Page 18 of The Bride Fonseca Needs

‘That’s why I want this. Because if Montgomery hands me his fund I’ll have proved that even when you have your birthright stripped away it’s still possible to regain your dignity and get respect.’

He didn’t have to elaborate for Darcy to imagine how his litany of humiliations had bred the proud man in front of her. Montgomery held an almost mythical place in the world’s finances. Akin to financial royalty. Darcy knew that what Max said was true. His endorsement would make Max untouchable, revered. The boys who had bullied him at school and witnessed him at his lowest moment on the streets would be forced to respect him.

‘And it’s not just for me,’ he said now, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’m a partner in a philanthropic organisation with my brother. We’re finally putting our father’s corrupt legacy to good use, and I’ll be damned if I can’t contribute my own share.’

Max turned to face her more fully.

‘That’s why I want this, Darcy. Everyone has a price. I’ve just told you mine. You can name yours.’

Why did that sound like the worst kind of deal with the devil?

Because it is, whispered a small voice.

* * *

When Darcy woke up the next day she felt strangely calm. As if a storm had passed and she’d been washed up on land—alive and breathing, if a little battered.

Max had made no further attempt to stop her from leaving once she’d said, ‘I need a night to think it over.’

It was as if he’d recognised how precarious his chance was. He’d escorted her down to his car and bade her goodnight, saying, ‘Just think of your price, Darcy.’

; And so she had.

After hours of tossing and turning she’d got up and looked at her tablet, at the properties she’d marked on a website. It was her secret, most favourite thing to do. Earmark the properties she’d buy if she had the money.

Her heart had thumped hard when she’d seen that her current favourite was still available. The price, in her eyes, was extortionate; London property gone mad. But she knew to Max it would be a pittance. Was this her price? A place of her own? The base she wanted so badly? The base it would take her years to afford under normal working circumstances?

Darcy could empathise with Max’s determination to do it all on his own. She could ask her parents for the money to buy a house and have it tomorrow. But when she’d seen her father almost lose everything it had forged in her a deep desire to ensure her own financial stability, to be dependent on no one else.

She’d been eight when her parents had split up and she’d been tossed back and forth like a rag doll, across time zones and countries, with nice airline ladies holding her hand through airports. It had been in those moments that Darcy had wished most fervently that she still had a home—somewhere she could go back to that would always be there. Something that wasn’t in a constant state of flux. Security. Stability.

When Max had revealed that he’d been only six when his parents had split up her silly heart had constricted. And he had a twin brother. She couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have been ripped apart from a sibling. Never mind taken to the other side of the world, never to connect with one of your parents again.

She got up and showered and made herself coffee. She hated that knowing about Max’s tumultuous past made it harder for her to keep seeing him as ruthless and cynical. But he was, she assured herself. Nothing had changed. He was out for himself—unashamedly. And yet who could blame him? He’d been abandoned by his own mother, forgotten by his father. Estranged from his brother.

The thing was, did he deserve for her to help him?

Darcy’s mobile phone pinged with a text message. From Max.

Well?

She almost smiled. Something about his obvious impatience at the fact that she wouldn’t come to heel easily comforted her. Things had morphed from relatively normal to seriously weird in a very short space of time.

She texted back.

Do you think you could use that word in a sentence?

She pictured him scowling. A couple of minutes passed and then...

Dear Darcy,

Please will you marry me so that I can secure Montgomery’s fund and live happily ever after?

Yours truly, Max.

Darcy barked out a laugh. The man was truly a bastard. Her phone pinged again.