The slender arch of her brow pushed high. “Truth?”
“Always.”
Well he’d asked for it. “I’ve never seen Cinderella. Of course, I know the gist of the story. It’s the one with the shoe where the prince sends some lackey out to do his dirty work because he can’t be bothered and doesn’t even remember the face of the woman he’s decided he wants to spend his life with. I’m way more familiar with Julia Roberts being pulled out of her low income life by the wealthy, romantic Richard Gere. It was my mom’s favorite. We had it on VHS and at the end, it was so worn the thing would barely play anymore.”
For a moment she could feel the oppressive heat and stale air within the old trailer coating her skin. “I used to hate seeing my mother’s rapt expression as she stared at the screen, that same infuriating combination of hope and hopelessness in her eyes.
“The thing is, Jeff, I was never really into the idea of some Charming sweeping in to rescue me from my life. My fantasy, from as far back as I can remember, has always been to take care of myself. To be dependent on no one.” She sighed, giving him one of those lopsided little grins that did things to him he wasn’t used to. “So much for fantasies, huh?”
“What’s wrong with letting someone with the means and desire take care of you? I know your independence is important to you...but, Darcy, we made this baby together. You’re giving it your body, your very lifeblood. At this stage the only thing I have to give is support to you in whatever form you need. Emotional. Financial.”
Darcy looked at the man who had been nothing but generous with her from the start and wondered if she’d ever trust him enough to explain. If she could make herself vulnerable enough to share why she was the way she was. If coming from this life of love and privilege, he could even begin to comprehend what it had been like to feel hungry, trapped, afraid. Hopeless. To have such a keen awareness of how precarious the only existence you knew was. To watch the man between you and a fate too terrifying to contemplate, count out one bill after another with his grimy hands, wondering if, when he was done with the sick game he played, he would give up a bill to her mother to buy food, or if he’d make them wait another day. Or more.
She could still hear her mother’s nervous pleading. “Earl, don’t make me beg.”
And the answering sneer, “Why not? Why the hell should I give you anything? Or that brat of yours.”
Then those yellowed eyes searching her out across the cramped space, and her mother’s sudden desperate agreement. The sight of her mother on her knees, laughing like it was all a game, but the humiliation and desperation evident in every forced breath.
“Hey,” Jeff asked, his brows drawn together. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she answered quickly. “Nothing’s wrong. I know how lucky I am in all this. And I’m very grateful for your support.”
Jeff stared at her a moment more, but whatever he was thinking she couldn’t quite tell. And then, “I don’t want your gratitude, Darcy. I want you to feel secure.”
FIFTEEN
Within the walls of his modern L.A. apartment, Jeff pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand and tried not to crush the phone at his ear with the other. Only Jim Huang wasn’t doing anything more than delivering the news that the two weeks Jeff had just spent in Melbourne nailing down a new deal with Lexington Construction had been a success. The contracts were in hand and everything was a go. But after fourteen fifteen-hour days, a seventeen-hour international flight, customs, a trip home only to shower and change, then a four-hour meeting at the L.A. office, Jeff was shot. And this verbal confirmation of what he’d already ascertained through email was his limit.