The Bride Fonseca Needs

by Abby Green

  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.’

  Darcy turned her hand in Max’s and gripped it. A sense of rage at his parents filled her, shocking in its intensity. ‘You were little more than a baby, Max...’

  Just then Julieta appeared, with a coffee pot on a tray, and Darcy blinked up at her, broken out of the web of intimacy that had come down over her and Max without her even realising it. Suddenly she felt very raw, and absurdly emotional. The full impact of the day was hitting her. She was in
danger of losing herself out here with Max.

  Acting on impulse, she seized the opportunity like a coward, pulling her hand back from Max’s, avoiding his eye. She stood up, smiled, and said, ‘No coffee for me, thanks—it’s been a long day.’

  Unfortunately she couldn’t quite manage to leave at the same time as Julieta because Max had caught her wrist. Darcy looked down and her heart skipped a beat. To her intense relief his expression indicated nothing of their recent conversation. He looked altogether far too sexy and dangerous. Far too reminiscent of that younger Max—cocky and confident, but still human underneath it all.

  He smiled, and it was the smile of a shark. ‘You’re not willing to concede defeat yet?’

  Darcy shook her head and struggled against the blood that pounded in her veins. ‘No, Max, I still don’t think it’s a good idea.’

  To her surprise he let her go and leaned forward to pour himself some coffee. ‘Buonanotte, then, Darcy...’

  Feeling unsure, because she didn’t trust Max an inch, Darcy sidled around him to get to the doorway.

  And then she heard him say softly, ‘It’s better that you go to bed now because you’ll need your sleep. I’ll be waking you early in the morning. I’ve got more plans for tomorrow.’

  She looked at him suspiciously. ‘What are you talking about?’

  He just smiled and said, ‘You’ll see.’

  Darcy started to speak. ‘Look, Max—’

  He speared her a look that told her in no uncertain terms that he was hanging on to his control by a thread and that if she stayed a moment longer he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.

  ‘Goodnight, Darcy. Go to bed while you still can...or it won’t be alone.’

  She had the sense not to ask anything else and fled.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘LEMME ALONE. IT’S THE middle of the night.’ Darcy burrowed back into the bed as deep as she could, but big firm hands reached in determinedly and ripped the covers back.

  She squealed, wide awake now, and looked at Max looming over her, in the very early morning gloom.

  ‘Buongiorno, mia moglie.’ My wife.

  Darcy scowled, feeling thoroughly disgruntled and aware that she was in just skimpy pants and a vest top.

  She scrabbled for a sheet but Max insisted on pulling it back again, saying briskly, ‘Now, I can dress you, or you can dress yourself—it’s up to you. I’ve laid some clothes out for you.’

  There was enough light in the room for a squinting Darcy to see that Max was wide awake, dressed casually, and that those mesmerising eyes were making a very thorough and leisurely appraisal of her body.

  Then he said throatily, ‘If, on the other hand, you’d prefer to stay in bed, I won’t object.’

  Her body jumped with anticipation but she ignored it and scrambled off the bed, reaching for a robe. ‘I’m up.’ She rounded on him, saying grumpily, ‘And I can dress myself.’

  Max made a considering noise. ‘Not a morning person? I’ll make a note to prepare myself for that in the future.’

  ‘It’d be more accurate to say not a middle of the night person,’ Darcy snapped.

  Max was thankfully backing away, and he glanced at his watch, saying, ‘Downstairs in fifteen minutes. We’ve time for a quick breakfast.’

  Darcy grumbled about arrogant bossy men as she washed and got dressed in jeans and a pretty silk long-sleeved top, shoving her feet into flat shoes.

  She didn’t like to admit that her defences still felt a little battered after yesterday and their intimate supper last night. She’d had disturbing dreams of small boys clinging onto each other as unseen hands forced them apart, and of bright red blood on pristine snow.

  When she went down she was surprised to see Julieta up and about, greeting her with a cheery hello. She showed her to a covered part of the terrace at the back of the villa, clearly in deference to the fact that only the faintest trails of dawn could be seen in the sky, like delicate pink ribbons.

  Max was drinking coffee. He looked at her and stood to pull out a chair.

  Darcy felt exposed, with her freshly scrubbed face and her hair tied back in a ponytail. She valiantly tried to ignore Max and picked at a croissant and some fruit, still feeling fuzzy from sleep.

  ‘You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?’

  Max shook his head cheerfully. ‘It’s a surprise.’

  Darcy was already reacting to the prospect of another day in close proximity to Max... Her body was humming with energy.

