Page 7 of Forbidden Desire

Her vocal cords are hoarse, laced with confusion. Searching me for answers, her eyes widen in disbelief and her lips part in a silent plea for an explanation. ”What happened?”

“Hey, you’re awake.” I offer a half-smile, but there’s a twitch in my jaw. With anxiety simmering beneath my surface, I shove my hands through my hair. “I’m trying to figure that out.”

My mouth is dry, and I can taste the remnants of last night’s alcohol on my tongue. The situation should make me laugh, but the evidence is too bizarre. “I don’t think we did anything.” I feel like I’m trying to convince myself more than her. “But then there’s the question of your… accessories.”

Her eyes drop to the garter, her fingers skimming over the delicate lace before she rips it off with uncharacteristic haste, discarding it onto the bed. The tiara follows, tossed aside carelessly. It clangs against a bedside table, its fall noisy.

She rubs her temples. “Accessories that make little sense.”

The space between us holds a plethora of unanswered questions. It’s ridiculous. Laughable, even. Yet, neither of us is laughing.

Her disheveled appearance draws me in. Her usually sleek and immaculate hair is now messy and tousled, while her typically perfectly put-together outfit is wrinkled. And an unmistakable trace of hedonistic havoc mars her usually smooth features.

“Look, Bianca—” My voice catches and I’m struck by an unexpected surge of attraction. Arousal spreads through my groin like wildfire. Perhaps it’s the result of the badly needed sex we never had.

She stands now, her movements filled with purpose. She looks like a messy angel with her golden curls and vulnerable confusion. “We must figure this out.”

My mouth goes dry as I swallow, my tongue tingling with the taste of anticipation and longing. I moisten my lips and drag my eyes away from her body.

We need distance or clarity, because whatever happened last night, it’s changed the game. And I’m not sure yet whether that’s a win or loss. I nod, my jaw set. “Agreed.”

I need answers. Striding from the bedroom, I pace the living room. The suite is chaos, with streamers strewn across the floor and empty champagne bottles winking at us from every corner. And then there’s the paraphernalia: sequined jumpsuits on hangers and oversized sunglasses scattered like confetti. My pulse races, each discovery a blow.

I grab an Elvis wig from a chair and toss it onto the bed where Bianca sits. It lands with a soft thud, with synthetic hair splayed in all directions. “Look at this.”

She flinches before her eyes widen, taking in the craziness. “Is that…?”

“Elvis’s hair? Looks like it.”

I shudder, the unease in my brain growing larger.

This isn’t just post-drunk regret. This is monumental, like Grand Canyon big.

My gaze sweeps across the suite, taking in every tiny detail, from the ornate gold accents to the plush velvet upholstery, as if imprinting the image in my memory.

Abstract paintings adorn the walls of the suite, their vibrant colors infusing the space with a touch of romantic elegance.

Two crystal glasses sit beside a bouquet of red roses. Some of the delicate petals are scattered along the dresser, creating an intimate and luxurious ambiance.

I move to the dresser and my fingers skim over the surface until they bump against a piece of paper. I recognize it before I even pick it up.

A marriage certificate glares up at me. It has our names scrawled across it in loopy handwriting, along with the King’s flamboyant signature at the bottom.

“What is that?” Bianca’s voice trembles, a whisper of fear threading through it.

I give her the document. “Proof.”

Her eyes are wide when a hollow laugh comes from her mouth. She holds the paper with a shaky hand as she reads the contents. “This isn’t real.”

Seeing her laugh—it does something to me. Standing still, I get an overwhelming urge to taste her skin and savor every inch of her. I breathe in deep and refocus on the paper.

The marriage certificate is like a heavyweight championship belt I never intended to win. Turning, I face her. “Real or not, we’re in this together.”

“Zack—” Bianca starts, but words seem to fail her as she stares at the paper.

“Look, Bianca. I’ve been wanting you in my bed for a long time now. That’s obvious. But this…” I motion to the room, to the evidence of our drunken matrimony. “This is crazy, even for me.”

Her gaze meets mine, and there’s something vulnerable in those caramel eyes.

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