Chapter 5 Kissing a Stranger
ZIZO
I hated it here. I hated the stupid clothes I had to wear. I hated the noise. I hated the swarms of people who called themselves the ‘creme-de la-creme of world sports’.
And most of all, I hated the fact that at that moment it seemed like every single camera in that room was pointed at me. Judging me for what I did.
I checked my watch again. 21:40.
Halfway there. I mentally noted.
Thirty more minutes till I could politely get the fuck out of here without making a scene and having the Don breathe fire down my neck like he had been doing all week.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I picked it up. Kaka.
Kaka: How are you holding up, eh irmão? Make any girlfriends yet?
Bastard. He was meant to come with me, but at the last moment he told the Don that he had a 'tummy ache'. Tummy aches as a grown man? And Don actually let him off the hook.
Now, I was alone in a room full of our rivals and crazy old women because every other person miraculously had a good excuse too. But me? Me, I had to come and 'represent the club' as my penance which really meant punishment. Hell, the Don wasn't even here.
After bailing on me, this filho da puta
(son of a bitch) had the guts to tease me.
Me: Safado(bastard).
Kaka: kkkkkkkk
I locked my phone and placed it back in my pocket.
Ignoring the whispers and stares that seemed to linger as I passed by, I greeted everyone with a rigid smile and posed for the journalists.
Just be perfect. My mantra for the past week played in my head for the nth time.
I mean, so far so good. No nightclubs. No scandals. Nothing this week. And I was thirty minutes of fake smiles and polite nods from saving my career.
My mood slowly began to lift as I started my mental countdown to freedom.
If only I knew what was coming.
It all happened so fast it felt like a dream.
One moment, I was posing for the journalists from E! The next, a pair of lips covered my own.
CHIARA.
I needed to escape from here.
The ballroom was far too cold for the backless dress Marcel had insisted I wear, but that wasn't what was bothering me.
It was bad enough that my teenage sister had refused to talk to me all week because she thought I was intentionally skipping her graduation because of ‘work,’ as our parents had framed it, and Marcel hadn’t let me out of his sight all night: pulling me around and showing me to people like a shiny new toy rather than a human being.
But now Marcel was drinking, which was worse than anything else I had mentioned.
With every wine glass he knocked back, his hand tightened on my waist. Alcohol made him more brazen. Less fearful of social repercussions.
I tried to pull away from his grip, but he only pulled me closer and landed a wet kiss on my cheek.
“Easy there, Bella. I’ve got you,” he said with a stupid smile on his face.
This was bad. He didn’t care about the flashing cameras in the distance or proper social etiquette, which meant he was quickly crossing from tipsy into full-blown drunk territory.
“Marcel, we are in public,” I cooed gently under my breath, trying desperately to de-escalate the situation.
Instead, his next actions had loud alarm bells ringing in my head.
He placed another kiss on my nape. His voice dropping lower than a whisper, right into my ear:
“I don’t care. Let them watch.”
He suddenly spun me around. “Come, Bella, let us dance.”
My heart pounded in my sternum.
This was uncharted territory. I had never seen Marcel like this. Tipsy Marcel was already dangerous. Only God knew what drunk Marcel was like. And I had no plans to join him on that list.
My eyes began to scan for an escape route as Marcel began to twirl me around, humming under his breath.
The toilet was out of the question; I doubted he would let me go to the loo right now. I would probably need to bolt if I wanted to catch him off guard, but the exits were blocked by people.
My gaze caught the flash zone as he dipped me, where celebrities were currently being flash-mobbed by cameras. Marcel, no matter how drunk, would probably stop if I managed to get there. But how would I get there?
Suddenly, an idea popped into my head. A foolish one, by all means, if I had the time to think it through. But when Marcel started kissing up my arm, there was no time for any sort of deliberation.
So with strength I did not know I possessed, I pushed Marcel off and all but sprinted in my open-toe YSL heels towards the flash zone where a man was currently being photographed.
And before I could have any second thoughts, I kissed him. Right in front of those cameras, which seemed to flash brighter. Weirder yet, he kissed me back.
For a flash of a second, the world around me disappeared as I tried to deepen the kiss.
That was until he broke it, his hazel eyes filling with inexplicable rage. A lump formed in my throat. But before he could lash out, he turned to face the sea of journalists who were very interested in our next moves.
So he smiled and wrapped an arm around my waist, tugging me close enough for his perfume—a mix of cedarwood and exotic spice— to hit my nose.
Calmly, he led me out of the flash zone and into one of the more secluded stairwells.
When he turned back to me, his look was nothing short of monstrous. His hazel eyes were completely green with rage.
“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE? DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT YOU HAVE DONE?!” he shouted, the vein on his forehead throbbing dangerously.
I remembered my thoughts from last week. You know, when I made up that plan, I assumed it would be more controlled and properly discussed, not a desperate grab and smooch.
And, I was wondering where i would find him? Well....
Him was a very angry Luizio dos Santos Ferreiro.
