Pretend to Please

Celeste Heartswell

Copyright

Copyright © 2026 by Celeste Heartswell

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

The Booking

The morning light streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Camila's office, casting long shadows across her meticulously organized desk. She tapped her pen against the leather-bound planner, counting the minutes until her next appointment.

The first candidate had been a disaster. A man named Gerald who couldn't stop sweating through his linen shirt, who stammered when she asked him to describe a romantic dinner. He'd spent what felt like an eternity talking about his mother's cat.

The second had been worse. A gym enthusiast named Chad who spent the entire interview flexing and suggesting they "practice chemistry" right there on her office couch. She'd shown him the door before he could finish his pitch.

Now she had a brief window before the last candidate. Her sister's wedding was in two weeks. Her mother had already called twice this morning to ask if she'd found "someone special" to bring. The pressure was suffocating.

Her assistant buzzed the intercom. "Your three o'clock is here."

"Send him in."

The door opened, and Diego Navarro walked into her office.

He was not what she expected. The other candidates had been desperate, eager, obvious in their need for work. This man moved like he owned the space, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes scanning the room with casual interest before landing on her.

He smiled, and something in Camila's chest tightened.

"You must be Camila." His voice was warm, a low tenor that carried easily across the room. "I'm Diego."

He extended his hand, and she took it. His palm was warm, his grip firm without being aggressive. He held her hand a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing across her knuckles.

"I appreciate you seeing me on short notice," he said, settling into the chair across from her desk. "I heard you were having trouble finding the right fit."

Camila forced herself to focus. "You heard correctly. I need someone who can convincingly play my boyfriend for a week. Destination wedding in Cancun. My family will be watching closely."

Diego nodded, his expression shifting to something more serious. "I understand the stakes. I've done this kind of work before. Weddings, family reunions, corporate events." He paused. "I'm good at what I do."

"I'll be the judge of that." Camila pulled out her contract folder, sliding a copy across the desk. "The terms are straightforward. You'll be compensated for the full week, plus expenses. In return, you maintain the illusion at all times. Public displays of affection, shared room, convincing backstory."

Diego picked up the contract, but he didn't read it. Instead, he looked at her, his hazel eyes steady. "Before I sign, I need to know we have chemistry. A contract is just paper. What sells the performance is the connection."

Camila's professional composure flickered. "I've already vetted your references. Your acting credentials are impressive."

"References don't tell you how we'll look together. How we'll touch. How we'll kiss." He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Let me prove it to you. Right now."

The request was bold, almost arrogant. But there was something in his voice, a challenge that made her pulse quicken.

"What do you propose?"

Diego stood, moving around the desk with fluid grace. He pulled her chair back, his hand hovering near her shoulder without touching. "Stand up. Let me show you what I can do."

Camila hesitated. This was unprofessional. She was the one in control here. She was the employer.

But she stood anyway.

Diego stepped closer, his body blocking the light from the window. He was taller than her, broader, and when he looked down at her, she felt the weight of his attention like a physical thing.

"Close your eyes," he said softly.

"Why?"

"Trust me."

She shouldn't. She barely knew this man. But something in his voice, the quiet confidence, made her obey.

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb tracing along her jawline. The touch was gentle, deliberate, and it sent a shiver down her spine.

"Your family is watching," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "They want to see a woman who is loved. Cherished. I'm going to give them that performance."

His lips brushed her temple, featherlight. Then her cheekbone. Then the corner of her mouth.

Camila's breath caught.

Diego paused, his mouth hovering over hers. "May I?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

His lips met hers.

The kiss started soft, testing. His mouth was warm, his lower lip full against hers. He tasted like mint and coffee. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers threading through her curls.

Camila's hands rose, pressing against his chest. She meant to push him away, to maintain professional distance. But his shirt was soft, and beneath it, she could feel the hard planes of muscle and the steady beat of his heart.

Diego deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. She opened for him without thinking, and the taste of him flooded her senses. He kissed like he had all the time in the world, like her mouth was something precious to be savored.

A small sound escaped her throat, something between a gasp and a moan.

Diego pulled back slowly, his eyes dark and hooded. His thumb traced across her lower lip, now swollen from his kiss.

"That," he said, his voice rough, "is what I can do."

Camila's knees felt weak. Her carefully constructed professional armor had cracked, and beneath it, she was raw and trembling. She stepped back, putting distance between them.

"That was..." She cleared her throat. "Adequate."

Diego's smile was knowing, infuriating. "Adequate. Good to know."

She returned to her desk, her hands shaking as she picked up the contract. "I'll need your signature. And I'll need you to maintain professional boundaries during the assignment."

"Of course." He took the pen she offered, his fingers brushing hers. "I'm a professional."

He signed without reading, his signature bold and confident. When he looked up, his eyes held hers.

"One more thing," he said. "What do I call you when we're in character?"

"My family calls me Cami."

"Cami." He tested the name on his tongue, and it sounded different coming from him. Intimate. "I like it."

Camila took the signed contract, tucking it into her folder. "I'll send you the itinerary. We fly out Saturday."

"I'll be ready." He stood, adjusting his jacket. At the door, he paused. "One more piece of advice. When we're with your family, don't overthink it. Just react. That's what makes it real."

He left, and the door clicked shut behind him.

Camila sank into her chair, her heart hammering against her ribs. She pressed her fingers to her lips, still warm from his kiss.

What had she just done?

Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother: "Any luck finding a date? Your sister is worried about you."

Camila typed back: "Found someone. You'll meet him Saturday."

She set the phone down and stared at the contract. Diego Navarro. Actor for hire. A man who could kiss her like she was the only woman in the world and mean none of it.

This was a business arrangement. Nothing more.

But as she replayed the kiss in her mind, the way his body had pressed against hers, the heat that had pooled low in her belly, she knew she was lying to herself.

Her control was already slipping. And the wedding hadn't even started yet.

Arrival Heat

The resort air wrapped around Camila like a warm, floral-scented blanket the moment she stepped out of the private car. Palm fronds whispered overhead, and somewhere in the distance, waves crashed against white sand. She should have been cataloging every detail for future business referrals, but all she could focus on was Diego's hand at the small of her back.

"You okay?" he murmured, leaning close enough that his breath ghosted across her ear.

"Fine." She forced a professional smile. "Just taking it all in."

The resort's open-air lobby stretched before them, all woven bamboo with cascading bougainvillea spilling from every surface. Her sister Sofia spotted them first, breaking away from a cluster of relatives with a squeal that carried across the polished stone floor.

"Cami! You made it!" Sofia threw her arms around Camila, then pulled back, eyes gleaming. "And this must be Diego."

Diego's charm clicked on like a switch. He extended his hand, smile warm and genuine. "Sofia, I've heard so much about you. Congratulations on your wedding."

Sofia practically melted. "Oh my god, he's even more handsome than the pictures. Cami, you didn't tell me he was this gorgeous."

Camila's face flushed. "I sent you photos."

"Photos don't do justice." Sofia linked her arm through Camila's. "Come on, I'll show you to your suite. You're going to love it."

The walk through the resort was a blur of tropical foliage and turquoise water glimpses. Camila's stomach knotted tighter with every step. She'd booked the honeymoon suite for herself, planning to use the extra space for wedding prep. She hadn't considered how it would look with Diego there.

Sofia stopped at a corner suite, door already propped open. "Ta da!"

Camila stepped inside and her breath caught. The room was stunning. Floor to ceiling windows framed an endless view of the ocean. A king sized bed dominated the center of the space, draped in white linens with hibiscus flowers scattered across the covers. To the right, a bathroom with an enormous soaking tub and rainfall shower. To the left, a private balcony with a plunge pool.

And one bed.

"Only one bed," Camila said, her voice coming out strangled.

Sofia waved a dismissive hand. "You're a couple. You share a bed. Don't be weird about it."

Diego stepped up beside Camila, his arm sliding around her waist with practiced ease. "She's right, babe. We're a couple. It's fine."

The word babe sent an unexpected shiver down Camila's spine. She forced a smile. "Of course. It's perfect. Thank you, Sofia."

After Sofia left with promises to meet for dinner, Camila stood frozen in the middle of the suite. The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken tension.

Diego dropped his bag by the dresser. "We could ask for a rollaway bed."

"No." Camila shook her head. "That would look suspicious. We're supposed to be crazy about each other."

"Are we?"

