A bridge of trust.
At least, that’s what she hoped and dreamed was happening.
Time was running out, though. In three short days, her buddy was going to get married. She hadn’t had the balls to bring it up to Marc. Which was wrong of her. Tonight, she promised herself, tonight she was going to take the chance and say something. And hope this bridge of trust would be strong enough to hold the weight of her words.
Her heart lurched. Because what if he said no? What if he went even further and told her she was out of his life in three short days? What would she do then?
This wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t.
One memory of the way he gazed at her when they made love was enough to bolster her confidence.
Her new mobile phone jingled in her pocket.
Another one of his gifts he’d insisted she carry around all the time. She’d objected, the old one she had was fine. She didn’t need new doodads. Plus, the last thing she wanted to do was become as obsessed as he was with his phone. In spite of this, when he insisted, she capitulated. How could a girl turn down a masculine god when he was whispering sweet nothings in her ear?
Darcy slid it open and smiled when she saw who was calling. “I’m here.”
“Where is here?” The words might have been demanding, yet his tone told her all she needed to know. He was simply interested in what she was doing.
“Bayswater Road.”
“Carita,” he replied. “You no longer have to waste your talent on drawing pictures of tourists. As I told you last night, I have contacted several gallery owners.”
“I know and as I said last night, thank you.”
“Not at first,” he said. “I had to convince you.”
“True. But you’re pretty good at convincing.”
This was another reason to hold onto her hope. No man who planned on ditching his lover would take on the task of setting her career up, would he?
A masculine chuckle rolled through the phone. “Which is why I’m telling you that hanging out on a street is not something you need to do as an artist anymore.”
She passed by the fish-and-chips vendor and waved at him, enjoying the salty smells emanating from his stall. “I just like it down here on Bayswater. It’s fun.”
“It’s cold more likely. Are you wearing your new coat?”
“Yes.” She cuddled into the sturdy wool. “Thank you. Again.”
“Security?”
She glanced over her shoulder, spotting the man in the familiar black suit trailing behind her by half a block. They were always present when she left the penthouse, though never overbearing. She supposed it was to keep her under surveillance and in control. Yet it gave her a great sense of relief, to be honest. As long as she had Marc, she was safe. Another one of his many gifts to her. “Yes,” she replied with a note of gratitude in her voice. “Right behind me.”
There was a pause on the line. He finally said, “It is interesting to me, Darcy, that you don’t object to the security. Never have.”
For the first time in five days, one of them was brave enough to step onto the fragile bridge they’d been building between them. She stopped in the middle of the walkway, taken by surprise.
“Which is unusual for you.” His voice turned wry. “In my experience, you initially object to everything I try to do for you.”
A choked laugh came from her. “Not always.”
“Si. Always,” he returned. “So it’s interesting you do not object regarding the security. Why?”
His blunt one-word question echoed in her head. He was willing to confront one of the many shadows and demons lying like a heavy weight on their budding relationship. Was it a good sign he was willing to take this first step? Was she willing to meet him halfway?
“It makes me feel safe.” A tiny admission, but at least she’d tried.
Another pause. “You don’t feel safe without it?”
Could she take another tiny step onto the bridge? “No,” she whispered to him. Gave to him.
“Mmm.” The low sound was drawn out as if he were mulling over her response. And jumping to conclusions. The right conclusions.
“It's really stupid, I know.” She rushed in, trying to put the dreaded topic behind her. She didn't want her past ruining their future. She didn't want this old baggage she'd carried around for years to make him think she was weak or needy. Instinctively, she wanted to show him she was his equal and not simply another piece of business he had to take care of.
He didn't answer.
The silence was deafening.
“I d-d-don’t know why I d-don’t feel safe sometimes.” She kept babbling. “Maybe it's my childhood or something.”