Tropical Leopard's Longing (Shifting Sands Resort 8)

She had wanted to believe better of her mother, had harbored some small hope that somewhere deep under the society polish and the greed and the petty rages, there was a woman who still had a heart, who might believe in the generosity she tried to project.

“I will marry Liam,” she said, drawing back sharply and holding up an imperious hand when Jubilee reached for her arm again. “I will be the obedient daughter you expect of me and commit myself to the contract you have laid out for me. I will spend two days declaring loyalty to a family that doesn’t care a jot for my happiness and join one that at least acknowledges it.” She went on swiftly when Jubilee might have spoken. “But do not ever expect me to apologize for finding a few moments of joy. I am not sorry for it, and I won’t satisfy your shallow need for control by saying it was wrong.”

Then she marched down to their cottage, Jubilee trailing in her wake.

Her mother would undoubtedly have had more to say on the matter, but Alison met them just around the corner, so close that Darla wondered if she had heard any of their conversation or Jubilee’s terrible threat to have them turned out on the streets.

If nothing else, Darla would be marrying into a far better family.

“I understand we’re doing photographs of the dresses today,” Alison said cheerfully, choosing not to comment on the shirt that Darla was wearing, or the state of her muddy hair, or the simmering rage on her mother’s face. Maybe it was still too dark for her to tell. “I... wanted to see if I could help you get ready.”

“We don’t need—”

“I would treasure your assistance,” Darla said swiftly before her mother could finish. “You could help us select the jewels for my hair, if you please.”

Alison glanced at Jubilee’s angry face and back so quickly Darla doubted she had seen it. “I’d love to, Darla,” she said at once.

“I’ll be out of the shower before you can blink,” Darla promised.

She took Breck’s shirt in with her and spent the time that the shower was heating breathing in the smell of him and the feel of the fabric against her cheek. Goodbye, she thought achingly.

Not much later, Darla looked at her reflection at the spa dubiously.

The

first of the three dresses was black, to represent (her mother loved to explain) the sorrow of loneliness before the final bond was made. It was embroidered in black and gold silk, textured painstakingly in swirls and patterns.

The second dress, the one she was modeling now, was white and virginal, representing (Jubilee reminded her with new dubiousness) the purity of the bride and the dedication to family and ancestral honor. The photographer had wanted to get it in early morning sun.

She certainly looked the role of virgin sacrifice, resplendently beaded in (her mother would tell anyone who would listen) genuine Swarovski crystal until she looked like a snowy Christmas display that someone had hung too much jewelry on. The photography lights they had set up made the whole affect look blinding.

The dress for the third day, hanging beside her, was blood red, representing sacrifice and obedience, and a dozen other things her mother seemed convinced she was incapable of.

I’m here, Darla wanted to say. I’m sacrificing everything.

But she knew her mother was still too furious — and too selfish — to appreciate exactly what she was giving up to go on with the wedding.

Jubilee was putting on a good show for the most important of the guests and the photographer, smiling her cultivated smile and giving her cultivated laugh. Darla wondered how she had never heard the falseness that filled it.

“Oh, perfect,” the photographer said. “You give me a lovely smile now, and turn a little this way. Let’s see the train up over your arm…”

Darla posed, forcing a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and wondered how much the photographs would reveal about her breaking heart. They moved out to the gardens for the coveted morning photos, and took shots until the sun was high in the sky.

Then, finally, it was time to model the final dress. “This one buttons up the front,” she explained pointedly. “I can get into it myself.” Her mother, on the phone with her psychic again, glared at her and left willingly. Alison gave her one last concerned pat, and stayed with the photographer outside the spa while Darla went in alone.

The hard-won moment of privacy was interrupted by footsteps, and Darla turned to see the only person she wanted to see less than her mother.

“Eugene,” she said, completely neutral in tone.

“Don’t you look… lovely,” he said. “All ruby and ruin.”

Though Jubilee had been utterly tight-lipped about Darla’s indiscretion, he clearly knew what had happened. Had her mother told him? It didn’t seem like she would, but here he was.

“What do you want?” she asked wearily, making herself not hurry to close the last of the ruby buttons.

“I have an offer for you,” Eugene said, voice suspiciously silky.

“I’m not interested,” Darla said.