Page 95 of All I Want for Christmas

‘It’s ruined!’

The doors closed behind them and, seeing that all the cubicle doors were open, Darcy realized she was alone. She stood back and stared in horror at her reflection in the mirror, seeing the full extent of the damage now. It was even worse than she had thought. Besides the heavy stain over the torso, splashes had dripped all the way down the skirt too. She looked like she’d been stabbed. Like she was bleeding.

Salt, white wine – they were the remedies for removing red wine stains, she knew, but this stain was too large and irregular, the fabric too delicate. Even specialist dry cleaning wasn’t going to come back with a spotless result, and on a five-thousand-euro dress like this, there was no room for flaws.

Oh God. What had she done, coming here tonight in someone else’s treasure? There was no way she could afford to replace it.

Her hands reached for the counter, her head dropping as she felt the full disaster of the situation descend upon her. Tears began to gather, her breath to roll...This dress was supposed to have been for Freja’s big moment, when she stood by Tristan’s side and they announced their official togetherness – and now Darcy had taken that from her!

‘Oh God,’ she moaned, feeling her heart racing. Too fast.‘Oh God.’ Her hands were beginning to tingle. What was she going to do? ‘Oh...no...’ She felt the first tears gather and fall, and she straightened up, her face tipped to the ceiling as she strained for self-control.

But the tears continued to slide. There was no way to stop what was coming, to undo what had already been done. Freja would never forgive her!

She began to pace in a tight figure of eight, her hands twisted in her hair as she walked in continuous loops; no way out.

The bathroom door opened as she had her back turned and she halted in her tracks, waiting for the sound of footsteps into the cubicle. But they didn’t come. A sharp sob, escaping her efforts, made her shoulders judder as she waited.

‘Darcy...’

What?

She spun round at the unexpectedness of her name, the deep timbre of the voice, in here.

‘...No. Not you.’ She shook her head as Max stared back at her, taking in the full scope of the stains across the dress, her smudged mascara as tears skimmed her cheeks. Of all the people she didn’t want to see...‘Go away,’ she said roughly. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’

He looked pained. ‘I saw what happened—’

‘I don’t care. Get out!’

‘I want to help.’

‘I don’t want your help!’ she cried. ‘You’re the last person I want to help me!...Just go!’

He watched as her tears became sobs and she hid her face in her hands, trying to hide from him. ‘It’s just a dress. We can sor—’

‘You don’t get it!’ she cried. ‘It’s not just a dress! It’s my friend’s dress! Her beautiful new dress that she bought forsomething special. Only she’s away, and I was trying to help Otto! I was trying to do someone a favour and I had no other options. I thought it wouldn’t matter, that she’d never even know!’ She looked down at herself, her face falling all over again at the sight of it, sobs beginning to roll through her like a stormy wind.

Oh God. How was she going to tell Freja what she had done? How could she ever make it up to her?

She knew she had to get out of here, but she couldn’t...she couldn’t slow down her breathing. Another sob escaped her, unstoppable, and she realized her breath was coming too fast, too shallow and the sound was...strangled. He rushed over as she sank forward, her hands reaching for the counter again as she stared down between her locked arms.

She felt his hand on her back then, pulling her back. Protective. Territorial. Safe.

‘Darcy, you’re panicking,’ he said quietly. ‘You need to breathe more slowly, okay? Try to control your breathing.’

She heard his words, she knew he was talking sense, but her body wouldn’t obey. It was like a runaway train, steaming down oiled tracks.

He took her hands off the counter and turned her towards him, pulling her into his arms. ‘Sshh,’ he murmured, taking her wrists and holding them both in one hand so that she was pinned to him, her head against his chest. Instinctively her eyes closed. She could feel his heart; it was pounding too, but slower than hers, and the rhythmic beat soothed her somehow. A pulse she could follow.

She was grateful for the help, but why did it have to be his? Why was the ground constantly shifting between them: lover, villain, hero?

He was doing something with his other hand, but shedidn’t know what until she heard the bass of his voice against her ear.

‘Christoff, bring the car round.’

She felt him slide his phone back into his pocket and then his other hand went to her head as he began stroking her hair softly. ‘It’s going to be okay, Darcy. We’ll get it sorted. Just breathe slowly for me. Breathe slowly.’

Her breathing began to fall into rhythm with his hand on her hair, a conductor’s baton controlling her speed, slowing her down.Her body responding to his.

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