The Bride Fonseca Needs(22)

Clearly, though, he'd underestimated her and would need to be far more  inventive. For the first time in a long time Max felt the thrill of a  challenge and something else-something almost...light.

'Do you know what I'd like?'

She shook her head.

'To go and see the AC Milan game.'

Darcy looked at her watch and then said impishly, 'Well, then, you're  going to have your work cut out making sure we fit it all in, aren't  you?'

* * *

'That last goal...' Darcy shook her head and trailed off.

Max glanced at her, sitting in the passenger seat. They were almost  back at the villa and he couldn't remember a day he'd enjoyed as much.

They'd stood before one of the great artworks of the world and then  climbed to the top of a magnificent cathedral to see the spectacular  view. They hadn't seen the snowy Alps through the heat haze that hung  over the city, much to Darcy's disappointment, and it had made Max feel  an absurd urge to fix that for her. And they'd been to a football match.  He never got to go to see his favourite team play. He was always too  busy.

He teased Darcy. 'So you're a fan of AC Milan now?'

She looked at him and grinned. 'I could get used to it. I never  realised football was so gladiatorial. My father's a rugby man, so I  grew up being dragged to rugby matches. Whatever country we were in I  found it was a way of orientating myself, because we moved around so  much.'

Max found himself thinking of something that had nagged at him, and  asked curiously, 'Does that have anything to do with the very specific  amount of money you requested?'

Darcy went still, but then she wrinkled her nose and said lightly,  'Isn't it a little crass to talk about money with your fake wife?'

Max shook his head. 'You're not avoiding the question so easily. You  should have asked for a different amount. Ever heard of rounding up?'

Darcy scowled, making Max even more determined to know what the money  was for. He would have given it to her in bonuses anyway, but the fact  that she'd asked for it...

She sighed, and then said, 'When my folks split up they sold the family  home. They never really settled again. I went to boarding school, my  dad was travelling all over the world, and my mother was wherever her  newest lover was. When my father's business fell apart and I went back  to the UK to a comprehensive school it was my most settled time-even if  we were living out of a cheap hotel.'                       
       
           



       

She shrugged.

'I've just always wished that I had somewhere...somewhere that I knew  would always be there.' She let some hair slip forward, covering her  face, and muttered, 'It's silly, really. I mean, lots of people don't  have a home at all-'

Max reached out and put his hand over hers. 'It's not silly.'

He couldn't say any more because he knew exactly what Darcy was talking about. He'd never had that safe centre either.

He took his hand away to change gears. 'So, the money-it's for a house?'

Darcy nodded and smiled, not looking at him. 'It's a small flat in  London. I've been keeping my eye on it for a few months now.'

Max could see Darcy all too easily-stepping out of a cute little flat  on a leafy street, getting on with her life, disappearing into the  throng of people. And he wasn't sure he liked it at all. In fact, if he  wasn't mistaken, the flare of dark heat in his gut felt suspiciously  like jealousy.

* * *

When Darcy had freshened up and changed into comfortable loose trousers  and a silk top she went downstairs to dinner. It was set up on the  terrace, in the lingering twilight. Flickering candles lent everything a  golden glow and the opulent rugs and furnishings made her wonder about  the couple who were lucky enough to own this idyll. Did they have a  happy marriage? Somehow, Darcy thought they must, because there was an  air of quiet peace about the place.

And then she shook herself mentally. She wasn't usually prone to such flights of the imagination.

Max wasn't there yet and she breathed a sigh of relief, going to the  stone wall and looking out over the dark expanse of the lake at the  lights coming on on the other side.

Even here, far away from the water, she felt it like a malevolent presence and shuddered lightly.

'Cold?'

Darcy whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat, to see Max  holding out a glass of wine. She took it quickly, ducking her head. 'No,  I'm fine...just a ghost walking over my grave.'

She sneaked a look at him as he stood beside her. He'd changed too,  into dark trousers and a white shirt which inevitably made his dark skin  stand out even more. He oozed casual elegance, and yet with that  undeniable masculine edge that made him all man.

