is streaming through the curtains. The room is glowing maple and I'm so warm. I move closer, hugging the pillow tighter - except Abuela's pillow feels overly large and like stone. Abuela's pillows also smell like sweet lemon and sandalwood.

Surprised and overwhelmed by the scent, my eyes darted open to realise my face is buried into the crook of Dimitri's neck, his head resting on top. He's got his arms around me as mine rests near his chest and our legs are completely tangled together.

He's soundly snoring away, I jerk back wanting to escape the warm embrace immediately but he's weight keeps me locked in place. What the hell happened to the pillow border? I try craning my head to the left. The pillow lies on the floor on my side, it's shoved away. Maybe I am the reason this happened. I had the tendency to hug my pillow whilst sleeping, only because I slept alone and developed a habit of it.

"Dimitri," I call, nudging him.

His eyes are still closed. "Morning sunshine," he mutters in his sleep enveloped voice that rumbles from the back of his throat. My stomach tumbles, blue butterflies have found home inside.

It feels extremely intimate. Maybe sleeping beside him was a terrible idea...

"Can you let me go?" his eyes snap open, the warmth fading quickly. He mutters a sheepish apology and rolls around, his face buried into the pillow. Against the fuzzy feeling that's spreading across my body, his embrace felt good and it's put me at standstill for words. I say nothing to him.

Instead, I hike the duvet closer, tucking it underneath my chin and close my eyes for a little longer. Five minutes later, I can feel the bed lighten as he sits upright, groaning slightly. Dimitri stills, his eyes are piercing me. I don't open them.

Then his phone buzzes on the nightstand and he reaches over, answering the call. In his sleepy voice, he mutters a range of yes and no's then lets out a dark grumble with disapproval. "No, I'm not in London right now." Dimitri goes silent, the squeak like voice babbles on from the other side of the phone.

"Oh, bugger off Anwar. Don't call me until monday morning," he slams the phone down on the nightstand. I have the sudden urge to laugh at his anger but hide my face into the pillow. Only Anwar could piss him off bright and early.

The bed squeaks, his weight dips and he's walking to the bathroom to freshen up. The door closes shut and locks. The problem is I don't hear him step out.

"Bella?" I hum a yes. Dimitri's gently shaking me awake again. "Wake up." I slowly open my eyes wondering when I dozed off again. I've got morning daydreams fresh in my mind and I swear a minute ago, I was roaming the gardens of Avondale - my old home. Dimitri's hovering over me, he's showered and changed. Still shirtless and his hair is dripping water onto the duvet. After he's satisfied that I'm completely awake, he steps back tending to the notifications on his phone.

I take it as a sign to finally get out of bed. Opening the wardrobe, I gather a change of clothes and step in to freshen up for breakfast. It only takes me ten minutes and I'm out like lighting.

The weather is relatively sunny for the end of April, hence I choose to wear an off-shoulder yellow frill dress that ends just below my knees. With a last swipe of lipstick, I check in the mirror to make sure I look presentable enough for breakfast. Not that Dimitri was here or anything, pft, didn't care about that.

When I return, Dimitri's still standing in the same position except his towel is slung around his neck. He's still shirtless. Maybe he's physically struggling to put a shirt on?

The opening and closing of the bathroom door captures his attention for a brief second and he shifts over to take a quick glance at me before swiftly resuming back to whatever he's doing on his phone.

I watch it happen in slow motion – the jolt of realisation slapping him across the face before he snaps his head up and really takes a long gape at me. He slowly blinks, his eyes travelling down. Pausing for a moment after my collarbones.

I'm too dazed and humoured to realise what's going on. Something else has completely captured my attention. He's got a patch of leftover shaving cream dotted just below his lips.

I take a step closer, his eyes meet mine. Alarmed that he's been caught ogling.

"Uhm, you got a little something–" I point to my own lip.

His eyebrows pinch together, his gaze drifting to my lips now. He's too oblivious. "Huh?" Becoming increasingly frustrated, I reach out wiping the excess from underneath his lips with my thumb. To my surprise, he doesn't flinch back like expected. His blue eyes are darkening, the pupil filling over. Molton and stormy – something dark that I can't decipher

"Bella." He breathlessly says my name, like a prayer. I'm too busy staring at his lips to even register my name slipping out. One second, he's standing in front of me. The next, he's pulling my body closer to his and cupping my jaw in his hands.

My legs wrap around his waist, his lips press against mine and I moan. My hands curl into his wet hair and together, we're electric. He kisses me like a man starved– hungry, breathless and burning with need. His large hands trial over my body tenderly, exploring, scathing over all the right places. I can't think of a single coherent thought but him.

