A Thousand Paper Cranes

When she emerged, face scrubbed clean and hair piled in a messy bun atop her head, Emiliano was already in bed, the thin sheet draped low over his hips, revealing his bare chest. Alessia froze, her mouth suddenly dry.

Emiliano glanced up from the book he was reading, a slow smile spreading across his face. “See something you like, Moccia?”

Alessia tore her gaze away, heat flooding her cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself, Bianchi. I’ve seen better.” The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

He chuckled, setting the book aside and patting the space beside him. “Come on, cara. It’s late, and we have a big day of pretending to be madly in love tomorrow.”

Alessia hesitated, her heart pounding against her ribs. Sharing a bed with Emiliano was one thing. Climbing in beside him while he was half-naked and looking at her like she was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen was another entirely.

“Scared?” Emiliano’s voice was a low rumble, his eyes dark and knowing.

“Of you? Never.” Alessia lifted her chin, injecting a confidence she didn’t feel into her voice. She crossed the room, sliding under the cool sheets and turning onto her side, her back to Emiliano. “Goodnight, Emiliano.”

The mattress dipped as Emiliano shifted, his arm brushing hers as he reached to turn off the lamp. In the sudden darkness, the silence stretched between them, heavy with unvoiced tension.

Alessia lay rigid, every nerve ending acutely aware of Emiliano’s presence beside her. She could feel the heat of his body radiating toward her, hear the steady rhythm of his breathing. Every accidental brush of his skin against hers sent jolts of current skittering across her flesh.

When Emiliano’s arm draped casually over her waist, tugging her back against his chest, Alessia stiffened. “What are you doing?” she hissed, her voice a mere whisper.

“Relax, Moccia.” His breath was warm against the nape of her neck, stirring the fine hairs there. “I’m just getting into character. A devoted boyfriend would want to hold his girlfriend close, wouldn’t he?”

Alessia swallowed hard, her traitorous body molding instinctively to the contours of his. “This isn’t part of the act,” she whispered, even as she unconsciously nestled closer.

“Isn’t it?” Emiliano’s voice was a low rumble in her ear, his fingers tracing lazy patterns against her stomach. “We have to make it believable, don’t we? What if someone walks in and sees us sleeping on opposite sides of the bed? That would raise questions.”

He had a point, damn him. Alessia exhaled slowly, forcing her muscles to relax. “Fine. But keep your hands to yourself, Bianchi.”

“Wouldn’t dream of crossing any lines, cara.” His fingers stilled, but his arm remained a heavy, possessive weight around her waist.

As the minutes stretched into hours, Alessia lay awake, achingly aware of every point of contact between their bodies. Emiliano’s chest rose and fell against her back with every breath. His thigh pressed against hers, the fine hairs on his leg tickling her skin. His scent enveloped her, a potent blend of sandalwood and warm male skin that made her head swim.

She could feel the moment his breathing evened out, signaling he’d fallen asleep. Only then did she allow herself to relax fully into his embrace, her body betraying her even in sleep.

It was going to be a long night.

The wedding day dawned bright and clear, the Sicilian sun casting a golden glow over the villa and its chaos. Alessia woke tangled in Emiliano’s arms, her back pressed against his chest, one of his thighs nestled between hers. For a disorienting moment, she let herself sink into the warmth of his embrace, the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her spine.

Then reality crashed over her. She was in bed with Emiliano Bianchi. Her fake boyfriend. Who was currently sporting an impressive morning erection pressing insistently against her backside.

She scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over the sheets in her haste. “Get up, sleepyhead,” she said, her voice sharper than necessary. “The wedding’s in six hours, and Mamma will have a fit if we’re late.”

Emiliano cracked open one eye, a lazy grin spreading across his face as he took in Alessia’s flustered state. “Buongiorno to you too, sunshine.” He stretched languidly, the sheet slipping dangerously low on his hips. “Someone’s awfully grumpy this morning. Didn’t sleep well?”

Alessia averted her eyes, heat rising in her cheeks. “I slept fine,” she lied, busying herself with digging through her suitcase for her robe. “We just have a big day ahead of us.”

The wedding was a lavish affair held in the villa’s sprawling gardens, the air thick with the scent of blooming jasmine and citrus. Emiliano, true to his word, played the role of adoring boyfriend to perfection. He kept Alessia close, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back as they mingled with guests. He laughed at her stories, even the ones she knew weren’t particularly funny, and gazed at her with such convincing adoration that even Alessia found herself half-believing it.

“You’re good at this,” she murmured as they swayed together on the makeshift dance floor, the sultry strains of a love song wrapping around them. “A little too good, actually.”

Emiliano pulled her closer, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.” His hand slid lower, fingers teasing the curve of her ass. “Besides, it’s not exactly a hardship, pretending to be in love with you.”

Alessia’s breath hitched, her fingers curling into the lapels of his suit jacket. “Emiliano,” she warned, her voice a low hiss. “We’re in public.”

“Relax, cara.” He smiled down at her, his eyes dark with mischief. “I’m just staying in character.” He spun her out, then pulled her back in, dipping her low over his arm. “Everyone’s watching. We have to make it believable.”

As the reception wore on and the wine flowed freely, the lines between pretense and reality began to blur. Emiliano’s touches lingered longer than necessary, his fingers skimming the sensitive skin of her inner wrist as he reached for his wine glass, his thigh pressing deliberately against hers under the table.

By the time the last guests trickled out, leaving the gardens bathed in moonlight, Alessia’s nerves were frayed, her body humming with pent-up tension. She needed air, space to clear her head and regain her equilibrium.

“Walk with me?” Emiliano asked, materializing at her side as if summoned by her thoughts. He held out his hand, palm up. “The beach is beautiful at night.”

Alessia hesitated, her gaze locked on his outstretched hand. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Since when has anything about this weekend been a good idea?” Emiliano countered, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Come on, Moccia. Live a little.”

Against her better judgment, Alessia placed her hand in his, allowing him to lead her away from the villa and down the winding path to the beach. The night air was cool and briny, the only sounds the gentle shush of waves against the shore and the distant cry of gulls.

They walked in companionable silence for a while, the sand cool beneath their bare feet. Emiliano’s thumb traced lazy circles on the back of her hand, the simple touch sending sparks skittering up her arm.

“You were amazing today,” Alessia said finally, her voice soft. “My family adores you.”

Emiliano shrugged, a casual roll of his broad shoulders. “What’s not to adore?” He grinned at her, but there was a seriousness in his eyes that belied his teasing tone. “You weren’t so bad yourself, Moccia. I almost believed you were in love with me.”

Alessia’s heart stuttered in her chest. “It was just pretend,” she reminded him, as much as herself. “All part of the act.”

“Was it?” Emiliano stopped walking, tugging her around to face him. The moonlight cast his face in silver, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheekbones, the sensual curve of his lips. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels pretty damn real.”

He reached up, his fingers skimming along her jawline before tangling in her hair. Alessia’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse pounding in her ears. “Emiliano,” she whispered, a last-ditch protest. “We shouldn’t.”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “Don’t think, Alessia. Just feel.”

Then his lips were on hers, and Alessia’s world narrowed to the point of contact between them. The kiss was slow and deep, a languid exploration that ignited a fire low in her belly. Emiliano kissed her like he’d been waiting his whole life for this moment, like she was water and he was dying of thirst.

Alessia melted into him, her body molding instinctively to his. Her fingers fisted in the crisp cotton of his shirt, holding him close as she kissed him back with all the pent-up longing she’d been denying for months.