The day they'd spent together had passed in an enjoyable blur of sights  and sounds, but mostly Max had been a revelation. Darcy had never seen  him so relaxed or easygoing. As if a weight had been lifted off his  shoulders.

At the football match he'd been like a little boy-jumping up and down  with the crowd, embracing her and the man next to him when his team  scored. Also spouting language that had shocked her when things hadn't  gone well.

Julieta and the young man who it had turned out was her grandson  delivered their dinner: fragrant plates of pasta to start, and then a  main course of tender pork in a traditional sundried tomato, prosciutto  and sage sauce.

Darcy groaned appreciatively when she tasted the delicious pork and  said wryly, 'I may have to be rolled out of here in a couple of days.'

Max looked at her, and his gaze running over her curves told her  exactly what he thought of that. Unused to being appreciated for what  she normally considered to be a drawback, she avoided his eye again. A  part of her still couldn't really believe he wanted her, but all day  he'd touched her with subtle intention, keeping her on a knife-edge of  desire.

In a bid to try and pierce this bubble of intimacy that surrounded them  on the terrace, with the sound of the lake lapping not far away, Darcy  asked about the couple who owned the house. 'I just wondered what  they're like. This seems to be a happy place.'

Max pushed his empty plate away and then stood up, saying, 'I'll show you a picture.'

He returned a couple of minutes later with a beaming Julieta, who was  dusting a picture with her apron. She handed it to Darcy. It showed an  insanely handsome dark man, smiling widely, with a very petite blonde  woman whose hair was a mass of crazy curls. She was also grinning, and  holding a young boy with dark hair by the hand, while the man held a  toddler high in his arms-a little girl with dark curly hair, a thumb  stuck firmly in her mouth, eyes huge.

Something lanced Darcy deep down. This was a picture of familial  happiness that she only knew as a distant dream. And who was to say that  they wouldn't split up, with those poor children destined to spend a  lifetime torn between two parents?

Aghast that she was even thinking of this in the face of such evident  joy, she handed the picture back quickly with a fixed smile. 'They're  lovely.'

Julieta took the picture away, carefully cleaning it again. She  obviously missed them. She must be more like a member of the family than  a housekeeper to them, Darcy guessed.                       
       
           



       

Max said into the silence, 'Perhaps not everyone goes through what we experienced.'

Darcy looked at him, wondering why she was surprised he'd read her  mind. It seemed to be a speciality of his. 'Do you really believe that?'

He smiled and shook his head. 'Personally? No. But I have to admit that  Dante and Alicia seem very...happy.' And then he asked abruptly, 'Why  did you step in that day? During the fight?'

Darcy knew immediately that Max was referring to what she'd witnessed  at Boissy, when she'd intervened. The memory of how exposed she'd felt  after doing it made her squirm now. 'I can't believe you remember that.'

Max's mouth tipped up at one corner. 'It was pretty memorable. You  single-handedly scared off three guys who were all easily three times  your size.'

Max took her hand in his and hers looked tiny. It made her too aware of their inherent differences.

She shrugged. 'I just...saw them...and I didn't really think, to be  honest.' She bit her tongue to stop herself from revealing that she'd  used to watch Max far too intently, far too aware of his presence. Aware  of the insolence he'd worn like a shield.

Afraid that he might see it, she deflected the conversation back onto him.

'You and your brother...do you think you'll ever be close?'

Darcy thought he'd pull his hand away, but he left it there, holding hers.

Quietly, he said, 'We used to be close. Before we were separated.  Closer than anyone.' He looked at Darcy and smiled. 'We had a special  language. It used to drive our parents crazy.' And then the smile faded.  'Luca was stronger than me, though...older by a few minutes. When our  parents told us they were taking one each he just stood there-not  crying, not saying anything. I'll never forget it.' Max's mouth twisted.  'I was the one that fell apart.'