Page 29 of Unstitch

Her very own scarlet letter.

A huge, fresh love bite on the side of her neck.

22

DEX

Her hair is pinned loosely up, showcasing acres of silky skin and confirming from this angle that her dress could indeed be undone and her breasts untethered with a casual tug of the bow at the nape of her neck.

Someone’s been with her, in the past night or two, it looks like. Someone’s sucked and bitten on that neck; someone’s marked her and claimed her, and it strikes me simultaneously as typically unfair that he got to her first and a very helpful reminder from the universe to stay the hell away from creatures like her.

Mostly, it’s a confirmation that this woman, who screams carnality at twenty paces, is carnal. She’s carnal, and she has someone she lets bite her and mark her and, let’s be honest, most likely fuck her, too. Even so, the love bite is so blatant, and it feels tasteless that she should show it off like this, that she should wear her hair up and flaunt her sexuality instead of wearing her hair down, or at least putting some makeup on it.

I’m staring at her neck without meaning to when she turns to me and catches my eye and laughs, her hand going up to cover the mark. Her fingers are long and slender and covered in tiny gold rings, some of which only hit the second knuckle.

‘Oh fuck, you’re looking at my love bite, aren’t you?’ she asks with a laugh that suggests she’s not remotely bothered.

I blink. ‘No, not at—of course not. I would never.’ My words come out rushed and garbled, and I despise myself.

‘He’s so polite,’ she says to my sister, who’s draped over her husband on the opposite side of the table. She pats my thigh in a way that feels patronising, like she’s inwardly laughing at my awkwardness.

She probably is.

You don’t dance in a place like Alchemy if you have the slightest inhibitions. Although, looking around, I have to admit it’s far more sophisticated and far less terrifying than I feared. The room itself is staggering and feels like an uptown Manhattan bar, and the clientele is well-dressed and, thank fuck, fully clad.

But I’m not interested in the clientele’s levels of nakedness, because Darcy doesn’t remove her hand from my thigh. Instead she leaves it draped there, like I’m the arm of her chair. I stare down at her long fingers on the black wool of my trousers and feel a stirring of panic and something else.

‘What love bite?’ Maddy demands from my other side, and Darcy leans forward so she can see.

‘Oh my God!’ Maddy exclaims. ‘Is that from who I think it is?’

I groan inwardly, because everyone around the table has now perked up at this clue that gossip is on the horizon, and I have a feeling I’m about to be the ball in a Maddy-versus-Darcy game of Gossip Tennis.

‘Fuck, yes,’ Darcy tells her with a wink at me, like she’s revelling in my discomfort.

‘Tell us,’ Cal demands. I know from having spent a weekend with Rafe’s friends when he married my sister that Cal’s FOMO is epic.

Maddy rolls her eyes at him. ‘Who do you think?’

‘I don’t know,’ he cries. He’s getting agitated now.

Rafe sighs like Cal’s obtuseness is personally affronting. ‘Who’s the one person Gen warned her to stay away from?’

Cal’s face is a picture. ‘Fucking hell. You fucked Max, didn’t you? You dirty little minx. Your sister will have your guts for garters when she finds out.’

Everyone laughs, and Darcy squeals delightedly, and I instantly resolve to hunt down this Max character, whoever he is, and kill him with my bare hands.

‘Oh, boy,’ Belle says, but her eyes are shining. ‘That’s big.’

Maddy leans in towards me. ‘So Max is Anton’s mate, Max Hunter. He offered Darcy twenty grand if she’d go to his flat and give him a private dance, because not only did Gen tell her not to touch him with a barge pole, but she’s not supposed to be fraternising with the patrons here, full stop.’

I clear my throat in a disapproving fashion. I don’t want or need to know any of this, but Jesus fuck.

Max Hunter.

His reputation as a businessman and Anton Wolff’s right-hand man precedes him, and he runs Wolff Holdings, whose imminent IPO should be the biggest we’ve seen on this side of the pond since Prosus listed in The Netherlands a few years ago.

Darcy’s playing with the big boys, clearly, but Max Hunter. He’s a coup by any measure, but the idea of this enchanting creature dancing for, and fucking, and being marked by one of the most ruthless corporate empire-builders out there rankles.

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