Don’t fall for your fake husband

BOOK 2: Don´t fall for your rival - Chapter 1

-NINA-

"You smell incredible. Where have you been hiding all this time?" he whispered in my ear before planting open-mouthed kisses on the curve of my neck, his hand buried inside my long dark hair. His other hand was on my ribs, his thumb making small circles on the side of my breast.

"Mhnnnnn," an involuntary low sound came from the back of my throat when he started fumbling with the waistband of my sweat.

My heart is beating faster, a thrill running down my spine. My hands are balling in his light blue shirt. I wish I could rip it open and feel his skin under my palms.

The tiny lavatory barely fits one person, let alone two. If you add the muscular 6–4-foot man towering over my curvy figure, it's a miracle of physics.

"Oh, God. When his hand reached the hem of my panties, I couldn't remain quiet anymore.

"Shhhh, I'm the only one who can hear your screams," he said, covering my mouth with his other hand.

What am I doing? Fooling around with a guy I barely know at over 40,000 feet? Did I lose my mind?

I must be drunk. The champagne is messing with my better judgment.

This is wrong on so many levels.

And why does this feel so right?

Someone knocks on the door for the fourth time, and the flight attendant's voice can be heard. "Hello? Is there someone in there? Is everything alright?" my eyes widened in panic when I heard the flight attendant's voice.

ONE HOUR BEFORE

The plane rattles more than an old washing machine and my hands cling to the armrest. I tried to drink my white wine to calm me down, but, of course, it fell into my lap after a few sips. The good thing is that if I had managed to drink it all, the situation would have been worse. The rude flight attendant was very strict with the rules and wouldn't let anyone go to the restroom. I hate turbulence.

I'm in the middle seat, squeezed between Rhonda and Dwayne, a middle-aged couple returning from their annual vacation in Europe who didn't want to sit together. They're nice, but a bit too oversharing for my taste, even considering my Italian background. Rhonda, for example, has been listing all the premenopausal symptoms she has suffered. Dwayne, on the other hand, has been explaining to me for the last 15 minutes how his proctologist recommended him to pee regularly. He tried to reason with the strict German flight attendant, but she wasn't flexible. She doesn't even bother to answer, just points to the return-to-seat light.

The plane is flying over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, at least five hours away from New York. With all this going on, I didn't have time to think about returning to the country where I've lived most of my life, after spending the last four years in Italy, the place where I was born.

My family came to the US when I was twelve. We are originally from a small city in Tuscany, and my parents had this crazy idea of moving with the three kids across the country to run a small winery in Napa Valley. They thought their experience with Italian wine would benefit them. It didn´t. After struggling for almost ten years, they gave up and moved back to help my uncle with his business. My siblings and I remained in the US to finish our studies.

After graduating from architecture school, I decided to take my Master's degree in Italy. My parents kept insisting that I go back there, so I could get in touch with my roots. What they really want is for me to take part in their small olive oil production, but my heart isn't in it.

Due to pressure from my parents to stay close to them, my Master's degree ended up being extended to four years. But that's enough for me now, and I'm going back to the US. I found a job in an architectural firm in New York, and I'm staying at my friend Harper's condo until I manage to rent a place on my own. She and I met in middle school and have remained friends ever since. We even shared an apartment while attending university with our two other friends, Michelle and Sienna.

The pilot manages to find a more steady route and the fastened seat belt light finally goes out, allowing people to run to the restrooms. And it's a race for life. Most passengers stand up and run to the few washrooms in economy class. I wish I could hold out a little longer, but after Dwayne's constant mention of his own pee, I really have to go now.

The tension starts to build with people clamoring for a place in the lavatory queue and I realize that I'm going to have to find another solution to my problem.

Taking advantage of the sudden surge of courage and the fact that the flight attendants were very busy trying to calm the passengers' tempers, I managed to climb the stairs to business class. My plan was to use one of the restrooms very quickly and return to my sandwich seat between Dwayne and Rhonda before someone noticed me. It's dark in the cabin, and most of the passengers in the executive area are sleeping.

I was almost reaching my destination when I saw a flight attendant coming in my direction, pushing a cart. Damn business class and its constant supply of food. I jumped into the nearest empty seat, pushing the covers to hide me, praying she hadn't seen me.

My heart was beating erratically while she passed by my side without looking at me. I was mentally giving myself a high five and preparing to stand up when the man sitting next to me turned his face away from the window to face me.

"Hi. Where did you come from?" he asked me.

S.hit!