Chapter Seventeen

If someone had told me the sky was made of lemon meringue pie, I would have believed them over what I just heard Mr. Darcy said.

“Is this a joke?” I asked him. “Are you serious?”

“Very serious,” he said softly. He took a step forward and put his hands on my shoulders, peering into my face with unjustified hope. “Please, say that you feel something for me, too.”

I pulled back from his touch. “Oh, I feel something, but it is very far from love.”

Confusion and something that might even be mistaken for hurt crossed his face, but I knew better than that. He had to be playing some sort of game with me.

“You honestly think that this was the way to tell me you love me?” I asked. I wasn't cold anymore. I was livid.

“This wasn't what I planned,” he said looking around at the rain. “This isn't how I planned to tell you.”

“No, not the rain,” I corrected. “'I can have anyone. Any supermodel, heiress, or actress. I could have women more beautiful and accomplished than you in a heartbeat,'” I repeat