Even now she burned with humiliation when she thought of the concern she'd felt when she'd seen him that night, staring broodingly into his drink. Alone... Vulnerable... Ha! The man was about as vulnerable as reinforced steel.
Darcy was sure that he'd only been in London to meet with Montgomery for the last two days to get away from her, and she hated how that stung.
Since that night in his apartment he'd been cool to the point of icy. And she only had herself to blame. She'd been the weak one. Blowing hot and then cold. Running away because she couldn't handle the thought of Max breaching the final intimacy, afraid of what would happen to her if he did.
No doubt he was used to women who knew what they wanted and went after it-and him. No qualms. No questions. Maybe he'd been seeing one of those women in London, discreetly?
Her mother tugged at the back of her dress now, tutting. 'Honestly, Darcy, why couldn't you have bought a nice long dress? This one's more suitable for a cocktail party. This is quite likely to be your only wedding day, you know.'
Darcy welcomed the distraction and said fervently, 'I'm counting on it. And it's a registry office wedding, Mother. This dress is perfectly suitable.'
Her mother sniffed and tweaked Darcy's chignon, where a mother of pearl comb held the short veil back from her face. 'Well, I suppose it is a nice dress, for all that,' she admitted grudgingly.
Darcy ran a critical eye over herself, feeling slightly disembodied at the thought that she was getting married that day. To Max Fonseca Roselli. The dress was off-white satin, coming to just over her knee. It was a simple sheath design, overlaid with exquisitely delicate lace. It covered her arms and up to her throat.
It's fine, she told herself, hating that the little girl in her still yearned for something long and swirling...romantic.
Wanting to avoid any further scrutiny, she said to her mother, 'You look gorgeous.'
Her mother preened-predictably. She was indeed stunning, in a dusky pink dress and matching jacket. An exotic fascinator was arranged in her luxurious dark hair, which was piled high.
As she zipped up her dress at the back Darcy referred to her mother's comment about her father. 'It's not as if you haven't brought your own arsenal, Mother.'
Viola Bianci glared at her daughter. 'Javier and I are very much in love.'
Darcy just arched a brow. From what she'd seen of the permatanned Spanish Lothario, he was very much in love with himself, but he was obviously enjoying parading the very well preserved and beautiful older woman on his arm. For whatever reason-whether it was love or something less-he was lavishing attention and money on her mother, so Darcy desisted from making any more comments.
Her mother came in front of her now, to pull the veil over her face, but she stopped and looked at Darcy.
'Carina...are you sure you're doing the right thing?' Her mother looked slightly discomfited for a moment. 'I mean, after your father and I... Well, our break-up... I always got the impression that you weren't really into marrying anyone.'
A familiar impulse to deflect any concern about her rose up, and even though Darcy recognised that it was totally misplaced she put a hand on her mother's arm and said reassuringly, 'Don't worry. I know what I'm doing.'
And she did, she told herself.
Her mother wasn't finished, though. 'But are you in love with him, Darcy? You might think I don't notice much, but one thing I've always known about you is that you'd never settle for anything less than a lifetime commitment-whether it's through marriage or not.'
Darcy all but gaped at her mother. Since when did Viola Bianci display any perspicacity in looking into her daughter's psyche? It slammed into her gut and made her want to recoil and protect herself. Lifetime commitment. Was that really what she wanted? As a result of her experiences? More than a sense of security and a successful career?
Her mouth was opening and closing ineffectually. Finally she croaked, 'I... Well, I do... I mean, I am-'
Just then a knock came on the door and one of the wedding planner's team popped her head round the door. 'It's time to go.'
Saved by the bell-almost literally. As Darcy's mother began to flap, gathering up her personal belongings and Darcy's bouquet, she'd never been so glad for her gnat-like attention span. Clearly she wasn't that concerned about whether Darcy was marrying for true love or not-and frankly that one insight, no matter how erroneous Darcy assured herself it was, was discombobulating enough.
* * *
The registry office felt tiny and stifling to Max, but as he was about to ask for the window to be opened he saw that it was already open. He'd been talking to Darcy's father, who was a pleasant affable man, completely preoccupied with his much younger glamorous girlfriend, whom Max had categorised as a gold-digger in seconds. She was busy making eyes at Max whenever Tom Lennox's back was turned.
Max had to curb the urge to scowl at her. She was tall, slim, blonde and undeniably beautiful, but his head was still filled with the way Darcy had felt straddling his lap that night, the size of her tiny waist spanned by his hands. The feel of that hard nipple against his tongue. The scent of her.
Hell. It had been two weeks ago. He was usually hard-pressed to recall any liaison more than twenty-four hours after it had happened. Making love with women was a very pleasurable but transitory thing in his life.
He didn't wake up at night sweating, with the sheets tangled around his aching body like a vise. He did now. Which was why he'd been in London for the last two days, putting himself through more unsatisfactorily inconclusive meetings with Cecil Montgomery.
The man was still insisting that all would be revealed in a week's time. Damn him. The one thing easing his frustration was that Montgomery's attitude had definitely changed since Max had announced his marriage to Darcy. Gone was the slightly condescending and derisory tone. There was a new respect that Max couldn't deny.
So this would be worth it. The fact that Darcy was driving him slowly insane would all be worth it.
Max felt a prickling sensation across his skin and looked up just as the few people gathered in the room hushed.
She was here. And he couldn't breathe, seeing how beautiful she looked. It felt as if he hadn't seen her in weeks, not two paltry days.
She stood in the doorway with a woman he assumed to be her mother. But he only saw Darcy. The delicious curves of her body were outlined in a white lace dress. A short veil came to her chin, obscuring her face. But he could make out her huge blue eyes even through the gauzy material and he felt his belly tighten with something like...emotion?
She was doing this for him. A monumental favour. You're paying her, pointed out a pragmatic voice. But still... This went above and beyond payment.
It was gratitude he felt. Gratitude that she was doing this for him. That was all.
Her mother moved ahead of her, smiling winsomely at Max, who forced a smile back. But he couldn't take his eyes off Darcy as she came the short distance between the chairs towards him. She held a bouquet of flowers in front of her-not that Max could have said what they were.
And then she was beside him, and he was turning to the front, acutely aware of her body heat and her scent. He felt an urge to reassure her but pushed it down. Darcy knew what this was. She was doing it for her own reasons and because he was paying her handsomely.
He frowned minutely. Why had she asked for that specific amount of money?
'Signor Roselli?'
Max blinked. Damn. The registrar repeated the words for Max, which he duly recited, and then he was facing Darcy. He felt slightly dizzy. Rings were exchanged. Darcy's hands were tiny, her fingers cool as they slid the ring onto his finger. Her voice was low, clear. No hesitation.
And then he was lifting her veil back from her face and all he could see was an ocean of blue. And those soft lips, trembling ever so slightly.
'You may kiss your bride.'
He heard the smile in the registrar's voice but he was oblivious as he cupped Darcy's small face between his hands, tipping it up towards him, and bent to kiss her.
* * *
Darcy's mouth was still tingling and she had to stop herself from putting her fingers to it, to feel if it was swollen. Her hand was in Max's firm grip, her bouquet in the other hand, as he led her through the foyer of the exclusive Rome hotel and into the dining room where an intimate lunch was being held.
Along with her parents, who had been their witnesses, Max had invited his brother and new sister-in-law, and some business associates from Max's company.
Darcy felt like an absolute fraud, and was not looking forward to being under the inspection of people she didn't know well. Max made her feel so raw-and even more so now, after two weeks of minimal contact.