Twenty Months

by Alicia Rogers

  Lizzie stiffened at the mere mention of yesterday's horrors and as if on que, the hostess loudly snapped her gum and announced she had a visitor.

  Darcy looked like a lamb who'd been led to the slaughter. Yes, his face was devoid of all emotion, but the fear was apparent in his eyes. They darted quickly from one knickknack hanging on the wall to another and Lizzie swore she saw his upper lip quiver when he spotted the snow shoes and heard a customer ask for the jalapeno party poppers.

  The man was a snob and a half. "It's just a chain restaurant, dear. You can't become middle-class from touching anything."

  He seemed to snap out of whatever trance TGI Friday's had put him in and blurted out, "You work here?!" with just the right amount of 'truly appalled' in his voice to piss Lizzie off.

  She blinked. "No. I'm undercover."

  Darcy looked down at his shoes.

  "Hi, I'm Lizzie's friend Charlotte." Charlotte practically shoved her hand in Darcy's. "It's nice to um…meet you... again."

  "Will Darcy," he muttered.

  "Well, I think I'm gonna leave you two alone." Charlotte smiled tightly and took the dishes from Lizzie's hand. "It's time for your break anyway."

  "Your sister told me I'd find you here," Darcy said after Charlotte had disappeared around the corner. Lizzie slid into the booth and watched amused as he hesitantly did the same, but not before wiping at the seat with a stray napkin.

  "Note to self," she said, "find a way to become an only child."

  "My friend, Charles, is having a get-together tonight," he sighed. "His sisters are…well, horrible shrews to be honest, but they're horrible shrews who flew an ungodly amount of hours to get here from Japan and they'd rather party than deal with jet lag like normal people. I'll pick you up at eight."

  Lizzie's eyebrows practically shot to the top of her head. "I'm sorry, was there a polite request for my presence in there somewhere?"

  Darcy frowned. "I mean, it would be nice if you came. You've already met Charles, but Caroline and Louisa will never believe our relationship if we're married before they even see your face." A beat. "Besides, your sister already said she was coming…"

  Lizzie looked appropriately horrified. "She what?!"

  * * *

  "You can't make me."

  Jane peeked around the corner while furiously wrapping the curling iron in her hair. "It's just dinner."

  She folded her arms and huffed in a perfect imitation of a put-out five year old. "It's just my soul, Jane."

  "You're being dramatic," the other Bennet chuckled and disappeared back into the bathroom. "Charlie seems nice…"

  Lizzie cocked an eyebrow. "Charlie?" she asked teasingly and could practically hear her sister blushing.

  "I mean, Charles – um, Mr. Bingley, seems very nice and I'm sure his sisters are as well," she continued sounding slightly embarrassed.

  The words 'horrible shrews' rang through Lizzie's head, but she took a moment to consider the prickly source of that comment. Fitzwilliam Darcy – who's high and mightiness rendered him powerless in casual dining restaurants and probably required he throw rocks at homeless people.

  Jane peeked around the corner, this time busily jabbing at her eye with her mascara brush. "You're still not dressed yet!" she shrieked. "It's almost 7:30!"

  "What makes you think I'm not dressed?" she asked, staring down at her T-shirt and ratty jeans.

  Her sister's look of disappointment was so much like their mother's it sent a chill down Lizzie's spine. "Aside from the holes in your jeans…" Jane began.

  "Hey, I paid good money for these holes."

  "I don't think a shirt with F-ing Classy written across it can be considered appropriate dinner attire." Jane shook her head. "You really need to stop shopping at Spencer Gifts."

  Lizzie giggled – the glorious F word was spelled out in full across her chest and yet her twenty seven year old sister felt the need to censor herself. It was a level of cute she previously didn't know existed. "I dunno, I think Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy would be insanely happy to see the mother of his child is just as classy as he loves to believe he is."

  "Lizard…" the tone of Jane's voice said she definitely meant business and Lizzie threw up her hands in defeat.

  "Okay, okay. I'm getting dressed," she sighed heavily. "But first, I'm grabbing a cup of coffee. If I'm going to put up with Darcy and company all night without the luxury of being able to drink alcohol, I'm gonna need a little lovin' from Juan Valdez."

