8: In Which She Sees the SL (and DR)

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8: In Which She Sees the Silver Lining (and Diamond Ring)

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 Dedicated to @_JessicaRuiz_ for the cool fan art =) Love it. xo

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It was stupid to feel this way but I did.

You can’t be a wife, Dani. It’s not in your DNA. That’s the real reason you can’t settle down.

Carlo thought my aversion to marriage was because it was to him, but it was more than that. Marriages were like Pyrex dishes – they always broke, no matter how hard you tried to ensure that they didn’t. This particular marriage, on the other hand, was going to end. It wasn’t real. It wasn’t real and it shouldn’t have mattered but somehow, it did.

“What am I doing?” I asked myself, squeezing the bouquet of gardenias in my hand so tightly that they wilted.

It seemed like the aisle was the length of the Great Wall of China. Of course, it very nearly was. The chapel Carlo had picked out was near the Teatro and overlooked the busy harbour. It had been built in the eighteenth century by several faceless men and commissioned by a king who was just as unimportant, yet it was one of the most beautiful buildings I’d ever seen.

“What’s the point of a church?” I’d asked Carlo when he’d told me where the ceremony would take place. “You don’t even believe in God.”

He had scowled at me. “Even if this is a marriage of convenience, we are going to do it right, Danielle. My nonna would never have accepted a casual stroll to the court.” His voice became reverent whenever he mentioned his late grandmother and I couldn’t help but find that sweet.

In an alternate universe, I might’ve been jittery. I might’ve tried on the wedding dress and loudly criticised my body while Ana brushed my harsh words off and told me how gorgeous I looked. I might’ve wondered what the groom would be thinking as I glided down the aisle, if he was as nervous as I was. I might’ve worried that my mum would bring Jasmine as her plus one and further humiliate my father. I might’ve worried about the food, the seating arrangements, the wedding song and whether Mickey would be overwhelmed by all the lights and get too excitable.

I wasn’t thinking of any of those things. I couldn’t have cared less about the stupid dress, although I was the first to admit that it was certainly tasteful. As it was, Carlo’s unreadable poker face only served to make me weary as I neared him at the altar. I didn’t have to fret over any wedding guests because Ana, Mickey and Carlo’s bodyguard, a man called Rio, were the only witnesses to our sham of a wedding. They sat in the first pew of the otherwise empty chapel.

“Try to relax,” Carlo said in my ear as soon as I took my place beside him. His hand was on the small of my back in a move that was supposed to be comforting. It wasn’t.

“I can’t,” I told him, “because I can’t help but feel that I was coerced into this.” Even as I said it, I knew I was lying. Being with Carlo was the only real way Mickey and I could be safe. It was convenient. It was logical.

“I did not coerce you,” he said in a low growl. “I asked you, and you said yes.”

The priest cleared his throat, signalling us to shut up. He looked like a holier-than-thou version of Father Christmas, with his portly belly visible in his robes and his curly silver hair. Half-moon glasses were even perched on his nose before bright, hazel eyes. Carlo had told me that he’d asked the Father to speed the Catholic ceremony up and it was obvious the priest was more than happy to do so.

“May we begin?” he asked, his Neapolitan accent far heavier than Carlo’s.

,” Carlo swiftly affirmed, glancing at me.

“Whatever,” I offered.

If Father Russo was astonished by my less-than-ecstatic answer, he did a brilliant job of not showing it. Instead, he cleared his throat again and began to read something about the holy matrimony being a pillar of honesty, love and trust. I instantly zoned out, my eyes settling on the wall behind the altar. Intricate paintings depicting famous biblical events took up the entire space. Art had been one of my favourite subjects at school and I vaguely remembered studying the Renaissance artists, like Botticelli, Michelangelo and Pinturicchio. This looked like some of their work and it was utterly compelling – so compelling, in fact, that I didn’t realise Father Russo was looking at me expectantly, the heavy silence indicating that he’d been doing so for a long time.

“Sorry, what?” I asked.

