by Jody Klaire
“Intelligence is never sad.” Darcy tucked into her own food. “Are you planning on doing anything with your qualifications?”
“No.” Kate sipped at the tea. Darcy made a fantastic cup. “I love A levels. Well, used to. Degrees just bore me. I don’t like studying some of the dummy modules.”
Darcy smiled around her fork. “Yes, I’ve got one on understanding social fashion.” She rolled her eyes. “Highly useful.”
“Is there such a thing?” Sounded a bit vague.
“No. It’s about how people follow everyone else to feel accepted.” Darcy munched away, her lips shiny with the sauce. “Because I needed someone to tell me that?”
“That where you get the tribalism thing from?” She reached for the salt, but Darcy did the same and caught her hand.
“No, various other courses and experience.” Darcy laced their fingers together and held her hand, going back to her dinner like they held hands all the time.
“This your way of telling me not to add salt?” She stroked her thumb over Darcy’s thumb. Was she really holding her hand? Had she fallen asleep?
“No. I just don’t want you to pull away,” Darcy whispered, then sighed. “It feels…nice.”
“It does.” She grinned. Darcy didn’t want her to pull away. Wow, did she wish she had a camera or something just to capture that so she could replay it…a lot.
“Stop looking so smug.” Darcy squeezed her hand, lips glossy with that sauce again.
“I’m trying not to. It’s really hard.” She shrugged. How could she not look pleased?
“I shouldn’t…we shouldn’t…be doing this.” Darcy slid her fingers out then back in between hers in an easy motion. “I don’t do this.”
Kate stared at their hands. Her stomach clenched with nerves and…so did somewhere else. “But ‘should’ usually means you won’t, right?” She met Darcy’s eyes: intense, passionate aqua bliss.
“Yes,” Darcy whispered. “Yes…I think I am.” She slid the half-eaten dinner away and pulled Kate close. Two warm, soft hands held her face. Darcy only inches from her. “I can’t help it.”
“Oh.” Her heart pounded so hard. Was she going to faint? Seriously not cool to faint.
“Oh.” Darcy stroked over her lips with a soft, salty-tasting thumb. Tickly, tingling. Sauce tasted so much better this way. “You kissed me.”
“Yes,” she whispered. Kissed Darcy’s thumb, kissed the sauce from it. No, still gross, but who cared?
Darcy flashed a sensual smile and eased her thumb in, eyes locked on her lips. “Twice.”
“Yes.” She pulled Darcy in onto her lap, swept the hair from her neck, and brushed her lips to the warm, soft skin at the nape.
Darcy leaned to expose more skin. “In a changing room.”
“Yes.” She lifted Darcy up onto the table, leaned her back. “You really like me in lace.”
Darcy pulled her down, slow, sure, into a fleeting kiss. “I do…far too much.”
“Yes. I don’t think Marshall would like it.” She leaned in, kissed Darcy’s neck from the nape to the ear and to her mouth.
Darcy fluttered her eyelids. “I’m… I don’t care what he thinks.” She leaned up, eased her into a kiss, and pulled her in, sliding around her tongue with salty sauce. Acquired taste. She’d go with it. “We shouldn’t… I shouldn’t… I…” Darcy sighed into her mouth and lifted her hands upwards over her stomach, easing her down further.
Kate pulled back. The buzz building too fast. “I… We…”
Darcy’s eyes filled with intensity, with passion. Oh right, the lacy bra was out. Darcy ran her hands over the lace and Kate swallowed. That wasn’t going to help her resist. “Kiss me.”
She dropped back down.
Darcy yanked her into a kiss. “Please.”
Resistance broke. She met Darcy’s eyes. Yeah, and Darcy knew it. Right. She grabbed for Darcy’s shirt, tore at it. Darcy smiled against her lips and helped her, pulling at her jeans.
“You did not get a strike.” Susannah’s voice filtered in as the door opened.
Shit.
Darcy shot back to her chair, fumbling with her shirt, and Kate thunked her head to the table with a groan.
“Kate, you okay?” Susannah asked in a sweet tone.
