Page 195 of Modern Romance Collection February 2025, 5-8

She was infuriating.

The limousine from the Bellagio Hotel that had picked them up from the plane delivered them to the Clark County Marriage License Bureau to obtain their Nevada marriage licence.

The wedding industry in Las Vegas was nothing if not slick. In a little over two hours they’d be man and wife.

Could Marianne convincingly play the part of loving newlywed—enough to convince his mother that they were in love and truly married? Would this work? It had to work. He knew that they could make it work. He knew that they could look convincing. Because he remembered the sex they’d once shared. Marianne had been explosive in bed. He’d loved watching her face when she climaxed. He’d loved the feel of her body against his. They’d been good together.

They could be good together now if she bothered to make an effort. He knew that. He’d proved it when he’d kissed her in the restaurant. She’d all but melted in his arms and she’d felt and tasted so good. Just like she had back then. Just like he remembered, and he was more than curious to find out if grown-up Marianne was anything like the responsive lover the teenage Marianne had been.

No sex, she’d stipulated.

Ridiculous. They were adults and it was just sex, and she’d be far more relaxed around him if they got the bedroom business out of the way. She’d be far more convincing playing her part.

A marriage in name only.

That was what Marianne had insisted upon, even though it made their job of looking connected—in love—harder. What if his plan didn’t work? What if his mother saw through the plan and discovered it was all a lie? She’d be gutted. Betrayed by her only son in her final days and weeks. And Dom would never be able to hold his head up again.

The chauffeur was waiting to open Dom’s door, but Dom held up one long-fingered hand in a stop gesture. He wore his tension like a pressing weight, like he was being crushed by it. And for the first time Mari felt sympathy for him, trying to fulfil his mother’s impossible dying wish the only way he could and getting stuck with Mari into the deal. And she regretted her joking and making light of something so important to him. She felt for him, and felt the weight of the pressure upon him.

‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’

The clench of his jaw and the tic in his cheek told her he wasn’t, then he put down his hand and let the chauffeur open his door. ‘I have no choice,’ he said.

The dry desert heat rushed in to fill the vacuum he’d left behind, air that was now infused with the scent of the man who’d surged through it. Dominico with a triple serving of heat.

The scent transported her back in time to when they were both students. The day had been blisteringly hot, the sun a molten ball in the sky, and like most of Sydney, or so it seemed, they’d made their way to the crowded Bondi Beach to cool off in the surf. Dom and Mari had emerged from the waves exhausted and collapsed onto their towels, panting as they lay on their backs, arms over their eyes to block out the sun, when he’d rolled over and kissed her, filling her mouth with the taste of summer. Hot, salty and delicious.

‘What was that for?’ she asked when he lifted his head, curling her arms around his neck to keep him close.

‘Just to remind you that I love you, Marianne,’ he said, raining kisses down on her nose and cheeks and lips. ‘For ever and a day.’

‘I accept,’ Marianne said, grinning up at him, blissfully happy but for the one cloud on the horizon that loomed ever closer. ‘I just wish you didn’t have to go home so soon. What are we going to do when you return to Spain?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that,’ he said, sweeping a salty tendril of her hair from her forehead. ‘I’m going to ask my parents if I can stay for one more semester—make it a full gap year.’

Hope flared in her chest. ‘Do you think they’ll agree?’

‘Papá wants me back to learn the business, but he’s the one who wanted me to experience the Australian lifestyle. Besides,’ he said, kissing her again, ‘he knows how important you are to me. And six more months together means six less months until you finish your degree and can join me in Spain. I’ll call him tonight.’

And that one cloud on the horizon burned off in the blaze of a summer sun and a future filled with promise. A future filled with love.

Dom lay down next to her, placed his arm under her head and nestled her close to his body.

She breathed his scent in, long and hard. Before Dom she’d never associated the aroma of a man’s body with anything positive. But Dom’s particular scent wasn’t just alluring, it was addictive. A heady combination of salt and sweat and a body grown up on the best Spanish olive oil. ‘Nobody in the world ever smelled as good as you,’ she told him, drinking in the musky tang of his skin.

He chuckled. ‘You’re crazy,’ he said, pressing his lips to her hair.

‘Yeah, crazy,’ she agreed, nestling closer against him. ‘Crazy in love. With you.’

So crazy in love she’d been. Now she was just crazy. This whole plan of Dom’s was crazy. But he was doing it for all the right reasons. He was doing it for his mother. Even if it was insane, he was acting out of love.

Maybe she could try to be a bit more cooperative. After all, it wasn’t like there was nothing in it for her. Whenever Rosaria succumbed to her disease and there was no need for this marriage, Mari would walk away with her millions of dollars and never have to see Dom again. It wasn’t for ever. Maybe if she thought more about making Rosaria’s final wish come true it would ease the torture of being with him now.

Dom rounded the car and opened her door, reaching out a hand to her. She took it and felt his fingers wrap around hers, felt the jolt of recognition like a muscle memory as she alighted from the car. His jaw was still clenched, his eyes hard. He was hating this, hating the whole charade, hating that his perfect plan had a downside and that marrying someone who hated him was never going to make for a comfortable ride.

‘It’ll be all right,’ she said. ‘It’ll work out, you’ll see.’

He frowned at her, as if trying to work out who this new Marianne was—a Marianne who didn’t snarl and backbite and add bricks to the wall the past had built between them.

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