Darya scanned the crowd, wasn’t surprised to see that Regina’s little act was working.
Especially on the men.
Maybe there was something about a woman in a soaked, almost see-through dress, with wet hair, pitiful doe eyes and big, precious tears rolling down her beautiful cheeks that roused the inner knight in them.
More than one had turned to aim a disapproving scowl at Darya, not that she cared.
She ignored the whispers and pointed looks.
Micah helped hold the tux jacket over Regina’s shoulders in place, and stared at Darya silently, as if waiting for an apology.
Darya scoffed. ‘Forget it. I’m not apologising.’
She did it three years ago.
It didn’t help improve Micah’s impression of her.
She wasn’t doing it again.
She wasn’t the same fool in love again.
