Remember when Dash said he was going to buy me an engagement ring?
Well, he forgot to mention one tiny detail—that it will involve an eight-hour trip in a private jet across the world. Because here I am in the capital city of fashion and romance—Paris, France.
I forgot the number of times I pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Or hallucinating. Or gone plain crazy.
Yesterday, all I received was a simple text saying to pack my bags. It was easy to assume he was flying me to his home since he mentioned in passing I would need to attend charity functions and social gatherings with him after the news of our engagement broke all over the country. After Nova and Rosalie, we’re the next “it” couple and everybody wants private details of our whirlwind romance.
It’s been an overwhelming experience, to say the least.
One editor of a top magazine wouldn’t stop hounding me for an exclusive interview despite me refusing several times. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her now. I don’t know how Rosa does it, honestly.
Throughout our flight, Dash smartly evaded my prying questions about our adventure with a knowing smirk on his face. The controlling asshole had even paid the crew members to not reveal our destination.
The maddening part—I couldn’t even yell or complain at him under the crew’s watchful gaze because, to the public, we’re a head-over-heels-in-love couple. A fact my dear fake fiancé took full advantage of by sitting me in his lap, with intimate caresses that left my cheeks flaming and squirming on his thighs.
It was distracting, tantalizing, and sinful agony.
And no, I didn’t secretly revel in it. Lies.
However, it was satisfying to see shock contour his ravishing face when I played along and called him darling breathlessly until I was certain he was going to fuck me then and there. The primal and salacious expression full of savage lust left me floored and winded.
Then to punish me for my secret rules holding him back, he marked the column of my throat by biting me savagely. He did it where everyone could see and sat back with a satisfied smirk for the rest of the flight, stealing possessive glances at the hickey.
He must have been a predator in his past life, because the man is obsessed with marking me with his teeth like a savage.
However, my anger had all but evaporated the second we landed. I stepped out and was greeted by the driver in a French accent saying, “Bonjour, mademoiselle.”
I swear I staggered in my heels when I learned we were in Paris. The beautiful city I’ve always dreamt of visiting when I was young and smitten with after binge-watching Hallmark romance movies. I would fantasize about walking on the bridge over the Seine with the love of my life and follow the tradition of love locks.
What can I say? The young Bianca was a hopeless romantic. Utterly naïve and trusting.
A faint memory of me confessing this to Niall assaults me.
There’s no way Dash could know, right? Because when I peered at him, as always, his face was a veil of secrecy. Obscure and unfaltering.
Though at the moment, it’s staring at me in soft wonderment, a faint smile on his mouth.
“I can’t believe you brought me to freaking Paris,” I yell for the hundredth time, still unable to believe it. I sound like I’ve never been on an international trip before.
I twist in a circle around the large living room of our one-bedroom suite because—Dash is clingy and has separation issues. Or so I tell myself every night I slip into bed and hug his warm body until I fall asleep. Each time I ask if he still hates it, his gruff answer is yes, yet he doesn’t push me away and neither do I.
Three days of us living together and I’ve already become addicted to him.
From afar, he captivated me, but now that we’re close, he has me hooked.
We’re staying at a luxurious five-star hotel, the name to which I couldn’t even pronounce. Though, Dash faced no qualms. Apparently, he took French in college and actually paid attention.
If he plans to ghost me here, I’m in serious trouble.
The ceiling is so high and arched, leading to another room as I stride farther inside while Dash follows behind. I’m gazing and admiring every inch of this place while his gaze is transfixed on me, like my reactions are more entertaining and amusing. I can feel the heat of it, searing into my back like the caress of warm sunlight on a stormy day.
With a whirl, I turn around to face him, wide-eyed and smiling.
“Would you like me to pinch you again, kitten?” he teases and raises an eyebrow before sauntering closer. His gait, slow like a panther. “Or I could spank your delectable ass while you stare at the Eiffel Tower from the bedroom balcony?”
I back away, remembering the sting of his palm and how I felt it with every step I took the next day. One of the most erotic experiences of my life that taunts my mind every now and then. “You’d be lucky if I let you near my ass again, let alone spank it.”
He stops inches away, hands inside his pockets, and taunts in a husky voice, “Why? You soaked my hand when I spanked your cunt. I can still hear the wet sounds your pussy made and your cry of pleasure.”
My fingers tighten in my skirt while I stand with false bravado instead of squeezing my thighs. Cocking my hip, I taunt, “Now you can live with the memory and die a happy man.”
