She glanced at him. “It’s what I own.”
“Your artwork—”
“I don’t want any of it.” Too many memories were tied to each brush stroke. Too many dreams lay nestled in every painting. All destroyed and wasted inside her.
“Well, I—”
“You can destroy them.” A tight welter of pain pinched in her nose. She bit her tongue, forcing the tears back. What did it matter? There wouldn’t be any more gallery openings for her now, so it was a waste of her time and talent.
No more gallery openings.
The realization shot through her, bringing back the demon lurking outside these doors. Bu she could only deal with so much pain in one moment. She’d get herself away from the La Rocca storm first. Then she’d deal with what she’d dealt with for years now.
“But…” The blond man frowned. “I’m sure Marcus would want you to take the clothes and other items he’s given you. It’s expected.”
“I don’t do the expected.” If she left with nothing else, she’d leave with her pride and the knowledge she’d taken nothing from the Great Man. “I don’t want any of his stuff.”
The man’s puzzled frown deepened. “He’s not going to be pleased.”
“That's the thing.” She smiled, with a sudden grim amusement at the effect the Great Man had on people. This guy was worried about being called on the carpet because of her surprising actions? Shouldn’t he be checking her bags to make sure she hadn’t stowed the silver along with every other wealthy item not tied down? Instead, it appeared he was worried she was going to piss La Rocca off because she wasn’t walking away beholden to him. Too bad. “I don’t have to please him anymore, do I?”
He stood for a moment, staring at her. “I guess not.”
Darcy rolled the suitcase behind her as she walked to the open door. Taking one last glance at the pristine, chilly penthouse, she assured herself this was for the best. How had she ever believed she could turn a cold bastard into a warm man? She’d tackled some tall mountains before, yet she’d never been fool enough to think she could shoot for the stars.
He moved aside as she passed. “Wait,” he mumbled. “I have your phones.”
She stopped and eyed the two items he held in his hand. Plucking the older version from his palm, she turned and walked down the hall without looking back. Not even once.
Into the elevator.
Down to the lobby.
Out into the street.
The security door slammed behind her, the doorman giving her a cheery wave before walking back into the foyer. Traffic was light so early in the morning, with only a service van parked by the sidewalk. Not even one person strolled past.
She was alone. Completely alone.
Darcy took a deep breath of chilly air. It must be the cold causing her eyes to tear. She blinked. Blinked again. The blinking didn’t help. Still, she resolutely turned and started to march down the street into her future.
“Finally.” A man suddenly stood in her path. A familiar face from her nightmares leered at her.
Shock ripped the tears from her eyes. Her heart thunked in a frantic beat while panic clawed in her throat. She hadn’t been allowed even a second to recover before she’d slid right into another disaster.
The demon of her past. Now in her present.
“No.” She wanted to run, to hide. But every one of her muscles froze.
His hand reached out and grabbed her arm. “I’ve been waiting for one whole week to get you alone. Damn security always around.”
“No.” Her spine went rigid at his touch. She would have screamed, but her throat was now thick with fear. She shuddered and tried to wrench away.
He was strong, though, and she was in shock.
The struggle was over in seconds. There was no one there to help. No one to intervene and keep her safe.
The van reeked of him. Cigarettes and rum and sweat.
Darcy clutched her backpack, shivering on the steel floor in the back and listening to his rants, his threats from the front seat.
She prayed.
Chapter 15
The organ music thundered as did his heart.
Marcus stood by his younger brother at the altar. The bridal party would start down the long aisle in a moment. The wedding guests chattered and gossiped under their breath, creating a low buzz of anticipation beneath the boom of the music. The cathedral was packed as expected. The joining of the aristocratic Casartelli family with the upstart, but so-so-wealthy, La Rocca clan was important. Everyone who was anyone had wanted an invitation. Once received, they would never have missed being included in the most exciting social event of the year in Rome.
His jaw tightened.
Time was running out. A decision had to be made. Uncharacteristically, he’d avoided, put off, dodged. However, he no longer had time to indulge. It was now or never. Stop this fakery of a marriage and lose a deal he’d been working on for months. Or keep his prestige and power and pride.