“No,” she whimpered and dropped down into her seat, doing her buttons up and hoping it was in some way covered by her collapsed in a heap. She lifted her head up, and Darcy was chomping on her dinner. Guilty look much?
Zoë looked from her to Darcy and laughed a cheeky laugh. “You got leftovers? I’m starving.” She dragged Susannah over to the kitchen and shoved plates into her hands as Blanche glared from the doorway.
“I will charge you for viewing,” Darcy muttered, her focus too intent on her food.
Blanche grunted and slunk inside. Didn’t miss the sour gaze at the pictures of Darcy on the walls.
“Honey, you want some?” Zoë asked, licking sauce off her finger as she dished out.
“Sure.” Blanche’s voice was deeper, like a whole octave deeper, and her tone was Southern? Smooth, whatever it was.
Susannah slumped into a seat next to Darcy with a piled plate of food. She pursed her lips. “Zoë cheated…again.”
Zoë poked her tongue out and took the plates over to Blanche—guess she didn’t eat at the table—then met Kate’s eyes and wiped her finger over her lips with a wink.
Oh shit. Lipstick. Kate buried her mouth in her jumper. Was she blushing? Could Susannah tell she was blushing and sweating?
Darcy looked up and chuckled.
“What?” Susannah—head in food—looked up like she expected to get told off.
“Nothing.” Darcy leaned into her palm, blush on show, and tided Susannah’s hair. “Zoë always cheats.”
“I do not.” Zoë winked at Kate, then kissed Blanche on the cheek. “Do I, honey?”
“Remains to be seen,” Blanche said in her deep-toned accent. Ooh, she should do audiobooks. She glared at Darcy, but she rolled her eyes.
Zoë tapped her plate with her fork. “We’re in her apartment, hon. Let’s remember we’re polite guests.”
Blanche glowered at Darcy, then tucked into her food.
Susannah looked from Zoë and Blanche, to Darcy, to Kate, and back to Darcy, her frown dipped and mouth pulled to one side. Darcy studied her nails.
“I know it’s a shock, right?” Kate blurted out, plastering on her cheekiest grin.
Both Darcy and Zoë eyed her, visible tension flowing from them.
“What?” Susannah cocked her head.
“Three models eating real food.” She splayed her fingers over her thudding chest. “Imagine what the press would say?”
Susannah chuckled and went back to her food. Zoë smirked as Blanche pursed her lips, and Darcy let out that beautiful breathy blurt of a laugh, relief in her eyes. Yeah, Darcy didn’t need to cheat. Kate had no doubt she could get what she wanted when she wanted. She poured sauce onto her food and winked at Darcy, whose eyes flickered with that intensity once more. Yeah, she could get used to the sauce. Really used to it.
Chapter 21
Darcy made a habit of having her patients stay with her at the apartment on the Thames. She made a habit of getting to know them, cooking for them, treating them, because it helped build trust. It was trust she needed to get their style reflecting the woman she’d uncovered: a true woman with all the imperfection, strength, intelligence, sexiness, and class that term embodied. She did not make a habit of revealing personal information; she did not make a habit of holding hands, allowing fleeting kisses during filming, or full make-out sessions on her dining table.
Years of carefully constructed, practiced, displayed image had buckled with a few witty comebacks from a pencil-guarding security woman.
Morning sunlight broke through rai
n-soaked grey clouds beyond her skylight. Darcy sat on her bed and buried her head in her hands. Thankfully, Susannah had remained at the apartment talking to Kate, Zoë, and Blanche until the early hours. Darcy had excused herself and hidden in her room. She hadn’t dared come out even when she heard Zoë and Blanche leave and Susannah and Kate head to bed. Nope. If she didn’t come out of the room, she wouldn’t find herself in Kate’s room. Where had her self-control vanished?
“Mum,” Susannah whispered from the doorway. “Are you…are you alright?”
Darcy pulled her hands away and smiled. “I’m fine. Kate left already?” In other words, was it safe to come out?
“Yeah. She went with Zoë and Blanche in the minibus. Marge wants a segment with them helping Kate to walk the catwalk.” She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get why. Do they have runways in pencil factories?”
