forward onto Marco’s strong shoulders. He jerks, pulsing up into me, and I can feel him inside me as he tucks me tightly against him.
I can feel his heart beating in his chest…
And I can feel my own heart echoing his.
We sit like that, for what feels like an eternity, until I shiver.
Gently, Marco untangles us. He cleans me up with a towel from the bathroom, and then tucks me into the sheets next to him.
I’m drowsy, but more than that, I don’t know what to do with myself, so I shut my eyes and even my breathing.
That was the most intimate sex I’ve ever had. And it’s all fake.
Because Marco and I were just pretending.
I can’t even pretend that my heart isn’t aching right now. There’s nothing more in the world that I want right now than to be Marco’s wife for real. Than to have him love me, fully, and have all of this be real.
But it’s not.
My heart feels like it’s skipping every fourth beat, and my head is swirling. I’m doing my best to make it seem like I’m asleep, but inside, I feel like I’m being torn apart.
Marco stirs. “Roisin?”
I don’t answer. I’m asleep.
He waits a second, then I feel him press a kiss to my shoulder.
“I’m not pretending,” he whispers.
Thank God he thinks I’m asleep.
Because if I had to face that?
I’m not sure what I would do.
