This is an opening. More of that bravery of Jane’s. I could explain to him what the scene means to me. How it gave me a reason to get out and explore the city, turned into the creative outlet I desperately needed, and made me feel whole again—

My stomach twists. Whole. Invincible. But what have I done with that strength? Because if I haven’t used it to get back to design, then all this is little more than a rhinestone-studded crutch.

The realization stings like betrayal.

Darcy’s dark eyes soften, like he’s picked up on the fact that his question just undid two-plus years of emotional scaffolding. I could be flattered that he’s tuned in to me enough to notice the shift, but I ride the unsettling vulnerability straight into anger.

“Why are you even here?” I growl.

He takes in a breath—

“Hey, you two!” Ming puts a hand on my shoulder. “Solid peel, girl. You missed a great opportunity, though.” She hooks a finger into the keyhole at my bust and tugs. “I’d have threaded the glove through here, flossed a bit between the boobies.”

I smack her hand away. Damn. That would have been inspired.

She grins at Darcy. “How about you, handsome? You enjoy Kitten’s performance?”

I prepare to tell her he missed it, but Darcy clears his throat.

“I have reason to doubt it was meant as an appeal to my tastes,” he says.

I glare at him, face heating. “You said you were late.”

“I missed part of Johnny’s opening. Not you.”

“Aw, feel manipulated?” I ask in a mocking coo.

“I said I didn’t trust it.” His eyes fix on mine, dipping briefly to where the tie at my bust is still crooked from Ming’s tug. My cheeks flare again. “Not that I didn’t like it.”

My breath stutters.

“If you’ll excuse me.” Darcy nods at me. “I need to get going. Enjoy the rest of the show. Bennet. Ms. DyNasty.”

He walks away, and it is an act of sheer willpower not to stare after him. Maybe he did learn a little about conversational flattery.

“Did I detect some tension between the two of you?” Ming plucks at the tie again. “Of the sexual variety?”

“Tension, yes.” I force my jaw to relax before I get a headache. “Sexual . . .”

“Also yes?”

The cash register dings. The bartender pulls out a series of bills, counting out change, then takes the money to a tall figure at the far end of the bar. I narrow my eyes. Darcy and his damn hundos.

He leaves a few bills on the bar and folds the rest into his money clip. As he tucks the cash into his jacket pocket, his eyes fall on me. Like he’s expecting my attention.