From beside me, Carlo muttered something under his breath. It was probably a curse. He shouldn’t have been cursing in a church.

“Your vows?” Father Russo patiently prompted me.

“Forget them,” Carlo snapped. “Just ask her if she takes me.”

“Do you, Danielle Clarke, take Carlo Donafrio as your lawful husband, to have and to –”

“I do,” I interjected, matching Carlo’s boorish eagerness to get this mess over with.

“But I have not finished,” the Father protested, giving us a puzzled look in turn.

E’bene,” said Carlo, all but snatching my hand and putting the ring on my finger.

“I must bless the ring, Signore Donafrio.” Father Russo’s voice was barely more than a wheeze.

Carlo ignored him, sliding his own ring onto his finger.

“How romantic,” I said dryly, flexing my hand before me. I couldn’t deny that, just like the dress, the ring was stunning and probably cost a fortune, judging from its carat-size estimate. It sparkled in the dim light of the church, a beacon in an otherwise murky storm.

Without warning, Carlo’s hands were on the back of my head and we were kissing. My eyes immediately shut and I turned boneless, my lips parting on a sigh. Kissing Carlo was like going to the casino – you never knew what to expect but you easily became addicted. I was powerless to resist him. I didn’t want to. His tongue flickered past into my mouth with the promise of more, tasting me; exploring me, until my oral nerve-endings felt like they were enflamed. And just like that, he stopped and pulled back. My eyes fluttered open and, embarrassed, I looked away.       

Grazie millePadre,” Carlo thanked the priest.

“Er... prego. Bless you and go in peace.”

Carlo’s hand swallowed mine. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it, Signora Donafrio?”

He was right. It was worse than I’d imagined because a small, microscopic part of me was a bit disappointed that we weren’t marrying for love.

***

“And has he taken his bath? Lukewarm water, remember?”

. He has had his bath.”

“Make sure you check on him every hour, even when he doesn’t make any noise. He might seem okay but he’s different and –”

Signora, I had a child, you remember?” Ana interjected through the phone. “I raised him alone, like you.”

I bit my bottom lip, pressing the phone even closer to my ear as I glanced at the closed bathroom door of the hotel room. “I’m sorry, Ana.” I sighed, leaning back into the pillows. “It’s just that…we’re so far away from you right now and I’ve never been this far from Mickey before. He might not know what to make of it.”

Ana let out a soft laugh. “We are on the next island, Signora, not on another continent. Please, enjoy your honeymoon. I go now.”

“OK. Goodnight. Give Mickey a big kiss from me.”

“I will.” She hung up and I was left holding the telephone and contemplating phoning her back.

Cosa fai?”

 I hadn’t noticed Carlo coming out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping. Sitting back up, I slammed the phone back into its cradle. “You know, being married to you doesn’t mean I suddenly come with Google Translate.”

“Funny,” he said, in a voice that told me he didn’t find me even remotely amusing. “I was wondering what you were doing but it was quite obvious. Checking up on Michael?”

“You can’t blame me. What sort of mother would I be if I didn’t?”

He padded over to the vanity table, his back to me. “Then why did you look incredibly guilty, cara?”

“Because... because you’re making me feel that way.” I got off the bed and pulled my suitcase open, rooting inside to locate my toilet bag.

“You’re the one that wanted to visit Capri.”

I did. After hearing about it in university from a friend who’d stayed at the Capri resort with a boyfriend, I’d only dreamed of saving up and going there myself. Located on the south coast of Naples, Capri is one of the most romantic paradises known to man and I had been dying to experience it myself.

“I know, but I didn’t realise I’d have to leave my son.”

“Ana is a very capable minder. I trust her. She has fallen in love with our son.” His voice was surprisingly soothing and it dissolved all my worries.

“Maybe, but Mickey’s…different. You know this.”

His brow furrowed. “You mean the fact that he’s not really walking or talking? Perhaps a trip to the doc-”

I cut him off right there. “My dad didn’t start talking or walking until his fourth birthday. His parents didn’t take him to the doctor to be told some rubbish about him being mentally slow,” I said through gritted teeth. I sighed. “We shouldn’t have left him, Carlo.”

