“Excuse me?” Alex stops moving and I’m extremely uncomfortable in this bubble of male testosterone.
“I need to use the restroom.” I step back and practically sprint toward the other side of the room, calling over my shoulder, “Thank you for the dance, Alex.”
What the hell just happened?
***
I step out onto the terrace, craving the fresh, crisp air. These past weeks have aged me considerably. There are groups of people everywhere, dressed in their best. Everyone is so glamorous, so at ease, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so out of place as I do here.
“Darcy.”
I tense.
“Benjamin,” I reply, not turning around. Wrapping my arms in front of my body to keep out the chill, I study the starry night, noting the distant constellations I can decipher from this height.
He sidles up next to me, places his hands on the railing, and we stand like that for what seems like forever in silence.
“Were youtryingto upset me?”
“Benjamin, I was dancing with someone.”
“My brother. Someone I told younotto pursue.”
“Oh, yes. We’re all just supposed to bow down to you, hang on every word you say? You don’t get to tell me who and who I cannot talk to.”
“Darcy, I told you why you shouldn’t be with him.” He grips my arm to turn me to face him, but I yank it from his grasp.
“You have no room to talk about this subject, Benjamin.”
“Excuse me?”
Ooh, he does not sound happy. When I turn around, his hands are in his pockets and his mouth has formed into a tight line. I realize now that he’s trying to keep a low profile.
“Okay, let’s think about this. You told me you cared about me, fucked me, and then ended it. Yet you talk to me as if I were yours. You have no remorse because you’reusedto doing this to women. It sounds to me you and your brother havea lotin common.”
I leave him there and walk to a waiter standing in the corner, grabbing a chilled champagne from the silver tray.
“No, we’re not finished with this conversation.” Benjamin’s arm comes around my waist, and not wanting to humiliate him in front of all his guests and a decent amount of paparazzi, I stay quiet as he leads me to the lawn.
“Fucking is all I know, Darcy,” he snaps when we reach the empty garden. “I’ve never even gotten as close to someone as I have with you.” He runs his hand through his impeccably styled hair. “Fucking pathetic, right?”
“No. It’s not pathetic. You’re just used to shutting people out.”
“Yeah, but you’ve found a way in.” He sits down on the bench, his head hanging toward the ground. My heart starts thumping a little faster.
“Did I?”
He looks up, and I catch vulnerability laced in his perfect features. “Darcy, I felt like crap after what I did to you. After you showed me your scars. Everything just got more real. I got scared.”
“Why would you be scared of that?” I wait for his answer but it doesn’t come. He’s staring at the ground again. “Please tell me.”
“I never got to know any of the women I’ve slept with. They were just there for the moment. I had no interest in them except for one thing. You’re a real person.”
“I’d like to think so.”
He glares at me but there’s no venom behind it. “My point exactly. You’re witty, stubborn, irritatingly beautiful, smart. You’re the whole package, Darcy. That’s frankly terrifying. When you told me about your scars, I didn’t know what to do…run for the fucking door or kiss every last one of them.”
I’m staring at him like an idiot as he unloads his deepest insecurities into the intimate setting of the garden. I have a sudden, desperate urge to touch him. I hesitantly reach up to his face. His eyes close as my hand presses to his warm cheek.