  "I really think you should be getting ready!" Jane shouted. "And go easy on the coffee! Too much isn't good for the baby!"

  "And I really think you should chill out!" Lizzie called back over her shoulder as she headed toward the kitchen and its promise of those magical coffee beans. "Not everyone is as annoyingly punctual as you are, Jane. I've got plenty of time."

  When the doorbell rang while Lizzie was in the middle of an exhausting search for the coffee filters (she seriously needed a map and a search party to navigate those kitchen cabinets), she didn't think much of it. She figured Charlotte had forgotten her key for the thousandth time or some kid was busy playing ding-dong-ditch.

  It never occurred to her that Darcy could be standing behind that door with some perfectly sculpted, waspy looking creature wrapped around his arm, but that's exactly what was waiting on the other side.

  Lizzie followed the pair's eye line which happened to end on her chest.

  "You're early," was all she could manage to say.

  Chapter 6

  Knock 'Em Out

  If asked to describe Caroline Bingley in one word, Lizzie would go with 'sleek'. Everything about the charming Mr. Bingley's elder sister was smooth and polished – pristine.

  From her platinum locks which were held back in a severe bun at the base of her neck, right down to the slinky, expensive, little number that was draped around her slinky, expensive looking frame. She was put together from head-to-toe in a way one only sees on the cover of Vogue. Caroline was all ice blue eyes and cheekbones to die for.

  She was probably a model.

  If asked to describe the dear, Miss Caroline Bingley using four more words – well, Lizzie would have to go with bitch, biatch, puta, and one particularly nasty word that began with the letter 'C'.

  From the second she arrived on the Bennet doorstep with her arms wrapped around Lizzie's faux fiancé, Caroline's modus operandi was making Lizzie feel as inadequate as possible.

  The Fucking Classy T-shirt was just ammunition in the gun.

  Thin lips wrapped themselves around the end of a straw as their owner attempted to look as bored as possible. "I adored that T-shirt you wore earlier," Caroline began with not a trace of friendliness in her voice. "I always knew Darcy had a taste for a certain type of woman, but I never expected to see it spelled out quite so clearly."

  Dinner arrangements for the evening had been made at The Ivy – Los Angeles's go-to restaurant for the rich and tragically hip. It was the type of place where Hollywood Starlets get their fill of lettuce and water, and paparazzi get their million dollar pictures. One item on the menu would take Lizzie two weeks worth of paychecks and even then she'd have to stiff the sever on a tip. It was exactly the type of place where the five trust-fund babies sitting at the table would feel most comfortable; and where the two girls from Sun Valley could bask in the less than stellar glow of their middle classness.

  Caroline attempted a warm smile after her remark, but it was about as warm as the Arctic Circle.

  Charlie shot her a disapproving look. Darcy kept his eyes glued to his plate. Louisa, the other (slightly pudgy) Bingley sister stuffed her mouth full of chicken while her husband commandeered the bottle of wine.

  And Jane, sighed. Just a tiny one. Completely unnoticeable to everyone except for Lizzie.

  "Jane, how long have you been working for Anders & Stevens? I run in the same circles and never had the pleasure of meeting you before." Charlie tried to steer the conversation into safer waters.

  "
I'm a big fan of irony," Lizzie began with a smile and Jane looked terrified, "and I see you're a big fan of see-through materials."

  Caroline smirked. "It's a one-of-a-kind Stella McCartney," she said with an appreciative look down at the wisp of fabric that covered her tiny frame.

  "It's lovely," Lizzie beamed and the look in her eyes was positively sadistic. "But it must be quite tiresome seeing as how any slight chill in the air is indicated by your chest."

  Jane's eyes were in danger of escaping her head. Charlie took a sudden interest in his meal. Louisa stuffed her mouth full of chicken while her husband drank from the wine bottle.

  And Darcy smiled. A tiny one. Completely unnoticeable to everyone except for Lizzie.

  "I've been working there since the spring," Jane spoke to cut the tension. "I really love it. Mr. Anders and Mr. Stevens are wonderful to work for and it's great experience. Though I'm not sure if I want to stay with divorce law. I've been thinking about going into environmental – maybe doing some pro-bono work."

