The Bride Fonseca Needs

* * *

Max cursed silently. Where was she? He knew Darcy was petite, but he’d realised that somehow he had an uncanny knack of finding her glossy dark brown head in any crowd. He thought of her as she’d stood before him in the bedroom not long ago, the deep blue of the satin dress curving around her body in such a way that it had made him feel animalistic. He’d almost forgotten what the evening was about. Almost.

Lingering tendrils of relief and triumph had snaked through him as he’d forged his way through the throng, accepting congratulations and slaps on the back. Funny, he’d expected to bask in this moment for a lot longer, but he was distracted.

Darcy. Where was she?

She’d been standing beside him when Montgomery had called out his name and his first instinct had been to turn to her. She’d done this with him. He wouldn’t have done it without her. He’d wanted to share it with her.

The surge of alien emotion that had gripped him had caught him right in his throat and at the back of his eyes, making them sting. Horrorstruck, in a nano-second he’d been aware that he was on the verge of tears and about to let Darcy see it. So at the last second he’d pulled away and strode forward. Not wanting her to see the rawness he was feeling. Not ready for the scrutiny of those huge blue eyes that saw too much.

He cursed again. She wasn’t here. A quick tour of the surrounding rooms didn’t reveal her either, and Max made his way to the bedroom with a growing sense of unease.

When he opened the door to the bedroom the sense of unease coalesced into a black mass in his gut. Darcy barely looked up when he walked in. She’d changed into black trousers and a stripy top. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked about sixteen. She was packing her suitcase.

Max folded his arms, as if that might ease the constriction in his chest.

‘What are you doing?’

She glanced at him, her face expressionless. ‘I’m leaving.’

Seizing on his default mechanism of acerbity, Max drawled, ‘I think I could have deduced that much.’

Darcy shrugged as she pulled the top of the suitcase down and started to zip it up. ‘Well, then, if it’s that obvious why ask?’

Anger started to flicker to life in Max’s gut as the full impact of what he was looking at sank in. She was leaving. He didn’t like the clutch of panic. Panic was not something he ever felt.

‘What’s going on, Darcy? They’ve only just made the announcement—dinner hasn’t even been served yet.’

Darcy stopped zipping up the bag and looked at him. For a moment he saw something flicker in her eyes but then it was gone.

‘I’m done, Max. I’ve more than paid my dues as your convenient wife. When you can’t even acknowledge me in your moment of glory it’s pretty obvious that I’ve become superfluous to your requirements.’

The panic gripped him tighter. He’d messed up. ‘Look, Darcy, I know I couldn’t have achieved this without you—’

She laughed, short and sharp. ‘You had this all along. I think Montgomery just enjoyed watching you jump through hoops... It’s not many deals or many men Maximiliano Fonseca Roselli will do that for.’

Darcy picked up the jacket that was laid over the back of a nearby chair and shrugged it on, turning those huge blue eyes on him.

‘What did you expect to happen now, Max? Some kind of fake domestic idyll? The deal is done. This is over. There’s no more need for the charade.’

Max felt tight all over, in the grip of something dark and hot. He bit out, ‘You won’t even stay one more night.’ He didn’t pose it as a question, already hating himself for saying it.

Darcy shook her head and her glossy ponytail slid over one shoulder. ‘No. I’ve given you enough of my time, Max. More than enough.’

Was it his imagination or had there been a catch in her voice? Max couldn’t hear through the dull roaring in his head. He felt himself teetering on the edge of something... Asking her to stay? But, as she’d said, for what? What did he want from her now? And what was this terrifying swooping of emotion, threatening to push him over the edge, spurred on by the panic which made his insides feel as loose as they’d felt tight a moment ago...?

He’d only ever felt like this once before. When he’d stood before another woman—his mother—and let her see the full extent of his vulnerability and pain. He’d tipped over the edge then and his life had never been the same.

He was not going to tip over the edge for anyone else. He had just achieved the pinnacle of his success. What did he need Darcy for? He had everything that he’d ever wanted. He could go on from here and live his life and know that he was untouchable, that he had surpassed every one of his naysayers and doubters. Every one of the bullies.

He and Luca would finally be equals—on his terms.

The realisation that no great sense of satisfaction accompanied that knowledge was not something Max wanted to dwell on. Suddenly he was quite eager to get on with things. Without that incisive bluer than blue gaze tracking his every movement.

The fact that he looked at Darcy even now and felt nothing but hunger was irritating, but he told himself that once she was out of his orbit it would die down...fade away.

He would take a new lover. Start again.