The question hung in the air. Camila turned to face him, finding his hazel eyes fixed on her with an intensity that made her pulse skip.

"We're supposed to convince my family," she said carefully. "That's the job."

"Right." He nodded slowly. "The job."

She watched him unpack, noting the way he moved with easy confidence around the space. He pulled out a linen shirt, shook it free of wrinkles, and hung it in the closet. The casual domesticity of it made her chest ache.

"I'm going to change," she announced, grabbing her bag and retreating to the bathroom.

The bathroom mirror reflected a woman she barely recognized. Color bloomed across her cheeks, her eyes too bright, her hair already escaping its careful updo. She looked like someone about to do something reckless.

She changed into her swimsuit, a deep emerald one piece that had seemed sensible when she packed it. Now, standing in the resort bathroom, it felt inadequate. She added a sheer cover up and took a deep breath.

When she emerged, Diego had already changed. He stood by the window in navy swim trunks that sat low on his hips, his torso bare and golden in the afternoon light. Every muscle was defined, from his broad shoulders down to the V that disappeared below his waistband.

Camila's mouth went dry.

"Ready for the pool?" he asked, turning with that devastating smile.

"Sure." Her voice came out breathy. She cleared her throat. "Let's go meet the family."

The pool area was a series of interconnected terraces, each with its own view of the ocean. Camila spotted her mother immediately, reclining on a lounge chair with her sisters gathered around like courtiers.

"Mija!" Her mother's voice carried across the water. "Come here, let me see you."

Camila threaded through the loungers, Diego's hand finding hers. His palm was warm and dry, his grip steady. She clung to it like a lifeline.

Her mother's eyes swept over them both, sharp and assessing. "Diego, finally I meet you. Camila has been so secretive."

Diego raised Camila's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "I've been looking forward to this, Mrs. Rivera. Cami talks about you all the time."

Camila's mother preened. "She does?"

"All the time." Diego's voice was warm, sincere. "She's so close to her family. It's one of the things I love about her."

The word love sent a jolt through Camila. She watched Diego charm her mother, her aunts, her cousins, and felt something shift in her chest. He was good at this. Too good.

"Come swim with me," Diego murmured, tugging her toward the pool.

The water was cool against her heated skin. They waded out until it lapped at their chests, the family's chatter fading to background noise.

"You're staring," Diego observed.

"I'm appreciating the performance." Camila traced patterns on the water's surface. "You're very convincing."

"It's not entirely a performance."

She looked up sharply. His eyes held hers, something unreadable flickering in their depths.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He moved closer, his body blocking her from the family's view. "It means I'm enjoying this more than I expected."

Before she could respond, his hands found her waist under the water. The touch was electric, sending sparks racing across her skin. She sucked in a breath.

"Diego."

"Shh." His lips brushed her ear. "They're watching."

She glanced over his shoulder. Her mother was indeed watching, a satisfied smile on her face. Camila forced a smile of her own, looping her arms around Diego's neck.

"Keep looking at them," he murmured. "Let me do the work."

His hands slid lower, tracing the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist. Under the water, hidden from view, his touch was anything but innocent. He traced the edge of her swimsuit, fingers dipping beneath the fabric.

Camila's breath hitched. "What are you doing?"

"Building credibility." His voice was low, rough. "They need to believe we can't keep our hands off each other."

His fingers found her center, stroking through the thin fabric. Camila's knees buckled. She gripped his shoulders, digging her nails in.

"Diego, we're in public."

"Half the family is in the water. No one's paying attention." He pressed closer, his thigh sliding between hers. "Just relax. Let me take care of it."

She should have stopped him. She should have pulled away, maintained professional boundaries. But her body had other ideas. Her hips rolled against his hand, seeking more pressure.

"That's it," he breathed. "Let go for me."

Under the water, his fingers pushed aside her swimsuit. One finger traced her entrance, teasing, before sliding inside. Camila bit her lip to keep from moaning.

"You're so wet," he murmured. "Is this for the performance, or is it for me?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't think. His finger curled inside her, finding that spot that made stars burst behind her eyes.

"Your sister's waving at us," he said, his voice casual, as if his hand wasn't buried between her thighs. "Wave back."

She raised a shaking hand, managed a weak wave. Sofia grinned and turned back to her conversation.

Diego added a second finger, stretching her, filling her. His thumb found her clit, circling with maddening slowness while his fingers worked inside her. Camila pressed her forehead to his shoulder, breathing in the scent of chlorine mixed with sun and his skin.

"I'm close," she whispered.

"Not yet." He slowed his rhythm, pulling back from the edge. "Not here. Not where they can see."

He withdrew his hand slowly, torturously, bringing it up to rest on her hip. Camila felt hollow, aching, desperate.

"Tonight," he promised, his voice a low rumble. "In our room. I'll finish what I started."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. Camila smiled through conversations, ate finger foods she didn't taste, laughed at jokes she didn't hear. All she could think about was Diego's hand between her thighs, his promise hanging in the air.

By the time they made it back to the suite, the sun had set and the sky was painted in shades of purple and orange. Camila stood in the doorway, watching Diego move through the room, turning on lamps, drawing curtains.

"So," she said, her voice barely steady. "About that promise."

He turned, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch. "I don't break promises."

He crossed the room in three strides, backing her against the wall. His body pressed against hers, hard and insistent, his arousal obvious through the thin fabric of his trunks.

"Tell me what you want, Camila."

She should have said professional boundaries. She should have said this is just for show. Instead, she said, "You. I want you."

His mouth claimed hers, hungry and demanding. His hands found her hips, lifting her, wrapping her legs around his waist. She could feel him through his swim trunks, thick and straining, pressing against her core.

"Bed," she gasped against his lips.

He carried her to the bed, laying her down on the white linens. The hibiscus flowers scattered around them, crushed petals staining the fabric.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he admitted, his voice rough. "Watching you by the pool, knowing what was under that swimsuit. It took everything I had not to take you right there."

"Then don't wait anymore."

He pulled off her cover up, revealing the emerald swimsuit. His eyes darkened.

"Beautiful." He traced the neckline with his finger. "But I want to see all of you."

He peeled the swimsuit down, baring her breasts. His mouth descended, hot and wet, drawing her nipple between his lips. Camila arched into him, fingers tangling in his hair. His tongue swirled around the peaked bud, then he sucked hard, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

"More," she begged.

He moved lower, trailing kisses down her stomach, over her navel. His fingers hooked into her swimsuit, pulling it down her legs. She lay before him, naked and trembling.

"Perfect," he breathed. "Absolutely perfect."

His mouth found her center, and she cried out, hands fisting in the sheets. His tongue was skilled, relentless, tracing patterns that made her see stars. He licked long strokes from her entrance to her clit, then swirled around the sensitive bundle of nerves before sucking gently.

"Diego, I'm going to..."

He looked up, his chin wet, his eyes blazing. "Not yet. I want you to come with me inside you."

He rose over her, positioning himself at her entrance. The tip of his cock pressed against her, teasing, testing. He rubbed through her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She met his eyes.

"This isn't just a performance anymore," he said, his voice rough. "I need you to know that."

Before she could respond, he thrust inside her, filling her completely. Camila's back arched, a moan tearing from her throat. He stretched her, the fullness overwhelming, pleasurable pain mixing with ecstasy.

He held still for a moment, letting her adjust. Then he pulled back almost entirely before sinking deep again. He moved slowly at first, building a rhythm that had her climbing toward release. His mouth found hers, swallowing her gasps, her whimpers.

"You feel so good," he groaned against her lips. "So tight. So wet for me."

His pace increased, each thrust driving deeper. His hand slid between their bodies, finding her clit, rubbing in tight circles that matched his rhythm.

"Come for me," he whispered against her lips. "Let go. I've got you."

The orgasm crashed over her, wave after wave of pleasure. She felt him follow, his body shuddering against hers, his groan lost in her hair.

They lay tangled together, breathing hard, hearts racing. Camila stared at the ceiling, trying to process what had just happened.

That wasn't part of the job. That wasn't for show.

And she had no idea what to do about it.

Beach Confession

The resort beach stretched out in a perfect crescent of white sand and turquoise water. Camila's mother had claimed a prime spot under a striped umbrella, directing the placement of towels and coolers like a general commanding troops. Camila watched from behind her oversized sunglasses, Diego's hand resting on her hip with practiced ease.