  Charlie's eyes lit up. "I've been thinking about going into environmental law also…"

  "Always trying to save the world, aren't you, Charles," Caroline snickered.

  Off of Bingley's embarrassed look, Lizzie said, "Well, I think you should go for it, Charlie. The ducks and trees could use a guy like you fighting for them."

  "Thanks, Lizzie." He smiled.

  "And what do you do, Lizzie?" Caroline asked suddenly.

  "She's an actress," Darcy said before Lizzie could open her mouth to speak.

  It was the first time that evening that Darcy had uttered a single syllable. It was so shocking to hear his voice that Louisa stopped chewing and her husband stopped drinking.

  Caroline smiled. "An actress, really, Darcy? I thought you were through with actresses after that whole debacle with Cameron Diaz."

  Darcy shrugged. "Lizzie's no Cameron Diaz."

  Lizzie pursed her lips. "Thanks, honey," she said flatly.

  "I'm curious, how did you the two of you meet?"

  Darcy and Lizzie exchanged glances before Lizzie decided to take over and prove Cameron Diaz to be a complete hack,

  She grinned. "Through a mutual friend."

  "God! Is this your first day walking, asshole?!" Charlotte looked down at the puddle that once was her Long Island Iced Tea and held back the urge to murder. She'd just spent ten whole bucks on that one drink – someone was gonna die, and it was gonna be bloody.

  "Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."

  Fortunately for the gentlemen standing behind her, Charlotte was willing to overlook her wasted ten dollars on a pretty face and a penis.

  "Sorry, I overreacted," she chuckled, batting her eyelashes. "I'm looking into some anger management classes as we speak," she told him as she furiously wiped at the mess with a few stray napkins.

  "I'll buy you another," he told her curtly.

  "Char, you wouldn't believe that line for the ladies room! Why the hell did I let you drag me here? You know how much I hate clubs; I felt sad and desperate just walking through the door – oh, hello." Lizzie grinned sheepishly at the tall, dark stranger she'd failed to notice standing at their table.

  Darcy smiled his attentions completely focused on Lizzie. "And, can I get something for your friend?"

  "I find it a little hard to believe that you got Darcy to speak more than two words to you," Caroline snickered. "Our boy's never been much of a conversationalist, Liz."

  Lizzie winced at the usage of the name. If there was one nickname in the whole friggin history of nicknames she hated it was 'Liz'. "Maybe you've just never said anything interesting, Caro."

  "I judge men strictly on the contents of their iTunes play-list," Lizzie said with a grin as she swirled her Tequila Sunrise around with her straw. "Everything I need to know about a guy is laid out in his music choices."

  Darcy raised an eyebrow at this. "You can't be serious!" He turned to Charlotte. "Please tell me she isn't serious."

  Charlotte shook her head. "Deathly serious."

  "You couldn't possibly tell whether or not someone's worthy of your time based solely on their musical taste," Darcy exclaimed taking a pull from his beer.

  Lizzie casually leaned back in her chair. "And why not?"

  "Why not?" he repeated. "Because…"

  "This is a tried and true ability of mine," she said interrupting him. "Strictly Top 40 in the play-list means he's scared to venture out – to try anything outside of what's considered normal. Radiohead, The Strokes, Oasis, or Muse says he's a pretentious fucker concerned with image…"

  "I like Radiohead and Muse," Darcy said absently.

  "Light rock says he's boring," she continued, "any rap where the lyrics feature the words 'big', 'booty', and 'bitches' means he's misogynist."

  Darcy laughed and leaned closer to her, his eyes sparkling. "And what if I told you I was a closet metal-head. What would that make me?"

  Lizzie brought a finger to her lips and tilted her head as if deep in thought before answering. "Trouble," she said with a snort, "and also a big, fat liar."

  He gasped as if taken aback. "You just met me and already you think I'm a big, fat liar?"

  "I'm sorry," she began and took a sip from her drink, "but that outfit and the Omega watch on your wrist do not a metal-head make."

  Charlotte giggled. "Lizzie's got a point."

  "I know I do," Lizzie chimed in with a know-it-all smirk.

  "The last concert I went to was Slayer," Darcy told them and was treated to some rather loud scoffing from both women. "I can prove it! They're my all-time favorite band, I carry the ticket stub around in my wallet."