He bites my lip, eliciting a low moan from me. His lips trial wet kisses down my neck and he nibbles the sensitive spot. Dimitri begins walking backwards to the vanity, hands spread against my ass and it's only when something falls off and clunks to the ground we both freeze.

That humid spell dissipates and we both stare at each other, breathless. Our chests rise and fall in sync and Dimitri's got lipstick imprints all over his lips. He lets go off me immediately and my legs dangle from the vanity edge.

"I should check my emails." He says, blinking. The lust lingers prominently in his eyes.

I slowly fix my dress and cover my exposed thigh, nodding at him. "You're right." I squeak out with difficulty. "I hear Abuela calling my name. I should go." With that said, I hope off the vanity and almost run out the room.

Shit, shit. Shit. I kissed Dimitri. And Dimitri kissed me.

My heart is still hammering violently as I race downstairs. I try to suppress the thought of the kiss. It's permanently scarred into the influx of my mind and it refuses to leave. Chills race down my spine every time he pauses to simply stare at me - I'm not quite sure what's happening but this morning has certainly been eventful.

The living room and kitchen are silent, I don't think Abuela has woken up yet. I debate knocking on her door but decide against it and start preparing breakfast for the three of us. Full english it is. I'm halfway through cooking sausages when Abuela shows up, surprised that I'm already preparing breakfast. She's delighted by the gesture and kisses me on the cheek, stating I look lovely today.

She props herself on the barstool, quizzing me if I slept great. I contain an eye roll, she was obviously being very nosey this morning and trying to find out if Dimitri and I put the condoms to use. I simply tell her it was great and she grins. The conversation shifts and she grills me about work in which I start complaining about Christian Williams – who's slowly becoming the bane of my existence.

Just then, Dimitri decides to stroll into the kitchen.

He's decided to finally put a shirt on (not that I was complaining) and decorated himself with a navy blue hoodie that has a white checkmark on the left. I swiftly come to realise that this is the second time I'm seeing him without his work wear and he rocks casual clothing better.

"Buenos días," He greets Abuela in español. Of course, he's still charming her. Then his eyes lock with mine and it's piercing and intense. The temperature soars, the world freezes for a second, my cheeks are rushing with blood.

"Tea?" My voice is breaking apart. He offers a simple yes please. Note to self - throw his black coffee out. I slide the steaming cup over to him. This is oddly weird and very domesticated. I'm beginning to feel like a wife.

My rant about Christian Williams doesn't seem to end and Dimitri's all ears, enjoying it. "He's the type of lad to be like your honour, I simply don't agree and I've got screenshots," Dimitri tells me his parents are barristers and no wonder he acts the way he acts. "But damn, that boy can argue," I think back to the time I caught him arguing with Mr Matthews about misbehaving in class. Mr Matthews blew a trumpet, red engulfing his face and sent him out of class.

They later argued in the hallway and Christian began roasting his receding hairline. In all honesty, I was worried for the boy. With a smile playing on my lips at the memory, I served Dimitri his share of full english and he scoffed it down, appreciating every last bite.

With limited seating, I stand and chew down my food. Dimitri ushers himself up, walking over with his empty plate thanking me for being such a wonderful cook. It's all antics. Chivalry is dead with Dimitri – business over pleasure. I slice my egg, pushing the forkful in my mouth when Dimitri brushes against me making me still in my tracks.

"Oh sorry," he muses. He's not apologetic at all. My lips press into a firm line and I can sense his audacious smirk. I ignore it but the feeling lingers.

After breakfast and my mortification that Dimitri has never had marmite, the three of us attend church for Sunday Mass. Half way through the opening prayer, Dimitri nudges me seeing I'm dozing off. Pastor James' voice is monotonous and resembles a book narrator, I guarantee you'd start falling asleep too. After concluding prayer, he passed me a smug look and blatantly asked me what I prayed for. I replied, "Some peace and quiet and to get far away from you," In reality, I prayed for something completely different.

"That's not very kind. You're breaking my heart into two," I giggle at the remark and a gentleman turns around, scolding me for being loud. I feel like the naughty child who's been told off by the teacher. Dimitri takes no responsibility, he's buried his face into his hand, his shoulders shaking with laughter. I'm already planning to murder him with my acrylic nails.

The day flows by in insults, flirting in Spanish at dinner and detailed plans to murder the billioniare that will never come into existence.

