Page 24 of The Bonventi Rise
"That's it!" the photographer exclaims. "Hold that!"
Marco holds me, our cheeks touching, and I feel like I'm standing on fire. We slowly pull apart.
"Wait, stop," the photographer says and looks through his lens at us, and then through his lens again. "Yes, this is perfect. I've got the flags, the podium, and you two. Okay, Mr. Bonventi, you may now kiss your future wife."
My eyes go wide at the comment and my heart thumps in my chest.
I hear Marco's sharp intake of breath beside me. We look at one another, and there's a moment of hesitation, a flicker of something I can't quite read in his gaze.
"Ready, Firefly?" he whispers, his voice low and husky.
I nod, unable to form words. Marco's hand comes up to cup my cheek, his fingers brushing lightly across my skin. The touch sends heat through my body, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
He leans in slowly, giving me time to pull away if I want to. But I don't. I can't. I'm rooted to the spot, drawn in by the magnetic pull between us.
When his lips touch mine, they're softer than I expected and tentative at first. It's a gentle press, warm and inviting. For a moment, I forget about the cameras, the staff, the entire political circus surrounding us. All I can focus on is the feeling of Marco's lips against mine.
It's meant to be a show, I remind myself. A performance for the cameras. But then his hand slides to my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, and something inside me explodes. My body responds before my brain can stop it, melting into him as his tongue traces my bottom lip. I part my lips, and the kiss deepens, becoming something raw and real.
His grip tightens, possessive, dominant, and I'm mortified to realize I'm clutching his jacket like it's the only thing keeping me upright. Maybe it is. My skin feels electric where he touches me, and when he angles my head to deepen the kiss further, I can't think of ever being kissed like this.
Time seems to slow, the world narrowing down to just this moment, just us. The camera flashes fade away, the murmur of voices becomes distant and muffled. All I can focus on is the taste of Marco's lips, the feeling of his hands on me, the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
This isn't acting anymore. This isn't for show. The realization hits me like a shot of warm house whiskey at a dive bar—burning, dangerous, and guaranteed to fuck with your head.
I vaguely register the sound of a throat clearing nearby, but it feels far away and unimportant. Marco's kiss has consumed me entirely, awakening parts of me I didn't even know existed. It's passionate, intense, almost all-encompassing desire.
Reality comes crashing back as we pull away. My cheeks burn, my lips tingle, and I'm breathless and dizzy. The staff busies themselves with equipment, looking away, but I catch them trying to hide their smiles.
Marco's eyes are dark, hungry as he looks at me with an expression that makes my knees weak. For a moment, we just stare at each other, both seeming to realize the magnitude of what just happened.
"Uhhh, thanks Mr. Bonventi," the photographer says. "I think we got it."
"That should make quite the cover shot," he says, his voice rougher than usual as he continues to stare at me.
I nod, unable to speak, still tasting him on my lips.
What the hell was that?
Marco shakes his head, probably trying to free himself from the same thoughts as I am. "Thank you, everyone. I think that's a wrap for now,” he says and walks off.
As the staff and press begin to disperse, talking amongst themselves, I catch sight of Livia across the room. Her eyebrows are raised, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Wow," she mouths to me.
I quickly look away.
This was supposed to be pretend, a show for the cameras. So why does it feel so real? Why is every one of my nerve endings on fire? And more importantly, why do I want to do it again?
I rub my lips and walk away, Marco glancing at me as I pass. I head into the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror.
Breathe. Just breathe.
This isn't real. It's just for show, just for the cameras.
Just business.
Right?
15