Darcy blurted out her laugh. Why was she laughing so much? “Then why aren’t you with them?”
“Blanche is weird about you. Every time Zoë so much as mentions you, she gets moody. I don’t get it.” Susannah shrugged, then sighed. She looked out of the large skylight, then sighed again. “I…I need to know what is going on, Mum.”
Fair question. “Zoë needs to see how Kate moves naturally to understand how the clothes will move on her.”
“Not the catwalk.” Susannah pulled her duh face. “With you…Zoë was always here. Then she left, and you…you went so quiet, and she…she got married and then…” She chewed on her lip. “You seemed happy for her, but we didn’t see her anymore…until now.”
“She is happy, and that’s what counts.” She got up and flexed her calves to fire up the lymphatics—puffy ankles would not look good—and kissed Susannah on the cheek. “I’m not sure why she finds Blanche appealing, but there you go.”
Susannah frowned up at her. “Did Zoë…?” She sighed, looked up at the skylight, then sighed again. “Did she make a move on you or something?”
Darcy’s breath caught, and she spluttered. “Excuse me?”
“Did she try it on with you?” Susannah furrowed her brow further. “You didn’t guess she was gay or something? I mean, she was always here.” She played with the silver bracelet Zoë had given her for her birthday. “She feels…like a mum and… She’s not you, though. But she feels like family.”
“Of course she is.” She smiled and squeezed Susannah’s hand. “She loves you.”
“Yeah, but she loves you too, and way more than friendship.” Susannah held on like she was desperate for reassurance. “Blanche knows that.”
Darcy tutted. “She is very happily married.”
“Because her wife loves her, but she would have married you.” Susannah held on. “She would have if you were gay.” She studied her like she wasn’t sure what the truth was. “She… Whatever she did that upset you, I know it took a lot for you to ask her back in, and I think you did it for me.”
“I’m your mother. It’s my job.” She shrugged. She didn’t deserve the support. What had either of them done right? She’d hidden away Zoë, forcing her to lie, forcing her into that rash decision. Yes, it seemed to be working out better than expected, but it had severed any chance of them getting back together. Maybe that was the right thing? Kissing Zoë, being with Zoë had moved her, moved her and ripped at her, but it wasn’t powerful enough? Perhaps. It was different. Zoë’s presence and friendship anchored her, but it wasn’t the mesmeric pull that tugged at her core whenever Kate smiled.
“But…if she hurt you, it hurt me that she left.” Susannah tucked under her arm. “I don’t know how to talk to her right now. I need to know if she messed up…how she messed up.”
“She didn’t do anything wrong.” She gave Susannah a squeeze, then strode into the kitchen. Kate was unravelling her as it was; she didn’t need Susannah probing.
“No? Then why do you look…so heartbroken?” Susannah blurted it out.
Darcy froze, then turned. Susannah’s eyes flicked to and fro like an idea was forming. Always dangerous. She should lie.
“I am,” came out instead. She held Susannah’s shocked gaze. The words hung there, echoed. Wall smashed. “Don’t blame her. I had every opportunity to marry her.”
Susannah let out a long, heavy sigh that made her shoulders drop. “So why didn’t you?” She shook her head, then pulled her duh face again. “And why are you dating men? Are you bisexual?”
They did not teach this conversation in parent evenings. “Because…” She took a breath. Let it out. “I don’t like being gay.” She shrugged. “I want to be normal.”
“Mum, you’re a celebrity. Nothing about you is close to normal.” She threw her hands in the air. “And you’re miserable.”
“Yes.” Nice that her seventeen-year-old was telling her so.
“So, tell her… Do you want me to tell her…? She should know.” Susannah put her hands on her hips, and before Darcy was a woman. The child, her child, vanished. It sucked the air from her, hurt so much more than any heartbreak over Zoë. She gripped onto her arms, digging her nails in to stop blurting out tears.
“Mum, you look in pain.”
More than she could ever show. Long, slow breath. “I don’t want Zoë.” Illuminating. Her brain only registered how true that was as she said it.
“Then there must be a nice woman who you can like?” Susannah tapped her finger to her lip. “Marge might know someone.”