  Lizzie and Charlotte went wide-eyed as he indeed produced a Slayer concert ticket stub from the depths of his wallet. Darcy laughed and shrugged at their reaction. "It started as a way to piss off my parents and then I actually fell in love with the music."

  Lizzie blinked. "Sorry, I'm still having trouble picturing you in a mosh pit."

  He grinned. "I had seats. Look at this outfit and this Omega watch; do you really think I would get in a mosh pit?"

  "Okay, okay." she nodded. "You've proved me wrong, Mister…?"

  "Darcy. Will Darcy."

  "Mr. Darcy." She smiled. "I'm sorry I assumed you were too snooty for the likes of metal."

  Darcy's gaze fell directly on Lizzie's pouty lips. "Can I persuade you to take a look at my play-list? For further examination of my character, of course."

  It was Caroline's bright idea to go dancing.

  She knew of some perfect, little hole in the wall club (where they didn't let just anybody in) that would be the best place to blow off her jetlag.

  Naturally, Darcy objected. He hated dancing with a passion due to the fact he suffered from the white man's rythmless curse; it would take an act of god (or an act of alcohol) to get him out on the dance floor.

  But, the second the words "It's been so long since I've been dancing" escaped past Jane's lips, and Charlie (who was beginning to not be able to function without being at least in a 600 mile radius of Jane Bennet) agreed, and Lizzie spotted the twitch of his eye at the mere mention of 'dance remixes', Darcy knew he was royally screwed.

  Lizzie beamed at him – putting on quite the show for the others, but he saw the evil in her eyes and the wheels turning in her head.

  It made his blood run cold.

  "Oh, we should totally go," Lizzie exclaimed, slipping an arm around his waist. "It'll be fun, won't it, Darcy?"

  Darcy gave her a look. "Your definition of fun does not resemble our earth definition of fun."

  Lizzie cocked an eyebrow. "Whereas you bring the party everywhere you go," her dry wit earning an appreciative goofy laugh from Charlie. Smiling, she shook her head. "But, maybe some other time, Caroline. I think I'm more in the mood to curl up on the couch and make Willie watch something with Julia Roberts in it."

  Darcy wrapped his arms around Lizzie and rested his forehead against her own. "As long as it isn't Runawa
y Bride, I'm all yours." His voice was dangerously low and the way Lizzie captured her bottom lip between her front teeth was having strange affects on him.

  Her eyes sparkled and there was a wonderful, floppy feeling in Darcy's stomach that had no business being there.

  "I don't get to dance, you get Richard Gere," Lizzie said playfully tapping him on the end of his nose.

  Caroline paled at the display.

  * * *

  "What?" Darcy asked, his voice clipped.

  He could feel Lizzie's eyes on him as they made their way out of the restaurant. He was hoping any and all crippling silence from his direction would indicate he wasn't in the mood for conversation, and yet there she was practically boring holes in the back of his head. Drilling right down to his brain. Willing him with her Jedi mind-tricks to speak.

  "You don't dance?" she scoffed. "Since when?"

  "Since forever," he said plainly as he stuck his arm out to hail a cab. "I can't stand it."

  Another scoff. "Could've fooled me."

  "And what's that supposed to mean?" Darcy tilted his head.

  "Me. You. An iTunes playlist," Lizzie said considerably slow as if she were speaking to an idiot child. "There was dancing, Darcy – in your living room. And, dare I say, you seemed to be enjoying yourself."

  Lizzie giggled as Darcy twirled her around narrowly avoiding the sofa.

  With his laptop up and the volume cranked, the two were goofing around to the sound of the Pixies.

  She cocked a brow. "You honestly have the Pixies and Slayer on the same play-list?"

  He smirked and pulled her closer. "I'm a complicated guy."

  "Stupid me for thinking you actually had the capacity to remember something about our night together," Lizzie sighed. "But, hey, I understand. I'd have trouble keeping track too if my bedroom had a revolving door."

  Darcy turned at that and opened his mouth to speak, only to sigh and say nothing.

  There was a moment – somewhere in between all of his obvious flirting and her attempts to suss him out, that Darcy ended up pinned against his hallway wall with Lizzie's teeth nibbling at his bottom lip and her legs wrapped around his waist.