“Call me selfish but I wanted you to myself.”

I flushed, burned by his heated stare. “I should...go.”

Snatching my bag, I hightailed it to the bathroom, closing the door behind me.

“Call me selfish but I want you to myself,” I mumbled to myself, setting my bag on the sink. “Does he really expect me to buy that cheesiness?”

I shimmied out of my petticoat and grabbed my shampoo. Now completely nude, I pulled open the mottled-glass door and simultaneously turned on the hot and cold water, letting it steam the place up. My stomach rumbled and I sighed, placing my shampoo on the soap ledge. My appetite had waxed since the beginning of the trip but for the first time in a long time, I didn’t give a damn. Food was meant to be enjoyed and no dipshit called Libby Wilson was going to tell me otherwise. The last time I’d eaten was on the one-hour ferry ride from the Molo Beverello port to Capri, far too distant a time for my body to remember.

“Mm,” I murmured when I stepped under the jet of water. Showers were better than bubble baths any day.

But a bubble bath with Carlo would certainly hit the spot.

As if possessed, my hand wandered below my abdomen. Even at such and advanced age I thought touching oneself wasn’t quite right. That still didn’t stop me from rubbing my clìt. It was remarkable to discover that one simple mental picture of taking a bath with a man could get me so hot, so wet. I didn’t realise how ferocious I was in my quest for an orgasm until I came, mewing as I held onto one wall for support.

The door was pulled open and Carlo stood there in all his naked glory, putting me to shame.

“I was... I wasn’t...” My voice trailed off because an explanation wasn’t necessary. It was painfully evident that I was masturbating on our honeymoon.

“You don’t have to do that,” he murmured, stepping into the stall and closing the door behind him. “You don’t have to do that when I’m here,” he said more forcefully.

I took a step back, my back hitting the wall. The shower suddenly didn’t seem as huge as I’d thought it was a minute. “I wasn’t satisfied anyway.”

Naturalmente,” he said huskily. “What will satisfy you?”

That was easy.

“You.”

He was less than a breath away. “Then turn around and let me satisfy you.”

I turned.

Carlo’s arms snaked around my waist, firmly pulling me to him while I pressed my palms flat against the wall. His erection was pushed against my tailbone and it took all my willpower not to beg him to give it to me right then. Instead of focusing on my already wet cúnt, Carlo’s big hands came up beneath my tits and cupped them. Despite the heat of the water raining from above us, my nipples stood erect, making my arousal tangible. Slowly, the pads of his thumbs began to circle the hard nubs. They were painfully hard and the pain became unbearable when he tweaked them between his fingers, torturing me.

“Stop,” I moaned, reaching behind me with one hand and grabbing his c0ck.

He groaned, jerking. “Don’t.” His hands left my breasts.

“I can’t wait,” I said impatiently. “I want you now.”

I felt his mouth on the side of my neck and my breathing became erratic. “You turn me on when you say such things,” he whispered, his tongue running down my skin.

His hands were unhurriedly dancing down my tummy, my skin taut and wet. Just the feel of him encompassing me was enough to make me so close. I wanted to feel him everywhere; in every orifice, every pore. I didn’t care how; I just wanted him.

When he finally parted the folds of my cúnt, I bit my bottom lip in anticipation, hardly able to stand. The difference between my fingers and his was amazing. For starters, his were much bigger than mine, thus more satisfying. He played with my pulsing clìt, making me shudder in his hand on the brink of yet another climax. Slowly, he slid a finger inside me, testing the waters, before sliding another. I clenched myself around his fingers, arching my back as he worked a rhythm. With his free hand, he massaged the water into one of my breasts, cupping it and making me gasp for air. His mouth on my neck and his hardness pushed against my back, Carlo’s hands were what really made me come. I came violently, a mass of whimpers and gasps. I screamed louder than was normal and he held me against him, quelling my spasms.