Darcy wagged her finger and fussed around with her handbag. “I don’t have to look for dates… I just don’t want them.”
“Why?” Susannah dipped to catch her gaze.
“I’d rather be miserable.” She pulled her jacket from the chair. “We don’t want to be late.”
Susannah pulled her own jacket on. “Mum, it’s your show. You can turn up when you like.” She stood in front of the door and, thankfully, the child returned, her baby. “Why do you want to be miserable?”
“I told you. I don’t like being gay.” She kissed her on the forehead and picked up her keys. “I’m sure I can find an appropriate man to fix me.”
Susannah pulled in her chin. “Delusional much?”
“Yes, and it’s worked for years. Practice makes perfect.” She pulled open the door.
“What happens when you meet someone you want to marry?” Susannah mumbled as they trudged down to the car.
“I’ll run the other way.” She held open the car door. “No one should have to put up with me.” She winked as Susannah slid in. “You can barely tolerate me, and I’m your mother.”
Susannah climbed in and shifted over, high-fiving the driver as she always did. “I didn’t know you before.” She looked up with a gentle smile. “It helps to know why.”
“Why?” Darcy nodded to the driver. He smiled. As usual, he was feigning deafness. Good man.
“Why you always shut me out. Why you sent me to boarding school… So I didn’t have to cover anything?” Susannah thunked her head to Darcy’s shoulder and burrowed in. “And why you have such a freakish aversion to women with short hair.”
Darcy scowled, then a wave of warmth filled her. Susannah really didn’t care. “Guilty as charged.” She kissed her on the head again. “Thank you.”
“I’m your daughter. It’s my job,” came back at her with exactly the right intonation and a cheeky wink.
For once, she was speechless.
Chapter 22
There was something about dresses that just made Kate feel awkward. She was a woman inside and out, yes; she had no real issue with dresses. But standing in a changing room with a silky frock on made her feel like a bloke on a stag night—all she needed was a nurse’s hat.
“Kate-oh!” Mikey called out between giggles. “Why you take long?”
“Dresses are kinda tricky,” Zoë oozed out.
Kate tried to ignore the flash of Zoë and Darcy on the catwalk
and them not on a catwalk… Shake it off. She picked up the twig-heeled excuse for a shoe and fanned herself with it. Over and over, her mind kept replaying Darcy under her on the kitchen table. Slow torture; she could even taste the sauce.
“Do you need any help?” Blanche asked, peeking through the gap at the top of the door. Too tall, that’s what she was, and very pleasant when Darcy wasn’t around. She doted on Zoë. “Honey, it goes on your foot.”
Kate held up the offending shoe. “This should be on a rack in a dungeon somewhere.”
“It’s only three inches. That’s slight assault.” Blanche winked, then laughed. “You just try to remember: head up, shoulders back. Own it.”
“Until I go flying into the camera and you need to pull the lens from my nose?” She sighed and bent over.
Blanche cleared her throat. “Bend your knees, or you’ll look like you’re on a porn shoot.”
Kate snapped back upright.
Blanche laughed. Her laugh was even lower than her voice. She winked, then scowled. “Great. The bitch has arrived.”
“How do you know?” She glanced around, didn’t know why. What was the cupboard with a mirror going to reveal?
“Zoë just introduced her to the camera.” She growled. “Suck up.” She muttered something and disappeared.
“My dear Sproutman,” Darcy announced like she was laughing. “How is your mission?” Her tone was so full of genuine affection.
Kate groaned and rested her head against the wall. She couldn’t go crazy over Darcy McGregor. Unobtainable and then some. No, she had to…dislike her somehow, but how could she dislike the woman when she was so good with Mikey? Her heart couldn’t take it. Darcy was unavailable. On another level, gorgeous level. No, no, don’t think on that…
No, Darcy was mean, really mean. A mean, big, gorgeous bitch who made disgusting sauce taste sublime. Ah, shit.
Kate climbed onto the edges of the door and peeked through the gap. Yup, Darcy was fussing over Mikey and giving him some kind of toy. Then she turned and beamed at Susannah as she strode towards the changing rooms.