"This is the part where I pretend to be fascinated by your family stories," Diego murmured against her ear, his breath warm. "But I'm actually just thinking about getting you alone."

Camila shivered despite the tropical heat. "You're supposed to be charming, not distracting."

"I can be both."

Her mother waved them over. "Camila, Diego, come sit. Your tia wants to hear about how you two met."

The story came easily now. They had rehearsed it on the plane. A mutual friend's party. Instant connection. Three months of bliss. Diego squeezed her hand as they delivered the lines, his thumb tracing circles on her palm.

"So romantic," her cousin Sofia sighed. "When did you know he was the one?"

Camila opened her mouth, but Diego spoke first. "When she told me she planned weddings for a living and didn't flinch when I said I'd never been to one that made me believe in love."

The table went quiet. Camila stared at him. That wasn't in the script.

Diego smiled, easy and warm. "She changed that, though. Now I get it."

Her mother dabbed at her eyes. "Such a good man. Camila, you hold onto him."

Camila's throat tightened. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

The afternoon stretched on. They ate fruit and drank coconut water. Her uncle told the same jokes he'd told at every family gathering. Diego laughed like he'd never heard them before. He was good. Too good.

When her mother announced a group snorkeling trip, Camila saw her chance. "Diego and I wanted to explore the cove on the other side of the rocks. We'll catch up later."

Her mother's eyes narrowed, but she waved them off. "Fine. But don't be too long. The rehearsal dinner is tonight."

Diego took her hand and led her along the water's edge. The cove was hidden by an outcropping of volcanic rock, accessible only by wading through a shallow channel. The water was cool against her skin, the current gentle.

"Are we really exploring?" Diego asked, his voice low.

"We're practicing affection," Camila said. "In private. Where no one can see us fail."

He stopped walking. The cove opened up before them, a perfect circle of sand surrounded by cliffs draped in vines. The water was crystalline, the bottom visible in shades of blue and green.

"This is beautiful," Camila breathed.

Diego turned to face her. "So are you."

The words hit her chest like a wave. She looked up at him, his hazel eyes dark in the shadow of the cliffs. The playful actor was gone. In his place was a man who looked at her like she was the only thing worth seeing.

"Diego..."

"Let me practice," he said. "Really practice. The way I would if this was real."

Her heart hammered. "What does that mean?"

He stepped closer, his hands finding her waist. "It means I want to touch you. All of you. And I want you to tell me what you like. So I can be perfect for you."

The words were a performance. They had to be. But the heat in his eyes was not an act.

Camila nodded, barely breathing.

He kissed her. Slow and deep, his tongue sliding against hers. His hands moved from her waist to her hips, pulling her against him. She felt his arousal through the thin fabric of her swimsuit. This was not rehearsal. This was hunger.

He broke the kiss and dropped to his knees in the sand.

"What are you doing?"

"Learning," he said. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her bikini bottom aside. "I want to know every sound you make. Every place you like to be touched. So when we're in front of your family, I'll know exactly how to make you look at me like I'm the only man in the world."

The logic was flimsy. The desire was not.

He pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh. Then another, higher. His breath was hot against her most sensitive skin.

"Tell me if it's too much," he said.

Camila shook her head. "It's not enough."

He smiled against her skin and then his mouth was on her.

The first touch of his tongue sent a shock through her system. He was gentle at first, exploring, learning. His hands gripped her hips, holding her steady as his mouth worked its magic. He found her clit and circled it with deliberate precision.

"Oh," she gasped. "Oh, God."

He hummed against her, the vibration sending sparks through her nerves. His tongue moved faster, then slower, building a rhythm that made her knees weak. She gripped his shoulders for balance.

"You taste incredible," he murmured against her. "I could do this all day."

His fingers joined his mouth, sliding inside her with a slick, perfect pressure. He curled them, finding that spot that made stars burst behind her eyes.

"Diego..."

"Let go, Camila. I've got you."

She wanted to resist. This was supposed to be practice. But her body was beyond listening. The pleasure built, wave after wave, until she was trembling on the edge.

He pressed his mouth harder against her, his tongue flicking in time with his fingers. She came apart with a cry, her body arching into his mouth. He stayed with her, gentling his touch as she rode out the climax.

When she finally opened her eyes, he was looking up at her, his lips slick and his eyes dark.

"That was..." She couldn't finish the sentence.

"Real," he said. "That was real."

He pulled her down onto the sand beside him. They lay together, the water lapping at their feet. The sun was warm on her skin, but she felt cold without his touch.

"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked.

He was quiet for a moment. "I had a girlfriend once. She was... hard to please. I learned to pay attention. To ask what she wanted. It became habit."

"What happened to her?"

"She left. Said I was too good at pretending. That she never knew when I was being real."

Camila turned to look at him. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He shrugged. "It was a long time ago. But it taught me something. That performing can be a cage. You get so good at being what people want that you forget who you are."

She reached out and touched his face. He turned to look at her, and for a moment, she saw the man behind the mask.

"I see you," she said. "The real you."

His breath caught. "Camila..."

"Don't. Don't say it's just the contract. I know what I felt."

He pulled her close, burying his face in her hair. "You're going to ruin me," he whispered. "You know that, right?"

She held him tighter. The waves whispered against the sand. The sun climbed higher in the sky.

Somewhere, her family was waiting. The rehearsal dinner was in a few hours. But here, in this hidden cove, there was only the two of them. And the truth they were both too afraid to name.

"Come on," she said finally. "We should get back."

He nodded, but he didn't let go. Not until she stood and pulled him to his feet.

They walked back through the channel, hand in hand. The water was warm. The air was thick with salt and secrets.

When they reached the beach, her mother was waiting. Her eyes went to their joined hands, to Camila's flushed cheeks.

"Did you have a good walk?" she asked.

Camila smiled. "The best."

Diego squeezed her hand. And for the first time since this started, she didn't feel like she was pretending.

She felt like she was home.

Rehearsal Night Fire

The oceanfront terrace glittered under string lights, the sunset bleeding gold and pink across the horizon. Camila stood beside Diego, her hand in his, her smile fixed in place as her mother approached with another glass of champagne.

"You two look absolutely radiant tonight," her mother said, her eyes sweeping over them with approval. "Doesn't she look happy, Ricardo?"

Her father nodded from behind his wife, his mustache twitching into a rare smile. "You seem different, mija. Lighter."

Camila's stomach tightened. She squeezed Diego's hand, and he squeezed back, grounding her. "The resort is beautiful. It's easy to relax here."

Diego lifted their joined hands and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "She's been working so hard to make everything perfect for Sofia. I keep telling her to let me take care of her instead."

The words were smooth, practiced, part of the act. But the look in his eyes when he said them made her breath catch. There was something real beneath the performance, something that had been growing since the beach.

Her mother beamed. "That's what I like to hear. A man who takes care of his woman."

Camila forced a laugh. "Mama, please don't scare him off."

"He doesn't look scared," her father said, his voice gruff but warm. "He looks like a man who knows what he wants."

Diego's gaze met hers, and for a moment, the noise of the dinner party faded. The clinking glasses became distant. The laughter blurred into background static. Even the waves crashing below seemed to fall away. There was only him, his hazel eyes dark in the fading light, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.

"I do," he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "I know exactly what I want."

Her mother cleared her throat, breaking the spell. "Well, we'll let you two enjoy the evening. The toast is in twenty minutes."

She watched them walk away, her heart hammering. Diego leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "You're doing great. Just breathe."

"I'm trying." She let out a shaky exhale. "This is harder than I thought it would be."

"What is?"

"Pretending." She turned to face him, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Pretending this doesn't feel real."

His hand tightened on hers. His jaw worked, muscles flexing beneath the stubble. "Camila..."

"Later," she said, her voice barely audible. "After the dinner. We need to talk."

He nodded, his expression unreadable. But his eyes burned with something that made her thighs press together beneath her dress.

The next hour was a blur of toasts, laughter, and family stories. Sofia glowed in her white rehearsal dress, her fiancé beaming beside her. Camila watched them, a strange ache blooming in her chest. She had planned this wedding. She had organized every detail, every flower, every napkin fold. But she had never imagined herself in her sister's place. Not until now.

Diego stayed close throughout the dinner. His hand on her lower back. His arm draped over her chair. His lips brushing her temple when her mother made another pointed comment about grandchildren. Each touch was a brand, searing through the thin fabric of her dress, leaving her skin tingling and raw.