I turned around and he enveloped me in his arms, his head dipping for our mouths to meet. His hand cupped the back of my head as he deepened the kiss. I wanted him completely and irrevocably and, sensing that, he raised me, his arms coming up under my rear as I wrapped my legs around his waist.

Water pelting my back, I looped my arms around his neck and he entered me in one fluid thrust, pushing me up against the wall. With one hand, I held onto the ledge for support, knocking my shampoo and shower gel off. I clenched myself around his c0ck, and Carlo groaned in response, the sound shooting straight to my clít. He thrust into me again, further than before, deeper, and I bit down on his bottom lip in happy surprise, drawing blood.

“Carlo,” I gasped, my fingernails biting into the taut muscles of his back. “Deeper. Deeper.

He drove into me again and again, and I thought I’d explode. I rode him in a more than lithe way, finding his rhythm as he increased it with his need.  In a massive explosion of cries, I came, feeling Carlo throb inside me as I clamped around him. Stars burst behind my closed eyelids and then Carlo was emptying himself inside me sporadically, nearly squeezing the life out of me before pressing his face into my breasts.

I ran my hands through his wet mop of hair until he raised his head and our eyes met.

“Let me wash your back, cara mia,” he said softly, pulling out before setting me down on the ground.

I could barely stand on my own two feet. Carlo bent to scoop up the shower gel, squirting it onto his hands. I turn my face to the shower head, squeezing my eyes shut. At his vigorous touch, I felt myself begin to get aroused once again. He worked the soap into lather on my shoulders, then my back and rear. His hands soaped my breasts, sensitising my nipples again as he rubbed in circular motions. I leaned back into him as he spent an unusual amount of time making sure my chest was lathered enough. Carlo definitely was a tits man.

He eventually moved to my stomach, my muscles instantly tensing from the sensation.

If I’d thought it couldn’t get any agonising, I was completely mistaken. He worked his hands between my thighs and I stopped him before I exploded once more.

He turned me around and cupped my chin, drawing in for another kiss. I could get lost in his mouth and I could feel that I already was – irrevocably and completely lost.

“I’m getting pruned,” I protested when he pressed my palm against his sudden hardness.

He chuckled, releasing me so I could rinse off. “Indeed.”

“You’re insatiable.”

“You’re addictive.”

I laughed. “Stop it.”

Leaving the shower stall was like coming out of a steamy alternate universe. Carlo handed me a fluffy, white Hers towel with the Hotel Marina Grande insignia proudly running along one edge. I took a smaller one and wrapped it around my head turban-style before rubbing myself dry and binding the towel around me under my armpits. I remembered that I hadn’t washed my hair and wrinkled my nose.

Oh well. There’s always tomorrow morning, I thought to myself, watching Carlo leave the bathroom. His shoulder blades were peppered with red bruises from where I’d maimed him with my claws and I couldn’t bring myself to feel remorse.

I wiped the steam off the mirror and saw how red and swollen my lips were. I fingered them with an index finger before tilting my head and running a hand down the right side of my purpling neck. I closed my eyes, the memory of his tongue on my neck imprinted on my brain. How could I ever have thought I’d be able to resist him? Why would I want to?

Have you forgotten, you stupid trollop? He’s dangerous, enigmatic and is related to the nutter who threatened your son.

“Yes, but he’s also sweet – sometimes – and cares about Mickey,” I said aloud, removing the towel around my head and allowing my hair to fall to my shoulders.

I left the bathroom before my conscience replied and damned me to hell.

Carlo was still in his towel when I sauntered into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed with his mobile in hand. He looked up when I came in.

“Restaurant or room service?” he asked, putting his BlackBerry down.

I cocked my head. “Room service.” I removed my towel and let it fall to the carpet. “If that’s okay with you, caro?”

Carlo’s gaze became predatory. “Exactly what I was thinking.”

***

 

“Did you see those fish?” I asked incredulously, after pulling off my snorkel and throwing it onto the russet-brown sand. With great difficulty, the rest of the equipment came off.

Romeo, our

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