Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #5-8

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

M ARI WASN ’ T PLANNING on taking anything he’d bought for her. The wedding dress she’d worn in Las Vegas? She didn’t need that. The gown she’d worn at their marriage blessing likewise. And where would she wear a designer cocktail dress when she was back in her humdrum life in Melbourne? An interview suit would be more useful, given she had to find herself a new job.

But the silk underwear—she was nothing if not practical. What would be the point in leaving that?

‘What are you doing?’

Mari spun around. ‘Oh, Dom.’ His face looked drawn, his eyes tortured. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘She was smiling when she died,’ he said, the words grating, as if talking were a struggle. ‘Imagine that. My mother died happy.’

Despite her grief, Mari’s heart warmed at the news. ‘Her parting gift to you. A thank you for making her final days happy.’

He shook his head. ‘Not just for me, but also for you. Because of you,’ he said. ‘Because she truly believed I was happy. That we were happy together.’ His face twisted with incomprehension. ‘And yet,’ he said, ‘I return from my mother’s deathbed to find you, suitcase open and rifling through your wardrobe like you can’t wait to get away.’

She jerked her chin up. He didn’t sound angry. He sounded broken. She swallowed. ‘I didn’t think you’d need me anymore. I thought you’d want me gone. Our contract—’

‘Damn the pinche contract! You thought wrong!’ he said. ‘Because I’ve never needed anyone more than I need you right now.’

‘Dom—’ she said, slowly shaking her head. This wasn’t part of her escape plan. Couldn’t he see that there was nothing to bind her to him any longer? She’d satisfied—more than satisfied—her end of the contract. He’d as much as admitted it himself.

So much for her newly found resolve.

There was no way she could say no. No way she could resist. Because Dom was hurting. Broken. She walked up to him, put her arms around his waist and hugged him close, nestling her head into his shoulder. ‘Like that?’ she asked.

‘Like that,’ he said, wrapping his arms around her and dipping his head against hers. For a moment they stayed that way, and then she realised he was sobbing. Silently shaking with long racking sobs, his body pressed against hers. And it fractured her heart into tiny shards.

‘It’s okay,’ she said, hugging him close. ‘It’s okay.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She waited for the racking sobs to ease before she took his head in her hands, kissing his forehead, wiping the tears from his eyes with the pads of her thumbs.

‘It’s okay. I get it.’ Losing someone who meant the world to you was never going to happen without that same world buckling beneath your feet. ‘Even when we know it’s going to happen, it’s still a shock.’

He rested his head down on her shoulder and for a while she just rocked him. Trying to tell him with her actions how much she cared by just being there. By holding him. By consoling him.

She was there for him. That was all it was. That was all it was meant to be. She’d talk about her plan to leave later, when he wasn’t so emotionally drained. He’d soon see that she was right. He’d see it made sense for both of them.

Almost imperceptibly there was a change in him. He lifted his head on a sigh, thanking her for her support and pressing his lips to her cheek, and it seemed the natural thing to do, to kiss him on the cheeks in return.

Except she never made it to the other cheek, because she found his mouth, his beautiful, sad mouth.

But even that was okay. Just a light touch of her lips against his, a butterfly touch to show her empathy. To show she cared. And God, she cared, because when her lips meshed with his there was no pulling away. There was no escape.

And neither did she want to.

He drank in her kiss like a man who’d been stranded in a desert. He clung to her as if she was a lifeline. She held his face between her hands and kissed away the moisture on his cheeks. It was always inevitable that they would end up on the bed although, looking back later, Mari couldn’t remember when or how it had happened. Just that they were there and slowly and surely peeling away each other’s clothes.

And it was so different to their first fevered coupling after the tango on the beach. So gentle. So tender.

So right.

They didn’t need to talk. There was no need to exchange words. Their eyes and bodies did all the communicating as they slowly and languorously undressed each other, every removal of a piece of clothing, every piece of skin revealed deserving of worship and adoration, the press of lips, the lave of a tongue.

She soothed him. She comforted him, every touch stoking the fires building inside them.

And when he moved over her—positioned his legs between hers—and filled her, it was so poignant, so beautiful, so tender and sweet, that it was her time for tears. Tears for Rosaria. Tears for Dom. And tears for herself, because she was lost.

Tears that turned to stars as he sent her over into the abyss.

‘You’re crying,’ he said as their bodies floated down from the heights of their lovemaking. ‘Did I hurt you?’

‘No,’ she said, because it was nothing he’d done, and everything she had. She’d known the risks when she’d taken on this role. She’d known that she was susceptible, but the lure of filthy lucre and the wall of hatred she’d erected between them had turned her head and convinced her that she was impervious to him. A wall without substance, bricks laid without mortar.

And Dom was dismantling them, one brick at a time.

‘You weren’t serious about leaving straight away, were you?’ he said.

Oh. She’d been going to talk to him about that.

‘There’s no need to rush off. At least stay for the funeral.’

She turned to him. ‘Is there any point? I’ll still be leaving.’

‘What will people say if you’re not there? Five minutes ago, everyone was celebrating our wedding, and the next minute you disappear, nowhere to be seen.’