By the time the dinner ended and the family dispersed toward the bar, Camila was trembling. Not from nerves. From want.

She grabbed Diego's hand and pulled him away from the crowd, through the garden path that led to their suite. The tropical air wrapped around them, thick with the scent of jasmine and salt. The sounds of the resort faded behind them, replaced by the rustle of palm fronds and the distant crash of waves.

Neither of them spoke. The silence was heavy, charged, electric in a way that made her skin prickle with anticipation.

She fumbled with the key card, her fingers shaking. Diego took it from her, his hand steady, and slid it into the lock. The door clicked open, and he pushed it wide, his eyes never leaving hers.

They stepped inside. The door clicked shut behind them, the sound loud in the quiet room.

Camila turned to face him. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. The mask she had worn all night slipped away. The professional planner was gone. The dutiful daughter was gone. Even the perfect girlfriend was gone, leaving only her. Raw. Wanting. Terrified.

"I don't want to pretend anymore," she said, her voice breaking on the last word. "Not tonight. Not with you."

Diego's eyes darkened. He took a step closer, then another, until he was close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body. "Say it again."

"I don't want to pretend."

"No." He reached out, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "Say my name. Tell me what you want."

Her throat tightened. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst. "Diego." She swallowed. "I want you. Not the actor. Not the fake boyfriend. I want you."

He made a sound low in his throat, something between a groan and a growl. And then his mouth was on hers, and there was nothing practiced about it.

This kiss was different from the first one in her office. That had been a test, a performance, a careful negotiation of boundaries. This was a claim. His lips slanted over hers, demanding and hungry and desperate all at once. His tongue swept into her mouth, and she tasted champagne and salt and something uniquely him.

She moaned, her hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He walked her backward until her back hit the wall, and he pressed his body against hers, the hard length of him grinding against her hip.

"I've been thinking about this all day," he said against her mouth, his voice rough. "All night. Every time your mother looked at us, every time you smiled at me across the table, I wanted to drag you away from all of them and have you to myself."

"Then have me." The words came out breathless, wanton, nothing like the controlled professional she had been hours ago. "I'm yours. Tonight, I'm yours."

He pulled back, his eyes searching hers. "You're sure?"

"I've never been more sure of anything."

He kissed her again, softer this time, a promise rather than a demand. His hands moved to the zipper of her dress, and he pulled it down slowly, the sound a whisper against the quiet of the room. The fabric loosened around her body, and he pushed it off her shoulders, letting it pool at her feet.

She stood before him in only her lace bra and panties, her skin flushed, her nipples hard against the thin fabric. His gaze traveled down her body, and she felt the weight of it like a physical touch.

"Beautiful," he breathed. "You're so beautiful, Camila."

He reached behind her and unclasped her bra, sliding the straps down her arms with deliberate slowness. The cool air hit her breasts, and she gasped as his thumbs brushed over her nipples, circling and teasing until she was arching into his touch.

"Diego, please."

"Please what?" His voice was a low rumble, his lips trailing down her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast.

"Please don't make me wait."

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin. "I've waited all week. I can wait a little longer."

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands sliding down her thighs, pushing her panties down until she stepped out of them. She was bare before him, completely exposed, and she had never felt more powerful or more vulnerable.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with hunger. "I want to taste you again. But not yet. First, I want to be inside you."

Her knees nearly buckled at his words. He stood, lifting her easily, and carried her to the bed. He laid her down on the white sheets, the fabric cool against her heated skin. Then he stepped back and undressed himself, his movements unhurried and deliberate.

She watched him, her mouth dry. His chest was broad, his skin golden in the dim light. The muscles of his abdomen flexed as he unbuckled his belt, pushed down his pants and his boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, and her breath caught at the sight of him.

He climbed onto the bed, positioning himself above her, his forearms bracketing her head. His skin was warm against hers, his weight a grounding pressure that made her feel safe and claimed all at once.

"Look at me," he said, his voice commanding but gentle. "I want to see your eyes when I take you."

She met his gaze, her heart racing. He reached down, guiding himself to her entrance, and paused.

"Tell me you want this," he said, his voice strained. "Tell me you want me."

She reached up, her hand cupping his cheek. "I want you, Diego. I want this. I want all of you."

He pushed inside her, slow and steady, and she gasped at the sensation. The stretch. The fullness. The feeling of being completely joined with him. He filled her in a way that went beyond the physical, a connection that felt like coming home.

He stilled once he was fully inside her, his forehead pressed to hers, his breath ragged. "God, Camila. You feel... I don't have words."

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Then show me."

He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that built a fire low in her belly. His hips rocked against hers, each thrust hitting a spot that made her see stars. He watched her face, his eyes burning with intensity, reading every flicker of pleasure that crossed her features.

"You're so tight," he groaned. "So perfect."

She couldn't form words. All she could do was hold on, her nails digging into his shoulders, her moans filling the room. The pace built, faster, harder, more desperate. The bed creaked beneath them, the headboard knocking against the wall in a rhythm that matched their frantic movements.

He shifted, angling his hips, and hit a spot that made her cry out. "There. Right there."

He drove into her, relentless, his hand sliding between their bodies to circle her clit. The dual sensations pushed her toward the edge, her body trembling, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Come for me," he commanded, his voice rough. "Let go. I've got you."

And she did. Her orgasm crashed through her, a wave that pulled her under, drowning her in pleasure. She cried out his name, her body clenching around him, and he followed her over the edge, his groan muffled against her neck as he spilled inside her.

They lay there, tangled together, breathing hard. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, the sound mixing with the distant crash of waves. Camila's mind was blank, her body humming with aftershocks.

Diego rolled off her, pulling her against his side. His hand traced lazy patterns on her hip, his lips pressed to her forehead.

"That was not part of the contract," he said, his voice quiet.

She laughed, a breathless, shaky sound. "No. It wasn't."

He propped himself up on his elbow, looking down at her. His expression was serious, vulnerable in a way she hadn't seen before. "I didn't want it to be. I wanted you. Not the job. You."

Her heart stuttered. She reached up, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "Diego..."

"I know this is complicated." He let out a rough laugh. "I know we had a deal. But I can't keep pretending that this is just a performance for me. It stopped being that the first time I kissed you."

She felt tears prick at her eyes. She blinked them back, her voice thick. "I don't know how to go back to pretending after this."

He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "Then don't. We figure it out. Together."

She looked at him, this man who had started as a hired actor and become something so much more. She saw the fear in his eyes, the same fear that lived in her own chest. But she also saw something else. Hope.

"Together," she repeated, the word a promise.

He pulled her closer, his arms wrapped around her, and she let herself sink into his warmth. Tomorrow, there would be a wedding. There would be family and expectations and a performance to maintain. But tonight, there was only this. Only them. Only the terrifying, wonderful truth that what had started as a pretense had become the most real thing in her life.

Wedding Day Tease

The morning sun painted the resort in gold as Camila adjusted her dress yet again, her fingers trembling against the silk. The ceremony was still hours away, and she hadn't slept. Not because of the wedding logistics, but because Diego's body had been pressed against hers all night, his breath warm on her neck, his hand resting on her hip like it belonged there.

She stared at her reflection, the soft lavender dress clinging to her curves, the neckline plunging just enough to be elegant but tempting. Her hair was pinned up, a few curls escaping to frame her face. She looked like a woman in love. That was the problem.

Diego emerged from the bathroom, his tuxedo jacket slung over his shoulder, his white shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He caught her eye in the mirror and smiled, that slow, devastating smile that made her knees weak.

"You look incredible," he said, his voice low.

"You don't look so bad yourself." She turned to face him, her heart hammering. "Are you ready for the performance?"

"Performance." He repeated the word like it tasted wrong. "I don't know, Cami. This doesn't feel like acting anymore."

Her breath caught. "What do you mean?"

He stepped closer, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. "I mean when I look at you, I'm not pretending. When I touch you, I'm not pretending. And when I think about tonight being the last night of our contract..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

"Don't," she whispered, though she didn't know if she was telling him or herself. "We have a deal."

"Fuck the deal."

Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers, hot and demanding, his tongue sliding against her lips. She melted into him, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. The kiss was frantic, desperate, like they were trying to memorize each other.

He pulled back, his forehead resting against hers. "We have to go."

"I know."

