Chapter 6
DIANE
Isip my iced tea and stare out the bay window at the waters of the Mediterranean.
I’m no longer in Dad’s cheap divorcé pad deep inside the ugliest industrial suburb of Marseille.
This place is lush and unspoiled by construction folly.
In fact, the only construction here is an unobtrusive energy-efficient villa overlooking the beach.
The “small, informal gathering” Darcy had told me about turned out to be a weekend party for over fifty guests. Held on a Greek island.
A private Greek island.
The guests were flown to Crete this morning by private jet—of course—all white leather and overwhelming sleekness.
While up in the air, I met Darcy’s middle brother, Raphael—the CEO of a large audit firm—his best friend, Laurent, and a bunch of other people, all of whom eyed me with unrestrained curiosity.
After we landed, I was eager to see the sites, but it looked as if I was the only one who’d never been to Crete before. Even Jeanne, the only other “normal” person in this jet set, had visited it when she backpacked around Europe at twenty.
“Another time,” Darcy had said to me, all bossy and curt, before we were all ferried to Ninossos, farther south, on board a private mahogany-paneled yacht.
How else was a poor rich man to transport guests to his island?
“Papa loved this place,” Darcy says, planting himself next to me. “The weather is mild here almost all year round.”
I can definitely believe that, considering how sunny and warm it is right now in the middle of winter. The island is small and kept in its natural state, except for this villa. Perched on a hillside and separated from the sandy beach by terraced gardens, it offers a breathtaking view over the sea.
What’s not to love?
“It’s Raphael’s now,” Darcy says.
I give him a sidelong glance and turn away quickly, embarrassed by the effect his jeans and shirt are having on me.
Dammit! When he wears one of his bespoke suits, I can tell myself it’s not him, it’s the cut.
The second I catch myself eyeing his torso, I bring up the image of a Savile Row tailor wielding his magic scissors and turning amorphous men into hunks.
The problem is no sane person with functioning eyes would call the man standing next to me amorphous.
I force a sneer. “Is the boat his, too?”
He nods.
“And the jet?”
“We co-own it, the same as Le Big Ben.”
“I hadn’t pegged you as someone who’s into sharing, even with family members.”
“You’re wrong—I do share, and not only with family. My other jet is used for corporate travel by all Parfums d’Arcy managers and sales reps.”
I shake my head, tut-tutting. “How disappointing. Billionaires aren’t what they used to be.”
He says nothing.
I sneak a peek at him. Darcy’s expression is as stony as ever. It’s not as if I expected him to crack up or anything, but… I don’t know… maybe smile a little?
Forget it.
Who cares what he thinks, anyway?
I point at the picture-perfect young people who sunbathe and entertain themselves in a variety of beachy ways a couple dozen meters from the villa. “I’ll go find Jeanne.”
“Of course,” he says. “I’ll go chat with the caterer and the local staff and make sure everything’s ready for the party tonight.”
I scrunch my eyebrows. “Shouldn’t Raphael do that? It’s his birthday.”
“Raphael should relax and enjoy himself,” Darcy says. “It’s his birthday.”
Righto.
With a canned smile, I hand him my empty glass and head outside.
The first thing that jumps out at me as the soles of my feet touch the sand is just how much Raphael is enjoying himself.
Reclining on his back, the birthday boy is letting a topless Scarlett Johansson doppelg?nger on his left smear sunscreen onto his tanned chest. While she’s at it, a topless clone of Natalie Portman on his right giggles at something he said.
Seriously?
I look around. Am I the only one who finds this utterly ridiculous?
Oh, wait! Maybe the trio is reenacting The Other Boleyn Girl.
Yes, that must be it.
I avert my gaze, scanning the beach crowd for Jeanne.
Honestly, what did I expect? Rich men are all like that—spoiled and obnoxious.
I’m sure Raphael’s older brother engages in similar pursuits when he isn’t in a fake relationship with a girl who shudders at the thought of kissing him.
To say nothing of engaging in a threesome with him.
My antipathy to Darcy aside, I’d have to be unconscious or dead to be involved in a threesome with anyone—even a man I lusted after.
If I ever met such a man.
“Hey, Diane!” Raphael waves enthusiastically while “Scarlett” and “Natalie” peer at me, giving off distinctly hostile vibes. “Over here!”
Er… I don’t think so. “I’m looking for Jeanne.”
“Mat’s wife? I saw her inside.” He stands up and saunters toward me in all his bare-chested glory.
I wonder if his brother’s muscles are as well defined as his. Then I wonder why I’m wondering this.
“You should ask Seb to give you a tour of the island,” he says, looking me over.
I give him a pointed cut-the-crap look.
He shrugs with a hint of defiance, as if to say, I’m just playing my part and so should you.
Oh, well, I guess I should. There are doppelg?ngers within earshot, after all. And, judging by how quiet they’ve suddenly grown, they’re all ears.
“Great idea.” I force a smile. “Do you come here often?”
“Whenever I can. This is my favorite place on Earth.”
“What’s the deal with the third Darcy brother?” I ask. “He wasn’t on the plane, was he?”
Raphael shakes his head, his grin fading a little.
“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him yet,” I say.
It’s clear he doesn’t relish the turn our small talk is taking, but I can’t help myself. “Will he be arriving later, on a regular flight with all those poor millionaires crammed in business class?”
“Noah isn’t coming,” Raphael says, his smile strained now. “He had some… important business to take care of.”
Birthday boy takes a sudden interest in his feet, as if he just discovered he had toes. It doesn’t look as if he’ll say more on the subject.
Never mind. None of the Darcy secrets will resist Diane Petit’s power of observation.
You just wait.
“Raphael, come back here,” Scarlett Johansson calls out, pouting. “You promised to return the sunscreen favor.”
Natalie Portman mirrors her pout. “And I’m still waiting for my foot massage.”
Raphael looks at me, obviously relieved. “I’d love to chat more, but I have promises to keep.”
“Off you go,” I say.
Behind me, someone jogs toward us. Before I have time to turn around, that someone puts his arm around my shoulders.
“Let me show you around this rock.” Darcy says, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Come, chérie.”
I knit my brows. “Didn’t your governess teach you that sneaking up on people is bad manners, chéri?”
A smile crinkles Raphael’s eyes as he turns toward Darcy. “Is everything under control? Food delivered and servers lined up?”
Darcy hesitates. “If you really want to know, there was a small issue with the swimming pool. The caretaker couldn’t get the new heating system to start.”
“It’s no big deal,” Raphael says.
“You invited people to a poolside party, didn’t you?” Darcy’s tone is so distinctly older brotherly it reminds me of Lionel. “You don’t want to let them down.”
“You’re right,” Raphael says before turning to me. “We should all thank whatever deity we believe in for people like Seb. They make the world a better place.”
Yeah, sure.
“Speaking of a better place.” Raphael wrinkles his nose at Darcy. “Did you actually manage to fix the pool heater?”
“I managed to find the user manual,” Darcy says. “And Kostas fixed the heating system.”
Raphael taps his brother’s shoulder. “I’ll leave you to your girlfriend.”
“Come.” Darcy pulls my hand. “I want you to meet Laurent and some other friends.”
I give him a canned smile. “I can’t wait!”
What I really can’t wait for is to go back home and barf.