Page 23 of The Bonventi Rise
Marco's grip tightens slightly around me, and for some reason, it gives me the gusto to speak.
"I understand the concerns," I say, channeling every ounce of confidence I possess. "But I believe my track record speaks for itself. My personal relationship with Marco only strengthens my commitment to running a transparent and effective campaign."
Marco pulls me closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne, and it oddly settles me. "I couldn't ask for a better partner," he says, looking down at me, "in both life and in this campaign."
The reporters eat it up, their cameras clicking frantically as Marco leans down and kisses my cheek. His lips linger, and I feel my skin ignite where he kisses me.
I tell myself it's only for the cameras to get the shot, but when he pulls away, I suddenly feel as if it wasn't long enough.
He looks at me and winks, my body instantly starts to tingle, and I look back at the reporters for more pictures, feeling myself turning red. My smile is anything but fake.
14
ALINA
After a few minutes, a man approaches with three cameras hanging from his neck.
"Ready for the shoot?" he asks Marco.
"Umm," he says and turns to me, "Just a little photoshoot. Chicago is running a cover story on us, so."
I nod. "That's perfect, actually. How did?—"
"Another favor," he smiles and turns back to the photographer. "Yes, we're ready."
"Where should we shoot?" the man asks.
"Oh, I—" Marco says and trails off.
I turn and scan the room, putting together the perfect setup.
"There," I say, pointing to the wall with the Illinois state flag, the US flag, and red, white, and blue ribbons. "Have someone bring over the podium, too."
Once everything is in place with the help of my new team, the photographer waves off the staff hovering nearby. "Just thehappy couple," he says, adjusting his camera settings. "Let's start with something natural."
Natural. Right. As if anything about this situation is natural.
Marco's hand finds my lower back, and despite myself, I lean into his touch. His fingers spread wider, pulling me closer.
"Perfect," the photographer says. "Now, Ms. Carter, if you could turn toward Mr. Bonventi slightly."
I shift, and Marco's other hand captures mine, our fingers intertwining. His thumb traces small circles on my palm, sending tingles up my arm. I look up at him, ready to shoot him a warning glance, but the intensity in his dark eyes catches me off guard.
"That's it," the photographer encourages. "Hold that loving gaze."
Loving gaze? My cheeks flush. Am I that transparent? But Marco doesn't waver, and I find myself unable to look away. His eyes seem to darken as they roam my face, and I see them flicker to my lips before meeting my eyes again.
"Beautiful," the photographer murmurs. "Now, Mr. Bonventi, pull her just a bit closer to you."
Marco's hand slides from my back to my hip, and suddenly the room feels too warm. My fingers clench involuntarily around his sleeve, seeking balance as he draws me against him. The solid wall of his chest pressed against me sends my heart rate through the roof.
"Now lean into her like you're sharing a secret," the photographer instructs.
Marco bends down, his breath tickling my ear. "You're doing wonderfully, Alina," he whispers, and my body betrays me with a full-body shiver.
"You're enjoying this too much," I whisper back, aiming for stern, but my voice comes out breathier than intended.
His smile is different from his political one. "Maybe I am."