They walked to the ceremony together, his hand at the small of her back, his thumb tracing circles through the silk. Every touch felt like a brand, a claim she wasn't ready to examine.

The garden was transformed, white flowers and flowing drapes creating an ethereal backdrop. Camila's sister glowed in her gown, and Camila felt a pang of something she couldn't name. Envy, maybe. Or longing.

As the music started, she took her seat next to Diego, their thighs brushing. The ceremony was beautiful, the vows heartfelt, but Camila couldn't focus on any of it. All she could feel was Diego's hand slipping onto her knee, his fingers tracing slow patterns on her bare skin.

She shot him a warning look, but he just smiled, his eyes dark with promise. His hand slid higher, his fingers brushing the edge of her dress, and she had to bite her lip to keep from gasping.

The officiant spoke about love and commitment, about two souls becoming one, and Diego's fingers pressed harder, his touch becoming more insistent. Camila's breath came in shallow bursts, her body responding to him despite the crowd around them.

When the officiant said, "You may kiss the bride," Diego's hand stilled. The couple kissed, and the crowd erupted in applause. Camila clapped along, her heart pounding, her skin tingling where he had touched her.

He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear. "I want to be the one kissing you right now."

"Diego." His name was a plea, a warning, a confession all wrapped into one syllable.

"Just wait until the reception."

The reception was a blur of champagne and toasts and dancing. Camila smiled, laughed, posed for photos, but her mind was elsewhere. She watched Diego charm her family, his easy laughter and warm smiles making him seem like he belonged. Like he was hers.

Her mother pulled her aside, her eyes bright with approval. "Camila, I was wrong about him. He's wonderful. You two are wonderful."

Camila's throat tightened. "Thanks, Mom."

"I hope you're thinking about your own future." Her mother squeezed her hand. "A girl like you shouldn't let a man like that get away."

A girl like you. The words echoed in her head as she walked back to Diego. A girl who planned other people's happiness but never her own. A girl who hired fake boyfriends because she couldn't trust herself to find real love.

Diego caught her hand as she approached, pulling her onto the dance floor. The music was slow, romantic, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her close.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," he murmured.

"I'm always thinking too hard."

"Stop." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "Just feel."

She closed her eyes and let him guide her, their bodies moving together like they had done this a thousand times. His hand slid down her back, resting just above the curve of her ass, and she pressed closer, needing more contact.

"Diego."

"Yeah?"

"I need you."

His breath hitched. "Now?"

"Now."

He took her hand and led her off the dance floor, weaving through the crowd with purpose. They slipped out of the reception hall and into the garden, the night air cool against their heated skin.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice breathless.

"Somewhere private."

He pulled her toward a cluster of palm trees, where a small cabana was hidden from view. The fabric walls billowed in the breeze, and inside, a few cushions were scattered on the floor. It was meant for lounging, but they had other plans.

As soon as they were inside, Diego turned to her, his hands cupping her face, his kiss hungry and desperate. She moaned against his mouth, her fingers working the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel his skin.

"I've been wanting this all day," he gasped between kisses. "Watching you in that dress, knowing everyone else was looking at you, wanting you."

"They don't have me." She pulled his shirt open, revealing his chest, the muscles taut beneath his skin. "You do."

He growled, a sound that vibrated through her, and pushed her against the cabana's wooden frame. His mouth trailed down her neck, his teeth grazing her pulse point, and she arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair.

"I need to taste you," he said, his voice rough. "I need to feel you come on my tongue."

Her knees buckled. "Diego."

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands pushing her dress up her thighs. The silk bunched around her waist, and he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, his eyes locked on hers.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "I can't believe this is real."

"It's real." She cupped his face, her thumb tracing his jaw. "It's so real it scares me."

He didn't answer with words. He buried his face between her legs, his tongue sliding through her slick folds, and she cried out, her head falling back against the wooden frame. He was relentless, his mouth working her with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

His tongue circled her clit, slow and deliberate, before he sucked the sensitive bud into his mouth. A jolt of pleasure shot through her, her hips bucking against his face. He groaned in response, the vibration sending another wave of sensation through her core.

"God, you taste incredible," he murmured against her, his breath hot on her wet flesh. "I've been thinking about this all day. About having you in my mouth."

His fingers joined his tongue, two pressing inside her, curling to find that spot that made her vision blur. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging crescents into his skin, her breath coming in ragged pants.

"Diego, please." She didn't even know what she was begging for. More. Harder. Everything.

He answered her plea by adding a third finger, stretching her, filling her, while his tongue flicked relentlessly against her clit. The pressure built inside her, coiling tighter and tighter, her thighs trembling on either side of his head.

"That's it," he coaxed, his fingers pumping in a steady rhythm. "I can feel you getting close. You're clenching around my fingers."

"I'm close," she gasped. "So close."

"Let go," he said against her. "Come for me, Cami. Let me feel you."

She shattered, her body convulsing as pleasure ripped through her in waves. Her inner walls clenched around his fingers, pulsing with each aftershock, and he didn't stop, his tongue lapping at her through the climax until she was trembling, until she had to push him away because she couldn't take any more.

He stood, his mouth and chin glistening with her, and kissed her hard. She tasted herself on his lips, musky and sweet, and it was the most intimate thing she had ever experienced. Her hands fumbled with his belt, desperate and clumsy.

"I want you inside me," she said, her voice hoarse. "Right now."

He didn't need to be asked twice. He unfastened his pants, shoving them down his thighs, his cock springing free, already hard and thick and ready. She wrapped her fingers around him, stroking once, twice, feeling the velvet skin over steel beneath her palm.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips jerking into her touch. "You're going to kill me."

"Not yet." She squeezed him, her thumb circling the head, spreading the bead of moisture she found there. "I need you first."

He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her back pressed against the cabana wall. The rough wood bit into her shoulders, but she didn't care. She could feel the head of his cock nudging against her entrance, and she tried to pull him closer, desperate to have him inside her.

He pushed into her in one smooth, deep thrust, and they both groaned. The angle was perfect, hitting places that made her vision blur and her breath catch. He filled her completely, stretching her in the most delicious way, and she could feel every inch of him.

"You feel so good," he breathed, his forehead pressed against hers. "So tight. So wet."

"Move," she demanded. "Please, Diego, move."

He pulled back slowly, almost entirely out of her, before slamming back in. The force of it pushed her against the wall, the impact sending sparks of pleasure racing through her nerve endings. He set a rhythm, hard and fast, his hips slamming against hers, the sound of their bodies meeting echoing in the small space.

She could feel another orgasm building already, coiling low in her belly, tighter with each thrust. He shifted his angle slightly, and the head of his cock dragged against that spot inside her, the one that made her cry out and dig her nails into his shoulders.

"Right there," she gasped. "Don't stop, right there."

"I've got you." His hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit, circling it in time with his thrusts. "I want you to come again. I want to feel you squeeze my cock."

The dual sensation was too much. His fingers on her clit, his cock inside her, the rough wood at her back and the warm night air on her skin. She felt herself spiraling toward the edge, her body tensing, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

"Come with me," she begged, her voice breaking. "Come inside me."

"Fuck, Cami." His rhythm faltered, his thrusts becoming erratic, deeper. "I'm close."

"Now. I need you now."

He groaned, his body tensing against hers, and she felt him pulse inside her as she shattered again, her walls clenching around him, drawing him deeper. His warmth flooded her, and he buried his face in her neck, his breath hot and ragged against her skin, their cries mingling in the warm night air.

They stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, breathing hard. He lowered her gently, his forehead resting against hers, and she could feel him softening inside her, their combined warmth sliding down her thighs.

"I don't want this to end," he said, his voice barely a whisper.

Her heart clenched. "Neither do I."

They dressed in silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. As they walked back to the reception, Camila's mind raced. The wedding was almost over. Tomorrow, they would fly home. And then what?

She looked at Diego, his hand in hers, his smile easy and warm. She had hired him to pretend. But somewhere along the way, the pretense had become the most real thing in her life.

And she had no idea how to let it go.

Extension Offer

Camila woke to the soft gray light of dawn filtering through the suite's sheer curtains. For a long moment, she didn't move, didn't even breathe. She just lay there, feeling the weight of Diego's arm draped across her waist, the warmth of his chest pressed against her back, the steady rhythm of his breath stirring the hair at her neck.

Last night had been different.

