What Goes Around [on hold]

Chapter 4 ~ A man, not a boy

Darcy double-checked the note that this was the place Becca had booked for them: “Belladonna’s Italian Cuisine” – an easy choice, thought Darcy. Everyone loved Italian; it was enough to please anyone, and so wouldn’t tell her much about her mystery date.

She went through the double-doors, her eyes alert and ready for the first possible glimpse of him. The restaurant was low-lit, with two red candles on each of the tables and a few more on the window-sills. The perfect romantic setting, thought Darcy, with a hint of cynicism in her mental tone.

It was reasonably quiet, apart from a few couples; a number of waiters, one of whom was talking to this tall bloke – at least six feet tall – who was leaning against the bar.

She knew instantly from how he was explaining to the waiter about a certain blind date, who he was but he was facing away from her – no matter, let the analysis begin! – Darcy thought, as her eyes scrutinised his posture, attire, build, and everything else you could possibly see from just the back of a person.

He wore a white shirt, which was tucked loosely into some jeans that were neither overly-casual nor formal. He had dark brown hair that some might have said it was so dark it was almost black, and wasn’t cut long but was thick and straight.

Well, it was all thumbs up; nothing particularly ‘off’ about him so far.

Then Darcy’s ears came into play; and as he asked the waiter which table had been booked for them, she concentrated on his voice.

It was deep. Darcy guessed, baritone.

And sexy. One of the deepest, sexiest voices her keen ears had ever heard.

Darcy shivered with anticipation – but wouldn’t mentally thank Becca yet; if her recent luck was anything to go by, this mystery date would most likely turn around and have a face like a pig’s arse.

But then, just as Darcy thought this, he really did turn around.

And Darcy, in her mind, sent Becca all of the thank-you’s she could possibly manage.

He was searching for the table the waiter had pointed at – the table Becca had booked for them.

And Darcy could plainly see he was G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S!

He had piercing blue, deep-set eyes around which were a few lines which, although were the tell-tale sign of age (which placed him at approximately 30 years), gave the eyes a softer, friendlier look. These were below a firm and heavy brow; there was a straight, long, nose below which lay one fine, thin curve of the lips which were slightly parted to reveal the white gleam of teeth which spoke of money invested into braces and professional whitening: he was successful, too.

Either side of the prominent chin which lay below this beautiful mouth, ran a jaw so sharp and angular that it might have cut glass – metaphorically, of course. In fact, all of his features as a whole – the angular jaw, straight nose, prominent chin, sharp cheekbones and the intense deep-set eyes – were sharp-cut; straight; angular with not the slightest ounce of softness about them save for the friendly lines around those deep eyes and the thin, soft lips.

He was not, however, traditionally “cute” in the same youthful kind of way Darcy would have originally been attracted to – no Robert Pattinson or Zac Efron – but handsome in a manly kind of way. The light stubble accounted for that. But this was what Darcy needed, after all: a man, not a boy.

Darcy drew her breath – and thought it would look strange if she just sat down after quite obviously staring at this god-like creature, so she stole the opportunity while he was occupied with sitting himself down at the table of smoothly running out, then casually strolling in again – as if totally unassuming and fashionably late; and with a cliché, feminine flick of the hair as she explained to the waiter what he had heard already from the man, about the blind date.

When he pointed to it, she weaved her way through the couples to the expected table at which the ‘god’ sat. She was prepared with a bright, warm smile, to which he smiled at return (and here Darcy almost fainted from the sheer power of that smile) and she sat down on the chair opposite him, hurriedly introducing herself as she took off her coat and hooked it round the back of her chair, not wanting to look into those dazzling eyes in case of heart failure; and all the air of calm and relaxed had gone as her heart seemed to race a billion beats a minute.

He remained silent while she gabbled on, which was very polite of him, or so she thought, because when she had finished faffing about with the troublesome coat, she looked up at him with her thickly-beating heart only to see a look of stone-cold disapproval.

For a minute she froze in shock at this face. Why was he disapproving? Was Darcy so flustered that she really was acting like a complete buffoon? She didn’t think that she was that bad!

But then, as the initial shock wore off and she studied more deeply the face to find the reason for this expression, she realised with the most terrible, cold, sinking feeling that she knew all too well the cause. And once she reluctantly acknowledged this, the god-like face and muscular body seemed to morph into a distant memory.

The jaw became rounder; more curved; the sharpness of the cheekbones faded; the lines around the eyes disappeared; the brows became less heavy; the chin receded back from its prominence; even the shoulders, neck and arms became less broad and muscular; leaner and lanky. In fact, the whole look became softer and less defined, save for the long, straight nose which – in comparison now to the gentleness of the rest of the features – stood out, and appeared much, much larger. A pair of glasses rested on this nose, their curved lenses making the eyes seem squinted and tiny. Unfortunate freckles, acne and patches of blemish appeared on his face, and the braces which Darcy had earlier acknowledged to have made that smile so now brilliant, appeared; big, awkward and ugly-looking. This memory was so very different to the handsome man who was sitting in front of her now – but it was the same person; of course it was.

Darcy’s eyes were so wide in astonishment that she was worried that they might pop out of their sockets and roll across the restaurant floor for her to blindly search after, like in some kid’s cartoon. Every single muscle in her body was tensed to the point of pain; her fists were balled up so tightly that the knuckles went white; and her heart, which before had been beating so fast, seemed to seldom beat at all.

She tried to swallow; to utter a word, but found that her throat was dry as a desert. She could hardly bare to imagine how she must look now; perhaps like a deer in the headlights, or like she had just seen a ghost – not attractive, was all she could conclude.

He raised a cynical eyebrow at her posture and expression, almost amused in a sadistic kind of way.

“You recognise me,” he muttered in a matter-of-fact tone.

Now, anyone overlooking this scene – the man with the icy, loathing sneer, and the woman in her shocked, frozen state, may have thought that he was an old nightmare coming to haunt her.

Oh, but they couldn’t have been more mistaken. It was completely the other way round…