Runaway Fiancés | ONC 2023 (Complete)

Two - Marcos

Her chest heaves in her gown, drawing my eyes where they should not go, and I have to forcibly move them back up to meet her gaze. My hand itches to slide the errant chestnut curl behind her shoulder. I want to put it all back in place and...

"I'm fine. Many thanks to you. I was... extremely uncomfortable." Her voice chimes like bells on the wind, and something floral follows her as she steps toward me, closing even more of the small space between us.

"So," I clear my throat. "What am I to call you, my bride?"

Her demure giggle grates at my nerves and warms my heart all at once. Something in me wants to know everything going on behind those piercing brown eyes of hers. I have no idea why, but she draws me. "Catalina, my lord."

She dips into a curtsey so low her hand pulls downward on mine as I press the back of it to my lips for a kiss. "And I take it you are here with your... husband?" I ask, searching her eyes for an answer. Though I know logically she's not here with her husband. She would never have accepted my offer if that were the case.

"I am no one's wife," she says, rising to full height.

"Well, then." I offer my arm to her. "It appears you are mine."

She pulls back almost imperceptibly. Her smile falters into something altogether lacking spark. I should be glad to be rid of it, but instead all I feel is the need to bring it back.

"For appearances only," I whisper into her ear.

Do I imagine the shiver that shakes through her as my breath reaches her neck?

"Well, in that case," she muses, threading her arm through mine and clasping her hands together. "I was thinking of returning to the dining car. Would you care to join me, my husband?"

It wouldn't hurt to eat something on this journey, I suppose. "It would be my honour," I answer. "Catalina," I add almost as a prayer.

She walks toward the dining car, and I follow her lead, all the while formulating outlandish theories about how she ended up on my train car.

Once we are seated at the dining table, I'm acutely aware of the unwelcome ears and eyes surveying our conversation, so I lower my voice. "May I ask?" I begin. "May I inquire as to how you found yourself on this train without a ticket?"

She delicately places a spoonful of paella into her mouth and her eyes dart around the room before she leans in, lips inches from my ears. "What makes you think I don't have a ticket?"

It takes everything in me not to release the groan that gathers in my throat as her warm breath dances across my neck. My firmly closed eyes and clenched jaw are all that stands between me and a very poor decision.

A wholly improper decision commensurate with my reputation rather than my character.

When she pulls back from me, she rests her hand on mine atop the table, glancing around and taking another slight spoonful of her paella. Her lack of ring a glaring omission to those of our stature.

My stature, I suppose. I know nothing of her.

"I think you don't have a ticket," I say once I've leaned close enough that only she can hear, "because you do not look like the type of lady who would need to pretend in order to attract a husband. It can't be difficult for you to become someone's wife. Especially not mine. And yet you jumped at the opportunity. So the only logical conclusion is that you did not, in fact, pay to board this train."

"And you, knowing all of that, decided to help me in my fraudulent journey?" She's staring at me now, hands folded in her lap.

"I don't know what came over me." And truly I do not. How I managed to get myself into this situation is beyond me. I'm not usually so impulsive. At least not when it comes to beautiful women in distress.