Not just the sex, though that had been frantic and desperate, nothing like the controlled encounters before. It was the way he'd held her afterward, the way he'd whispered her name like it meant something. The way he'd stayed.

She turned slowly in his arms, careful not to wake him. In sleep, the easy charm fell away from his face, leaving something softer. More vulnerable. His lips were slightly parted, his brow smooth. His arm tightened reflexively around her as she moved.

God, she was in trouble.

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, and she reached for it, trying not to jostle Diego. The screen glowed with a text from her mother.

Breakfast at nine in the main dining room. Big news! Love you.

Camila's stomach tightened. Big news could mean anything with her family. Another cousin's engagement, maybe, or some surprise guest her mother had unearthed. Or worse, another attempt to set her up with someone "appropriate."

She set the phone down and looked at Diego again. The contract was clear. One week. The wedding was over today. They were supposed to fly home tomorrow morning.

But lying here, with his body curled around hers, she didn't want to think about tomorrow.

Diego stirred, his eyes fluttering open. For a second, he looked confused, then recognition flooded in, followed by something warmer. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning." She smiled, tracing a finger along his jaw. "You snore."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do. It's adorable."

He groaned, pulling her closer. "I'm not adorable. I'm rugged and mysterious."

"You're adorable and you snore." She pressed a kiss to his chest, feeling his heartbeat under her lips. "My mother texted. Breakfast at nine. She says she has big news."

Diego's hand slid down her back, tracing slow circles on her skin. "Big news could mean anything."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"Or it could be good news. Maybe they're paying for an extra week."

She laughed, but the sound died in her throat. An extra week. The thought sent a thrill through her, followed immediately by panic. An extra week of pretending. An extra week of this.

An extra week of falling harder.

"We should get up," she said, but she didn't move. Neither did he.

"Five more minutes," he whispered, his lips finding her neck. "Just five."

His mouth was warm and soft, trailing kisses along her collarbone. She shivered, her fingers threading through his hair. "We're going to be late."

"Let them wait."

His hand slid lower, cupping her hip, pulling her leg over his. She could feel him, already hard, pressing against her thigh. The slow intimacy of it made her breath catch.

"Diego..."

"Hmm?"

"We need to talk about last night."

He pulled back, his eyes searching hers. "What about it?"

"It was different." She swallowed. "You were different."

"I know." He was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing patterns on her skin. "I don't know how to explain it, Camila. When I'm with you, the act just stops being an act. It stops."

Her heart hammered against her ribs. "That's dangerous. For both of us."

"Why does it have to be dangerous? Why can't it just be good?"

"Because we have a contract. Because this was supposed to be temporary." She paused, her voice dropping. "Because I don't know how to do this without a script."

He laughed, low and soft. "Neither do I. That's the problem, isn't it? We're both pretending we know what we're doing, and neither of us has a clue."

She wanted to argue, but the truth of it settled between them, warm and heavy. "I don't want to get hurt."

"I don't want to hurt you." His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "But I can't promise I won't. I can only promise I'll try not to."

It wasn't a grand declaration. It wasn't a love confession. But it was real, and that scared her more than anything.

Her phone buzzed again. Another text from her mother.

Did you get my message? Breakfast at nine. Don't be late!

Camila sighed, but Diego was already moving, rolling on top of her, his body pressing her into the mattress. "We have thirty minutes," he said, his voice dropping low. "That's plenty of time."

"For what?"

"For this."

He kissed her, slow and deep, his tongue sliding against hers. There was no urgency, no desperation. Just a languid exploration, a rediscovery. His hands roamed her body as if he had all the time in the world, as if he wanted to memorize every curve.

She let herself sink into it, let herself feel without thinking. His mouth moved down her throat, pausing at the hollow where her pulse beat fast. He lingered there, pressing his lips to the spot, feeling her heartbeat against his mouth. Then he continued lower, his lips tracing the slope of her chest, his tongue circling her nipple with deliberate slowness. She arched into him, a soft moan escaping her lips.

"Tell me what you want," he murmured against her skin.

"I want..." She hesitated, the words caught in her throat. "I want you to stay. Not just for breakfast. I want you to stay."

He lifted his head, his eyes dark and serious. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

He sealed it with a kiss, and then he was moving down her body, his mouth trailing heat across her stomach. He paused at her hip bone, biting gently, then soothing the spot with his tongue. She gasped, her fingers tightening in the sheets. He continued lower, his lips brushing the inside of her thigh, his breath warm against her skin. He took his time, kissing and nibbling, building the anticipation until she was trembling.

When he finally found her center, she cried out. His tongue slid through her folds, slow and deliberate, tasting her. He groaned against her, the vibration sending sparks through her body. He took his time, worshipping her with his mouth, his hands holding her hips steady as she writhed beneath him.

He drew out every sensation, alternating between long, slow strokes and quick, focused attention that made her gasp. He brought her to the edge and held her there, teasing, prolonging, until she was begging.

"Please, Diego. Please."

He lifted his head, his chin glistening. "Please what?"

"Please don't stop."

He smiled, and then he was moving up her body, positioning himself at her entrance. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, letting her feel every second of it. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deeper, her breath catching as he filled her completely.

"This," he said, his voice rough. "This is real. You and me. This is real."

He moved inside her, a steady rhythm that built and built. Each thrust pushed her closer to the edge. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her breath coming in gasps. He shifted his angle slightly, and the new sensation made her cry out, her body arching off the bed.

"Look at me," he said, and she did. His eyes were locked on hers, fierce and vulnerable at the same time. "I want to see you when you come."

The intensity of it shattered her. She cried out his name, her body clenching around him, wave after wave of pleasure crashing through her. He followed moments later, his groan muffled against her neck, his body shuddering as he spilled into her.

They stayed like that, tangled together, breathing hard. His weight on her was comforting, grounding. She didn't want him to move, didn't want the moment to end.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Finally, Diego shifted, pulling her closer. "I don't want this to end," he said quietly. "The wedding, the pretending. I don't want it to end."

"Me neither."

Her phone buzzed again, but she ignored it. The world outside this bed could wait.

Breakfast was a loud affair, the family spread across two long tables in the resort's main dining room. Camila sat next to Diego, his hand resting on her thigh under the table, a constant reminder of the morning's intimacy.

Her mother stood at the head of the table, a glass of orange juice raised. "I have an announcement," she said, beaming. "Your father and I have decided to extend our stay. Another week. We're moving to the private villas on the north end of the resort, and we want everyone to join us."

A chorus of cheers erupted from the family. Camila's heart stopped.

Another week.

She looked at Diego, who was watching her with an unreadable expression. "What do you think?" he asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

"I think..." She swallowed. "I think we need to talk."

They excused themselves after breakfast, walking along the beach path that led away from the resort. The sand was warm under her feet, the ocean sparkling in the morning light.

"I can't believe they're extending the trip," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "This changes everything."

"Does it?"

She stopped, turning to face him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, does it really change anything? We were leaving tomorrow. Now we're leaving in a week. That's just more time."

"More time for what?"

He stepped closer, his hands coming up to cup her face. "More time for us. More time to figure out what this is."

"And what if we figure it out and it's nothing? What if we're just two people who got caught up in the fantasy?"

"Then at least we'll know." He pressed his forehead to hers. "But I don't think that's what this is. I think this is real, Camila. And I think you know it too."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to list all the reasons why this was a bad idea. But the words wouldn't come.

Because he was right.

"One week," she said finally. "One more week. And then we talk about what happens next."

"One week," he agreed. "But I'm not going to let you go easily, Camila. I'm not going to pretend that I can."

She kissed him, soft and sweet, tasting salt and promise. "Neither am I."

They walked back to the resort hand in hand, the weight of the decision settling between them. Another week of pretending. Another week of falling.

Another week of hoping that when it was over, they wouldn't have to let go.

But deep down, she already knew the truth.

It was already too late to let go. She didn't want to. And for the first time in her life, she wasn't going to pretend otherwise.

Jealousy Peak

The morning sun felt different over the resort pool. Brighter. Hotter. Camila stretched out on the lounge chair, her body still humming from the slow, worshipful sex they'd shared just hours ago. Diego's palm rested on her thigh, a casual possessive weight that made her smile.

"You're staring," she said without opening her eyes.

"I'm admiring." His thumb traced lazy circles on her skin. "There's a difference."