Mari knew it sounded every kind of callous, but what did he expect when he’d been the one to set the contract conditions? And she was the one in danger here, and the longer she stayed, the harder it would hurt when he was finished with her.

‘Wasn’t that the point of our agreement? You wanted a temporary wife, and you got one. There was nothing in our contract about staying for a funeral.’

‘How heartless are you? I thought you liked Rosaria.’

‘I loved your mother! You know that. And she was happy. That’s all that matters. That’s what counts.’

‘Then think about me. Think about a funeral when, instead of everyone celebrating the life and mourning the death of the deceased, everyone is focused on why the son’s brand-new wife isn’t there.’ He looked earnestly at her. ‘Do you really want to turn my mother’s funeral into some kind of gossip fest?’

Mari turned away and rose from the bed, lashing a robe around her. It was not fair that he insisted she be there to attend Rosaria’s funeral. He had no idea why she wanted—no, needed—to get away. He had no concept. He was trying to protect his image. She got that.

Whereas Mari was trying to protect herself.

‘I thought… I was thinking…that things had changed.’

She knew immediately what he was referring to. God, what a mistake it had been, falling into Dom’s bed.

‘Because we had sex?’

She heard him rise from the bed. ‘We made love. You know that. And it was just like it used to be. Amazing. We made love again just now. Why would you throw that away?’

And the answer came back to her, crystal-clear.

Because sex was one thing we always did right. Love, not so much.

And she wouldn’t put herself in a position where her love meant so little to him again.

‘Grief sex,’ she said with a shrug. ‘You were upset, I tried to console you, and it got out of hand.’

‘Grief sex. That’s all it was to you?’

No. It was much, much more. But she wasn’t about to confess that to the man she needed to get away from. And neither was she as heartless as her words made out. She imagined a funeral without Dom’s so recently celebrated new wife in attendance. She could almost hear the snarky comments being exchanged when the guests should be focused on Rosaria’s life and loves. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t reduce Rosaria’s funeral into a hotbed of gossip. Mari owed the woman that much after the grand deception they’d pulled off and that she’d been party to. More than that, Mari needed to pay her respects. She swallowed.

‘When do you think Rosaria’s funeral might happen?’

‘Will, not might. The chapel is booked for two days’ time.’

Mari closed her eyes and gave thanks. Soon then. That at least was some kind of relief.

‘I’ll stay.’ She turned then to face him. ‘But then I will hold you to our contract. I will be leaving.’ Adding a moment later, ‘Suzanne needs me.’

Dominico made it through the next forty-eight hours running on a mix of grief, strong coffee and a goodly dose of Destilerías y Crianza del Whisky. He wasn’t seeing things clearly, he knew that, but he didn’t understand Marianne’s resistance to him. He didn’t understand her urgency to get away from him. He’d kept her away from her precious sister less than two weeks and, despite the words they’d had at the start, she couldn’t pretend she hadn’t enjoyed the time they’d spent together.

At one time he’d even imagined they could turn this arrangement into something more permanent. But if she was so determined to get away, clearly, he’d misread the situation. If she had a problem with being with him, so be it. He wouldn’t impose himself upon her again.

But at least she’d agreed to stay for the funeral. At least he wouldn’t have to field endless questions as to her whereabouts. It would be bad enough after the funeral, when he appeared in public without Marianne on his arm.

Then again, theirs wouldn’t be the shortest marriage in history. The questions and gossip would soon die down.

And yet still he had the sense that he was missing something, but his brain was too full of grief, strong coffee and whisky to work out what it was.

Mari stood alone in the funerary chapel clutching her glass of sparkling water. The funeral had been poignant but wonderful, a true celebration of Rosaria’s life, and now Dom was busy doing the rounds of the guests, something he seemed content to do without her. So perfectly content that she wondered why he’d insisted on her being here at all.

He hadn’t made a move on her since she’d told him she was leaving, even though they still shared the same bed. It was as if, as far as Dom was concerned, she’d already left. And while part of her mourned the loss of his touch, another part of her was grateful. He wasn’t making it harder for her to leave. She was merely here at the funeral to avoid any uncomfortable questions. So be it. For her own part, she was here to pay her respects to Rosaria, and she was glad she’d stayed. She was heading home tomorrow. She could hardly wait to get away from the endless tension of being in Dom’s orbit.

‘Senora Estefan…’ said a man beside her. Rosaria’s physician, she realised. He shook her hand. ‘Such a beautiful service,’ he said.

‘Rosaria deserved it,’ Mari said.

‘She died smiling,’ he said. ‘Did Dominico share that with you?’

Mari smiled. ‘He did. It warmed my heart to hear it.’

‘You know, when Dominico assured his mother that he was getting married, I didn’t quite believe it. I thought he was telling her that merely to make his mother happy. But then, barely a week later, you appeared by his side, and I can see now that he was speaking the truth. I’m so sorry I doubted him. You both did so much to make Rosaria happy in her final days. Thank you for that. My condolences to you.’

He bowed and excused himself. And Mari thought then that it was true. She and Dom had convinced the entire world that they were destined to be together. The pity of it was, the only people they’d failed once again to convince was themselves.