  She pushed her plate back, having no appetite this early, and said, ‘I suppose now is as good a time as any to tell you I hate surprises?’

  She did, too, having learnt long ago that they were usually of the very unwelcome variety—more often than not something promised by one or other of her parents to assuage their guilt or to compensate for their absence at some event or other.

  Hence carving out a steady, dependable career for herself, where no surprises would jump out to get her.

  Until she’d agreed to this ridiculous charade.

  Max stood up and put down his napkin. ‘You’ll like it—I promise. Ready?’

  Darcy looked up and sighed inwardly at the determination stamped on his face. ‘I don’t have much choice, do I?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not unless you want me to put you over my shoulder and carry you out.’

  Darcy had no doubt that Max wouldn’t hesitate to put her over his shoulder—after all, he’d picked her up as if she was a bag of flour yesterday.

  She stood up with as much grace as she could muster and said witheringly, ‘You don’t have to demonstrate your he-man capabilities again. I can walk.’

  * * *

  They drove a relatively short distance to a big flat open field, with several low buildings inside the gates. Max parked the car alongside some other vehicles and got out.

  When she met him in front of the car, thoroughly bemused, he handed her something. ‘Here, you’ll need this—it might be a bit chilly.’

  She took the fleece and guessed it must belong to the lady of the villa, because it fitted her perfectly and she’d looked to be about as petite as Darcy—if not smaller. Darcy zipped it up, suddenly glad of the extra layer against Max’s far too intense perusal.

  He’d put on a fleece too, and now took a basket from the boot of the car. Determined not to give Max the satisfaction of knowing how curious she was, Darcy just followed him around one of the low hangar-like buildings—and then stopped in her tracks and gasped out loud.

  As she took in the significance of the scene in front of her she could feel the last of her defences crumble to dust. And, absurdly, tears pricked her eyes.

  Max had stopped and was looking at her, the picture of innocence. Darcy curled her hands into fists at her sides and glared at him, willing the emotion to stay down.

  In a husky voice she said, ‘Of all the low-down, dirty, manipulative things to do, Max Fonseca Roselli...this just proves how cold-hearted you are.’

  It was a hot air balloon, on its side, being inflated by a crew.

  And it was on her bucket list.

  One night, while working late in the office in that first couple of months, Darcy had asked Max idly about what might be on his bucket list—because what could someone who had nearly everything possibly want?

  He’d given her a typical non-answer, in true evasive Max style. And then he’d asked her what was on hers. She’d replied, with some measure of embarrassment, that she’d always wanted to take a hot air balloon ride.

  And now he was giving it to her.

  Emotion tightened her chest.

  Max just looked amused. ‘You don’t want to go?’

  She glared at him. ‘Of course I want to go.’

  Sh
e folded her arms across her chest, hating it that he could make her feel so much, wanting to extract some kind of payment.

  ‘But I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s on your bucket list. And I want a proper answer this time.’

  Max’s expression hardened. ‘I don’t have a bucket list. This is ridiculous, Darcy. We’ll miss the best part of the sunrise if we don’t move now.’

  She could see the balloon, lifting into the air behind Max. She tapped her foot. Waiting...

  He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his hair impatiently. ‘Nothing with you comes easy, does it?’

  ‘No.’ She smiled sweetly, feeling some measure of satisfaction to be annoying him—especially when he’d hauled her out of bed so early.

  ‘Okay, I’ll tell you—but you’re not to laugh.’

  Darcy shook her head and said seriously, ‘I promise I won’t.’

  Max looked up, as if committing his soul somewhere—or hers, more likely—and then down again, and said in a rush, ‘I want to own a football club.’

  He’d said it like a young boy, blurting something out before he could lose his nerve, and Darcy’s chest squeezed even tighter.

  She pushed the emotion down and nodded once. ‘Thank you. Now we can go,’ she said.

  Once she felt on a more even keel with Max she was like a child, with the full excitement of what he’d organised for her—whatever his motive—finally hitting her.

  They were helped into the basket alongside the pilot, and then suddenly they were lifting off the ground and into the clear dawn-streaked sky. Darcy wrapped her hands tight around the basket’s edge, eyes wide at the way the ground dropped away beneath them.

  It was pure terror and exhilaration. Max stood beside her as the pilot edged them higher and higher, but she couldn’t look at him, too afraid of what he might see on her face.

  Time and time again her father had promised to do this with her and it had never happened. And now she was here with her husband. Except he wasn’t really her husband.

  Emotions twisted like a ball in her gut and she took a deep breath.