She laughed, letting the sound float across the water. The pool area had filled with guests, families scattered around the turquoise expanse, couples claiming shaded cabanas. Her sister and new brother-in-law were still sleeping off the wedding festivities. For once, Camila felt no pressure to perform, no need to prove anything.

Then she saw him.

Marcus. The best man from a wedding she'd coordinated last year. He'd flirted relentlessly, asked her out three times, and she'd politely declined each one. He was supposed to be in Cabo, not here, not at this resort, not walking toward her with that confident swagger she remembered too well.

"Camila Rivera?" His voice boomed across the pool deck. "I thought that was you."

She sat up, shielding her eyes. "Marcus. Hi. I didn't know you were staying here."

"Just got in last night. My brother's getting married at the chapel tomorrow." He dropped onto the lounge chair beside her, completely ignoring Diego. "You look incredible. Still planning weddings?"

Diego's fingers tightened on her thigh. A warning. A claim.

"I am," Camila said, her professional smile sliding into place. "Actually, I'm here for my sister's wedding. It was yesterday."

"Lucky timing." Marcus leaned closer. "You free tonight? Dinner, maybe? I never did get that drink you owed me."

"She's with me." Diego's voice cut through the air, low and sharp. He didn't sit up. Didn't move. Just let those words hang there, heavy and undeniable.

Marcus finally looked at him. Assessed. Dismissed. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Diego. Her boyfriend."

The word hit Camila in the chest. Boyfriend. Not client. Not fake date. Boyfriend. Her heart stuttered.

Marcus's smile faltered. "Right. Well, if you change your mind, Camila, you know where to find me." He stood, gave her a lingering look, and disappeared toward the bar.

The silence he left behind was thick enough to drown in.

Camila turned to Diego. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the spot where Marcus had stood. The easy charm she'd grown accustomed to had vanished, replaced by something raw and unfamiliar.

"Diego."

"Let's go back to the room."

"We just got here."

"I said let's go back to the room."

The command in his voice sent a shiver down her spine. Not fear. Something else. Something that made her gather her things without another word.

The walk to the suite was silent. His palm pressed against the small of her back, guiding her, claiming her. When he closed the door behind them, the click of the lock echoed like a gunshot.

"Who was that?" He didn't turn around.

"A client. I coordinated his best friend's wedding last year."

"He wanted you."

"He asked me out. I said no."

"But he still wanted you." Diego turned, and the look in his eyes stole her breath. Heat and possession and something almost feral. "I saw the way he looked at you. Like he had the right."

"Diego, it doesn't matter. I'm with you."

"Are you?" He stepped closer. "We're still pretending, aren't we? That's the deal."

The words were a knife. She felt them slide between her ribs. "Is that what you want it to be?"

He stopped inches from her. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. "No."

The admission cracked something open between them.

"Then what do you want?" she whispered.

His hand came up to cup her jaw, thumb tracing her lower lip. "I want to know you're mine. Not for a performance. Not for a contract. Mine."

Her breath caught. "Diego..."

"Tell me I'm not the only one feeling this." His voice broke. "Tell me this isn't just an act for you."

The vulnerability in his face undid her. This wasn't the charming actor. This was the man beneath the mask, scared and desperate and real.

"It's not an act," she said. "It hasn't been an act for days."

A sound escaped his throat, half groan, half relief. Then his mouth was on hers, hungry and demanding. No gentle exploration. No slow burn. This was fire, immediate and consuming.

His hands found her hips, yanking her against him. She felt his hardness through the thin fabric of her cover-up, and the evidence of his want made her ache.

"I need to be inside you," he growled against her mouth. "I need to remind you who you belong to."

"Show me." She said it without hesitation. "Show me I'm yours."

He didn't wait. He turned her, pressing her palms flat against the cool wall. Her cover-up hit the floor, then her bikini bottom. His hands roamed her body, rough and claiming, leaving trails of fire wherever they touched. He pulled the bikini top over her head, letting it fall beside the other discarded fabric, and she stood bare before him in the golden light filtering through the curtains.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he said, his voice ragged. "Every man at that pool was looking at you. But only I get to touch you. Only I get to feel you come undone."

His mouth traced a path down her neck, teeth grazing the sensitive skin where her pulse hammered. She arched into him, pressing her breasts against his chest through his shirt, desperate for more contact. His tongue found the curve of her shoulder, and she shivered.

"I've been hard since that bastard sat down next to you," he murmured against her skin. "Wanted to break his fingers for the way he looked at you."

"He doesn't matter."

"No." His hands slid up her ribs, cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her peaked nipples. "He doesn't. But I need you to know that this is real. That I'm real."

She gasped as he rolled her nipples between his fingers, gentle pressure that sent electricity straight to her core. "I know."

"Tell me." He pinched harder, and she moaned. "Tell me you know this is real."

"It's real. You're real. This is real."

His hands slid lower, over the swell of her hips, down to where she was already slick and aching for him. His fingers found her wet and ready, and he groaned against her ear. "You're already soaked for me."

"I'm always ready for you," she admitted. "I can't help it."

He stroked her slowly, one finger sliding through her folds while his thumb circled the swollen bud of her clit. She bucked against his hand, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of anything he would give her.

"Patience," he whispered. "I'm not done with you yet."

He added a second finger, curling them inside her while his thumb continued its maddening rhythm. The wet sounds of her arousal filled the room, obscene and intoxicating. She pressed her forehead against the wall, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.

"Diego, please."

"Please what?"

"I need you inside me. I need to feel you."

He withdrew his fingers, and she heard the rustle of fabric as he shed his clothes. Then the broad head of his cock pressed against her entrance, teasing, promising.

"Say it," he demanded.

"What?"

"Say you're mine."

She pushed back against him, desperate for more. "I'm yours."

He thrust into her in one smooth motion, filling her completely. She cried out, her forehead dropping against the wall. He was deeper from this angle, hitting places that made her see stars. The stretch of him, the fullness, bordered on too much and exactly enough at once.

"Mine," he repeated, pulling out slowly and slamming back in. "This is mine."

"Yes."

"Say it again."

"I'm yours, Diego. Only yours."

He set a punishing rhythm, each thrust driving her higher. His fist tangled in her hair, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind her who was in control. The possessiveness in every movement, every sound, made her feel claimed in a way she'd never experienced.

"You feel that?" he growled, driving into her with deep, deliberate strokes. "That's me. No one else gets to make you feel like this."

"No one else," she gasped.

"That man at the pool will never know what you sound like when you come. He'll never know how tight you get around me, how wet you are right now." His grip on her hip tightened, fingers digging into her flesh. "These are things only I know. Only I get to have."

"Only you," she agreed, her voice breaking on the words.

He shifted his angle slightly, and the change sent sparks through her entire body. She felt the orgasm building already, a slow coil deep in her belly that tightened with every thrust.

His hand slid around her hip, fingers finding her clit again. He circled it with the same rhythm as his thrusts, and the dual sensation pushed her closer to the edge. "Come for me. Let me feel you come apart on my cock."

"I'm close," she gasped. "Diego, I'm going to..."

"That's it. Let go. I've got you."

The orgasm hit her like a wave, pulling her under. She cried out his name, her body clenching around him in pulsing waves that dragged him deeper. He followed moments later, his groan muffled against her shoulder as he spilled into her, his hips jerking with each pulse.

They stayed like that for a long moment, panting, trembling, connected. She could feel him still hard inside her, the aftershocks of her orgasm rippling through her body. He pressed kisses to her shoulder, her neck, the sensitive spot behind her ear.

Then he pulled out slowly, turning her to face him.

His eyes were soft now, the fire banked but not extinguished. He cupped her face in both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears she hadn't realized she'd shed.

"That wasn't just sex," he said. "That was me losing my mind because I can't stand the thought of losing you."

Her heart cracked open. "You're not going to lose me."

"The contract ends in three days."

"Then we tear it up."

He searched her eyes. "You mean that?"

She nodded, her voice steady. "I want more than the contract. I want you. Real you. Not the actor. Not the performance. Just Diego."

His breath shuddered out of him. "I'm scared, Camila. I've never done this. Never let anyone in."

"I know. Me neither." She pressed her palm against his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "But I'd rather be scared with you than safe with anyone else."

He kissed her then, soft and tender, a promise sealed with touch. When he pulled back, his smile was real, unguarded, beautiful.