A haunted look flashes in his pupils but it’s gone just as soon as it appeared. Slowly, his gaze lowers to my parted lips and rises back to mine before he confesses, “I’ll die a happy man only after I’ve tasted your lips and stolen the kiss you owe me from seven years ago, Bianca.”
Hearing the sound of my name on his lips for the first time, said in that low and smooth baritone, lets me know the seriousness behind his confession. His mad and tormented face, when he thought I was going to kiss Justin, reflects behind my vision.
Never had I seen a man look so desperate yet ravenous for a simple kiss. As if it was the difference between life and death. Even if he hadn’t intervened, I wouldn’t have kissed his friend, not after the way Dash was staring at me. Like my kiss was something special.
Something to be treasured.
Something belonging to his lips only.
And even though he can steal it under the pretense of our fake relationship—he never once has. He could claim my mouth as rightfully as he touches and holds me, yet he hasn’t.
But I know he’s waiting. Aching. Not for the perfect moment. But for something else entirely. That’s deeper. Darker. Shattering.
“How can I owe a kiss to someone I believed I’d never meet again?” I softly demand.
“Yet here you stand, soon to become my wife.”
“Only in name. Don’t forget that.”
His eyes glower. “As if you’ll let me.”
The vehemence in his tone has me taken aback and my heart thumping erratically. Naked fear and the urge to run away stabs me at the insinuation he wants more. The reason I chose him hinges on him being unemotional, heartless, and not believing in the idea of love. It’s the only way this’ll work.
The physical attraction, I understand, but beyond it, just the thought scares me. He can’t blur the lines and tilt my world, my heart, upside down. I won’t allow it. The domineering and heartbreaker Dash I can handle, but him in love and fascinated with me—I won’t survive him.
My intuition is telling me it’d be ten times worse than the last time.
“Don’t make the mistake of falling for me, Dash,” I warn. “This—us—can never be real.”
“Isn’t that supposed to be my line?” He smirks, despite the fire burning in the depths of his green orbs.
“I’m not the one flying my fake fiancée to Paris to buy an engagement ring.”
He doesn’t even flinch and stares hard, the intensity of it invasive and laser sharp. So nerve-racking, like he’s trying to peer down to my very marrow and is succeeding.
“Why are you so scared of love?” His tone is laced with curiosity without any judgment. He’s trying to understand me.
My natural instinct is to defend and deny, like I always have to myself and to others. So much so the lie spills without even trying. Leave it to Dash to crack the chain because around him, I’ve never been anything but vulnerable. So the truth easily falls, raw and crooked.
Everything comes pouring out.
“Love doesn’t scare me, it’s the aftermath. The inevitable heartbreak, the tears and the agony, and the worst part comes later when self-doubt creeps in, the apology that never comes to give you closure. The shattered pieces that would never fit again and the ghost of heartache that haunts and blackens the light and the good,” I profess, a sad laugh spilling from my lips. “I never understood why the people in my world pretend their home is perfect when it’s rotten inside, it’s because happily ever afters don’t exist. But unlike them, I would never resign myself to the same fate.”
“You’re still the same eighteen-year-old girl, Bianca.” His voice is devoid of emotion, and I flinch. “You may not love him anymore but you’re letting him hold all the power even seven years later.”
He doesn’t need to say Niall’s name because the familiar dislike is alive in his eyes. Another emotion flickers in them but I can’t name it and it’s gone in a flash. However, I can’t focus on anything but his cutting accusation.
The expression in his depths is the one I’ve been prey to countless times whenever we ran into each other in the past. Like I’m a silly, weak girl.
If I want to protect my heart by never falling in love, it isn’t a weakness.
It certainly doesn’t mean Niall still has a hold over me.
“You’re wrong,” I growl angrily. “Says the man who hasn’t been in love, let alone had his heart broken. So what the fuck do you know, Dash?”
My back hits the wall when he crosses the distance and grips my jaw, tilting my face to his. His grip is firm yet soft as he stares into my angry eyes while staying as calm as a deep ocean.
“I don’t know what love is but it’s not because I’m running or hiding from it—unlike you,” he says, his voice cold as ice. “So, I certainly wouldn’t fall for you, kitten. As for flying you here, I like to spoil my woman and as long as you’re mine, I’ll continue to do so. Don’t mistake it for anything more.”
