"It's a historic site," Darcy explained agitatedly, anxious to get Belle out of the car as soon as possible. Her heart was pumping double-speed; her very nerve-ends were tingling at the thought of seeing Christian. Of course, it would have been better if he had texted earlier to suggest they met in Rocolo. Then she could have given poor Mara more notice. But when, finally, Christian's call had come, it had been unignorable. And Darcy's main regret, as they bowled along in the limo, was that she had not had more time to prepare herself. Jeans, T-shirt, and no make-up didn't seem much of an ensemble. But none of this would matter to Christian. He was always telling her she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "I don't do walking," Belle snarled as the driver opened the rear door. Hardly surprising, in those. Darcy glanced at Belle's shoes. Seven inches and counting, and with soles that looked as thin as ballet slippers. She would feel every cigarette butt on Rocolo's cobbled main street.