"I love you," he said. "I think I've loved you since you walked into that interview and told me I was exactly what you were looking for."

Tears spilled over. "I love you too. I was just too scared to admit it."

He laughed, pulling her into his arms. "We're a mess."

"A beautiful mess."

"Ours."

She nestled into his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart. The jealousy that had sparked this encounter had burned away, leaving something stronger in its place. Honesty and vulnerability and love.

And for the first time, Camila believed it would last.

Real Proposal

The Cancun airport terminal buzzed with departing tourists, families wrestling with souvenirs, honeymooners still glowing with tan lines and satisfaction. Camila stood at the gate, her carry-on bag heavy on her shoulder, the final payment envelope burning a hole in her purse. She couldn't look at Diego.

She had to.

He stood beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw tight. He wore the same linen shirt from their first meeting, the one that made him look effortlessly put together, but his eyes held none of that practiced charm now. They were raw, uncertain, searching.

"Your flight boards soon," she said, the words scraping past the lump in her throat.

"I know."

"You should go."

"I don't want to."

She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the week pressing down on her chest. The wedding was over. The contract was complete. She had done her job, played her role, and now it was time to return to her life. Her empty apartment. Her endless matchmaking mother. Her carefully controlled world.

"Diego, this was the arrangement," she said, forcing her voice steady. "One week. We both knew that."

"I don't care about the arrangement." He stepped closer, dropping his voice so only she could hear. "I care about you. About us. About what we built this week that wasn't pretend."

She shook her head, blinking back the sting in her eyes. "You're an actor. This is what you do. You make people believe."

"Then believe me now." He took her hand, his fingers warm and insistent. "I'm not acting, Cami. I haven't been acting since the rehearsal dinner. Maybe before. I don't know when it stopped being a role and started being real, but it did. And I can't just walk away from that."

She pulled her hand back, pressing it to her chest like she could hold her heart together. "What are you asking me to do? Miss my flight? Stay in Cancun forever?"

"Yes."

The word hung between them, simple and terrifying.

"I'm serious," he said. "Don't get on that plane. Come with me. We'll figure it out. We'll find a way to make this work."

"You don't even know where you're going next. You have auditions, jobs, a life in LA."

"I'll cancel them. I'll reschedule. I'll move to New York if that's where you are." He stepped closer, his voice breaking. "I'll do whatever it takes, Camila. Just tell me you want this too."

She wanted to say yes. God, she wanted to say yes. Every cell in her body screamed at her to grab him, to kiss him, to never let go. But the old voice, the people-pleasing voice, the voice that had guided her entire life, whispered warnings.

What will your mother think? What will your sister say? You barely know him. This is crazy. This is reckless. This is exactly the kind of impulsive decision you've spent your whole life avoiding.

She looked at him, at the desperation in his hazel eyes, at the way his hands trembled slightly at his sides. He was terrified too. He was risking everything.

"What if this doesn't work?" she whispered. "What if we crash and burn?"

"Then we crash and burn together." He cupped her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. "But at least we tried. At least we didn't walk away wondering what could have been. I'd rather have a week of real with you than a lifetime of pretend with someone else."

The boarding announcement crackled over the loudspeaker. "Passengers for the flight to New York, please proceed to the gate for final boarding."

Camila's heart hammered against her ribs. The envelope in her purse felt like lead. She looked at the gate, at the line of passengers shuffling forward, at the flight attendant waiting with a patient smile.

Then she looked at Diego.

She thought about the way he held her in the cabana, his voice rough with need. The way he opened up to her on that last morning, his walls crumbling as he confessed his fears. The way he looked at her now, like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

She thought about her empty apartment. Her mother's next phone call. The next wedding she'd plan, always the architect of other people's happiness, never her own.

"I don't want to pretend anymore," she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "I don't want to go back to being the planner, the fixer, the one who makes everyone else happy while I'm miserable."

Diego's eyes widened, hope flickering through the fear.

"I want you," she continued, her voice gaining strength. "I want this. I want to see where this goes, even if it's terrifying. Even if it might fail."

"It won't fail," he said, pulling her into his arms. "I won't let it fail."

She buried her face in his chest, breathing in his scent, feeling his heart pound against her cheek. "We need a hotel. My family is probably still at the resort."

"I already booked one." He pulled back, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. "I booked it this morning. Before we even left for the airport. I was hoping."

She laughed, the sound shaky and relieved. "You were that confident?"

"I was that desperate." He kissed her forehead, her nose, her lips. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

They walked hand in hand through the terminal, past the gates and the shops and the crowds of travelers, until they reached a small hotel attached to the airport. Diego had booked a suite on the top floor, away from the noise, away from the world.

The room was simple but clean, with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the runway and the ocean beyond. The setting sun painted everything in shades of gold and pink, casting long shadows across the bed.

Camila dropped her bag and turned to face him. The nervous energy from the airport had faded, replaced by something deeper, something certain.

"I can't believe I did that," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I can." Diego stepped closer, his hands finding her waist. "You're braver than you think, Cami."

"I don't feel brave. I feel terrified."

"Me too." He kissed her, soft and tender. "But I'd rather be terrified with you than safe with anyone else."

She melted into him, her arms winding around his neck. The kiss deepened, slow and exploratory, like they had all the time in the world. Because now they did. There was no performance, no audience, no deadline. Just them.

He walked her backward toward the bed, his hands sliding under her shirt, tracing the curve of her spine. She gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch.

"I want to remember this," he murmured against her throat. "Every second. Every sound. Every shiver."

"Then make it count."

He laid her down on the bed, his body covering hers, his weight a comfort she had never known she needed. He kissed her slowly, deliberately, like he was memorizing the shape of her lips. His hands moved with reverence, undressing her piece by piece, pressing kisses to each newly exposed inch of skin.

When she was bare beneath him, he pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark with desire and something softer, something vulnerable.

"I love you," he said.

The words hit her like a wave, warm and overwhelming. She had heard him say it before, in the heat of passion, but this was different. This was quiet. Intentional. Real.

"I love you too," she said, and meant it with every fiber of her being.

He kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as his hand slid between her thighs. She moaned, spreading her legs, inviting him in. He touched her with deliberate care, circling her clit until she was trembling, until she was begging.

"Please, Diego. I need you."

He positioned himself above her, his cock pressing against her entrance. "Look at me," he said.

She met his eyes, and in that moment, there was no pretense. No game. No performance. Just two people, choosing each other, again and again.

He pushed inside her slowly, inch by inch, letting her feel every moment of the connection. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body arching to meet him. He filled her completely, and when he was fully sheathed, he paused, letting her adjust, letting the intimacy wash over them.

"This is real," he said, his voice rough. "You're mine. And I'm yours. No more pretending."

"No more pretending," she echoed.

He began to move, slow and deep, each thrust a declaration. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, her hands tangled in his hair. The rhythm built, steady and relentless, their bodies moving together like they had been doing this for years.

She could feel the pressure building, the familiar coil tightening in her belly. But this time, it was different. This time, she wasn't chasing release. She was chasing him. She was chasing the future they had just chosen.

"Come for me," he whispered, his forehead pressed to hers. "Let go, Cami. I've got you."

And she did. She shattered around him, her cry swallowed by his kiss, her body convulsing with the force of her climax. He followed moments later, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside her, his groan a prayer of gratitude.

They lay tangled together, sweaty and breathless, the sunset painting their skin in shades of amber. Camila traced patterns on his chest, her mind still reeling from the leap she had taken.

"What happens now?" she asked.

Diego pressed a kiss to her hair. "Now we figure it out. Together. I'll come to New York. We'll find an apartment. We'll make this work."

"What about your career?"

"I'll audition there. LA isn't the only place for actors." He tilted her chin up, meeting her eyes. "And if I have to choose between my career and you, I choose you. Every time."

She felt tears prick her eyes. "I don't deserve you."

"You deserve everything." He kissed her forehead. "And I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving it to you."

She smiled, the first real smile she had felt in years. "That sounds like a proposal."

"It is." He grinned, his eyes bright with joy. "Not a wedding proposal. Not yet. But a proposal for a life. A real one. With all the messy, complicated, beautiful parts."

She leaned up and kissed him, pouring every ounce of her love into that single point of contact. "I accept."

They made love again as the stars came out, slower this time, more tender. And when they finally fell asleep, tangled in each other, Camila knew she had made the right choice.

She had stopped pretending.

She had started living.