The Bride Fonseca Needs(17)

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.