Abuela's hugging me goodbye at the door and Dimitri's waiting in the car. "I really like him," she confesses, holding me at arm's length. "I've seen the way he looks at you." the smile fades from my lips. It didn't matter what Abuela noticed, none of this was real. Dimitri was probably keeping up the charade.

She's slipping a hefty envelope between my fingers, I'm too dazed on her words to even notice. "What's this?" I inquired, the anger starting to simmer like a vortex.

"Keep it, Bella." It's a command and with that she shuts the door on my face.

Shocked and frustrated by her action and disobedience, I storm towards the car. Propping myself in with a scowl, Dimitri picks on the hostility immediately. "You good?" He turns the engine and headlights on. The sky has blanketed with black and the stars are shining.

I stare at the envelope, it's completely stuffed to the brim with all the cheques Abuela has been hoarding for me. I blink, gazing at Dimitri's interest-piqued face. He's a businessman, he could get rid of them for me.

"Could you do me a favour?" I say it without thinking.

He nods. I shove the letter towards him, "I don't care what you do with it but please get rid of it,"

He examines the fat envelope, his brows denting in the middle. "What is it?" I don't reply and my thickened silence edges into him. He carefully opens the letter taking the cheques out, flicking through them. His expressions go through a range of emotions: surprise, interest, confusion. "This is almost two million pounds?" He takes my silence as an answer for his own interpretations.

He's peering over the cheque again, the signature capturing his fleeting attention. "Who's H.A?"

"Doesn't matter. Can you just please get rid of them?" I cross my arms over my chest, swiftly turning to look out the window. Never expected Abuela to pull this shit on me. He's silent for a second and I expect him to argue. Say where I received them from and start spilling every miniscule detail. Instead he simply states, "Alright," before opening the compartment above the wheel. I watch as he wedges the envelope between some paperwork and a pen. Then the compartment shuts, only if it were that simple to shut some doors in my life like that. Without another word, he rolls into the night.

The drive back home is extremely long and lonely. Dimitri and I don't talk much and to save myself from having a conversation with him, I pretend to be asleep. He cuts the engine, breathing gently before unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Hey," he nudges. "We're at your flat,"

"I wasn't sleeping, I had my eyes closed," I recline the seat forward, gazing out the window. It's crazy how fast the weekend has flown by and I've throughly enjoyed my time. Even Dimitri's presence lighted a thousand bulbs inside me.

"Thanks for driving," I acknowledge everything he's done.

"Thanks for the nice weekend. Abuela was great,"

This is it then. This is goodbye. We're suddenly out of the domesticated illusion that Kent presented us. Perhaps it was London's hectic atmosphere. Maybe London does cloud him. I know two things for certain: one, Dimitri's sharper than I thought and secondly, we're great at keeping up façades. It makes me wonder if he was right all along, we're exactly alike.

That's it. From Monday onwards, I'm his paid fiancé and soon-to-be wife.

He groans, lost deep in thought for a second. "I really hope you sign the NDA, Bella. It makes my life so much easier," he sighs, his eyes trailing behind me to look out the window.

Without thinking through my sentence, I confess. "I'll sign it, Dimitri,"

He blinks, processing my words. Then his face lights up like a Christmas tree. "That makes me very happy."

I shake my head, telling him no. "I've already signed it. It's sitting on the bedside table." The emotions from his face fade. He's immediately morphed back to the businessman he is. Gone is Dimitri from Kent who pretended to be my fiancé and resurrected is the shrewd billionaire. "You've done it? I've had your answer all along?" he's in disbelief.

"Hm, I did it the day I received it." At 4 AM in the morning, making sure to tick off my list of reckless decisions I've made in the early hours of the morning. With no minute to spare, I'm scrambling out of the car, luggage in hand and walking up the stairs to my flat. I've missed my depressing small home and rock-like double bed. Flicking all the lights on, I stalk my way into the bedroom and retrive the brown envelope.

I'm out in the cold again, Dimtiri's leaning against the car door, waiting for me. "You've made me the happiest man alive tonight," he states, opening the letter and seeing my signature on it. I'm merely the missing puzzle to his giant jigsaw. He wishes me a goodnight and he's beginning to leave. He's got exactly what he wants, he's switched his emotions off and left me in the cold.

The whole world is going to find out. My face is going to blasted on the cover of confab tabloids and gossip columns, all because I'm desperate for the money.

Everyone is going to know, including people at work. Inclu– "Wait– DIMITRI!" the alarm in my voice forces him to sway in my direction, his hand rests on top of the car door. "Who's going to tell Theodore?!" His jaw locks. We're both in trouble.