table.
‘No, you—’ Logan broke off his angry retort, drawing in a deep, controlling breath, before turning to Darcy. ‘Are you ready to order?’
She smiled up at the waiter to make up for Logan’s previous terseness. ‘Lasagne and a green salad, please,’ she ordered—but wasn’t absolutely sure she would be around long enough to eat it!
‘I’ll have the same,’ Logan announced.
‘Would you like any water with your meal—?’
‘No, we wouldn’t,’ Logan interrupted the man gratingly, glaring up at him with icy blue eyes.
‘Thank you.’ Darcy smiled up at the young man again, receiving a grateful grin in return before he left in the direction of the kitchen.
Logan removed his hand abruptly from covering hers. ‘I realise that until a few hours ago you were a waitress yourself,’ he said harshly. ‘But do you have to be so friendly with the staff?’
Hurt flared in her eyes at the unwarranted rebuke, making them appear almost silver. ‘Good manners cost you nothing, Logan,’ she returned briskly. ‘Besides, why should I ruin his day, just because mine isn’t turning out to be so brilliant?’
‘Thanks,’ Logan said sarcastically.
Darcy sighed. Why was she even bothering to go through with this? Because she was still angry? Or because she wanted to see just how far Logan was willing to go in this charade? The latter, probably, she acknowledged heavily. But this whole situation was grating on her already frayed emotions.
‘Logan, exactly what is it you want from me?’ she demanded suddenly, giving up all pretence now of this being a pleasant lunch together. Not that it had ever been that in the first place—on either side!
Logan looked startled by the question, eyeing her warily. ‘What do you mean?’
She pursed her lips, her expression scathing. ‘Stop treating me like an idiot, Logan,’ she bit out disgustedly. ‘I mean, what do you, Margaret Fraser’s son, want from me?’ she challenged, her eyes gleaming silver once again.
She hadn’t been able to believe it this morning when, in the heat of their argument, her father had told her exactly who and what Logan McKenzie was, demanding to know what the two of them were plotting together.
At the time, she had even been too numbed by her father’s revelation to defend herself properly against those accusations…
Logan McKenzie was the son of that—that woman?
Incredible as it seemed to her, it appeared that was exactly what he was. The actress looked barely in her thirties herself, and yet she had a son aged in his mid-thirties. And her son was Logan McKenzie…
Darcy had thought him so understanding yesterday evening. Hey, she had even thanked him for being so kind to her!
He had kissed her too. Worse, she had kissed him back…!
But she now realised Logan had had his own reasons for being so nice to her, and those reasons involved his mother!
She felt so stupid now when she thought of all she had said to him, all the things she had confided in him.
But most of all, she was angry. Furiously so. Which was the reason she had decided to continue with the arrangement of meeting Logan for lunch today; she wanted the pleasure of telling him to his face exactly what she thought of him!
‘Well?’ she challenged again at his continued silence, her expression mutinous.
He drew in a ragged breath. ‘I’m not sure I know what to say…’ he finally admitted.
Darcy bridled. ‘An apology might not be amiss! What on earth you hoped to achieve by not telling me the truth from the beginning, I have no idea, but I can assure you that whatever it was you have failed miserably; nothing you could do or say would ever convince me to accept your mother marrying my father!’
She was breathing hard in her agitation, more angry with Logan McKenzie now than she was with her father. At least her father had been honest with her.
Logan frowned darkly. ‘Let me assure you, Darcy,’ he began, ‘I am no more enamoured by the idea of the two of them marrying than you are. Until you told me about their plans, I had no idea it was even a possibility!’
She didn’t believe him. He had to be fighting his mother’s corner. Besides, if what he claimed were really the case, once he’d become aware of the engagement, aware of her own aversion to the relationship, he had had plenty of opportunity to tell her the truth about his own relationship to Margaret Fraser. If he had wanted to. Which he obviously hadn’t.
Although, she did remember he had assured her that he didn’t believe any marriage between the older couple would ever take place…
‘My father, a mere restaurant owner, isn’t good enough for your mother, is that it?’ she retorted as the idea suddenly occurred to her, remembering that painting on the wall in Logan’s apartment of the castle that was the Scottish family home. The home where Margaret Fraser had probably been brought up.
Logan waved the waiter away impatiently as the young man would have brought their meals to the table. ‘Darcy—’
‘That is it, isn’t it?’ she accused incredulously as the idea began to take hold. ‘Exactly who do you think you are? More to the point, who do you think your mother is? Because from where I’m standing, she’s nothing more than a—’
‘Darcy!’ Logan’s voice was icily cold now, his expression glacial. ‘There’s nothing you could say about my mother that I haven’t already said or thought of her myself. But that doesn’t mean I’m willing to sit quietly by while someone else is rude and insulting about her!’
Darcy glared at him. ‘In that case, you must spend most of your life getting into fights or arguing with people; I haven’t met a single person yet with a nice thing to say about your mother!’
Logan’s mouth twisted. ‘Except your father, of course.’
‘He’s just besotted,’ she defended. ‘Knocked off his feet by the glamour that surrounds her.’ She shook her head. ‘I just hope he comes to his senses before he does something stupid—like marrying her!’
‘Oh, he will,’ Logan said grimly.
Darcy’s eyes gleamed angrily. ‘Because you intend seeing that he does,’ she guessed. ‘I don’t know which one of you I despise more—you or your mother!’
Logan’s throat moved convulsively. Whether from anger or some other emotion, Darcy couldn’t tell. And she didn’t particularly care, either.
‘I’ve had enough of this.’ She threw her unused napkin on the table before bending down to pick up her bag. ‘Enjoy your meal, Logan—both portions of it!’ She stood up to leave.
Logan’s hand snaked out and grasped her painfully around the wrist as she would have walked away, looking up at her with darkened blue eyes. ‘Darcy, I’m on your side—’
‘I
