Twenty Months

by Alicia Rogers

  He couldn't for the life of him remember how it started or who started it for that matter, and to be honest he didn't particularly give a good goddamn.

  Will Darcy had his lips on the neck of this beautiful woman with the most perfect pair of eyes he'd ever seen and all that mattered was making it to that bedroom without tripping.

  "You're right, I don't remember anything," he lied. "Stupid you."

  Chapter 7

  Jesus Christ was an Only Child

  "At the request of the female population of Exeter Academy, I'm to ask you the following questions."

  "Shoot."

  "Did you really date Paris Hilton and does she come across as a vile, walking STD in person the same way she does on television?"

  A chuckle. "The highly educated and Harvard groomed students of Exeter phrased that question in such a way?"

  "I may have jazzed it up a bit."

  "Oh, I see." He paused, "No, I didn't and yes – yes she does."

  "It pains me to ask you this one," a sigh and a grumble, "why are you so sexy?"

  "Genetics, and quite possibly, witchcraft."

  "Last question: did you have any idea how disappointing it would be for your loving, little sister to find out about your new girlfriend from Ryan Seacrest? I mean, really Will. Seacrest."

  Darcy smiled sheepishly and shifted the phone to his other ear. "In all fairness, I intended to tell you sooner, and since when do you watch E! News?"

  "Since, I got a gossip whore for a roommate."

  "Georgie!" he pretended to be shocked at her language and he could actually hear her smirking over the phone.

  "What? Gossip's not a dirty word," was her sardonic reply. "And since when do you eat at the Ivy? You hate that place. I seem to remember you saying something to the affect of 'only pathetically desperate attention seekers go there'," she tried her best to be overly haughty.

  "Caroline suggested it."

  "Oh," she said. "Makes sense now."

  That got a laugh.

  "So, mister, give me the scoop about this new woman of your's. She seemed rather dishy on TV but then again the paparazzi only photographed you two from the side. What's her name? Where did you meet? Is it serious? Is she opposed to highly curious and overprotective sisters?" Georgiana lowered her voice an octave and said without an ounce of seriousness, "Has she ever killed a man?"

  Fitzwilliam and Georgiana Darcy were a strange pair indeed; somehow they had managed to overcome the seven year age gap and the gender difference and got on quite nicely. From the moment she was born, Will was smitten with his baby sister. He remembered meeting her for the first time, very clearly; the doctors had allowed him and his grandparents to enter the delivery room and his mom gently coaxed him into holding the wriggling, pink thing they had dubbed 'Georgiana'.

  Will took one look at her scrunched up face and bright eyes and knew right then and there he would protect her with his life.

  Georgiana took one look at him and spat up.

  From that day on the pair were closer than close despite being polar opposites of one another: Georgie was fearless and quirky – she would take a flying leap off of any high object at any given moment, and went through a stage where her bathing suit was the only article of clothing she would consent to wearing. She was outgoing with the added bonus of not giving a rat's ass what other people thought, carried an insane love of school (and black jellybeans), and was thoroughly convinced she would end up a mad scientist or a concert pianist or very possibly both.

  Will was always just a bit guarded and just a bit quiet. Too shy to reveal himself around people he didn't know, he always envied Georgie for managing to get the Darcy wit and bypass the crippling Darcy social anxiety in the gene pool. He had a knack for making awful first impressions, found school to be an utter waste of his precious time, and until very recently was known for having his head screwed on perfectly straight. He'd wanted more than anything to be a chef and couldn't help seeing the Darcy Empire as a prison he'd never escape.

  Darcy sunk low in his seat at the barrage of questions concerning Elizabeth. He had dreaded this very moment the second he scribbled his name on that contract; the moment he would have to lie to his sister. The one person in the world he never lied to.

  "Her name's Elizabeth – er – Lizzie. We met through a friend over drinks. I'm bringing her to your recital so I think that answers the 'are we serious' question. She has an overprotective and highly curious sister of her own therefore I don't think she'll mind your particular brand of nosiness." He managed to get all of that out without letting the feeling he was a complete bastard compromise his words. "Honestly, Georgie, I think you'll like her."

  "As long as she helps you get over Eva the Terrible, I don't care," Georgie told him matter-of-factly. "I'll even build a temple in which to worship her likeness."

  He snorted. "Shouldn't you be off learning things? I know we don't pour all of that money into Exeter for nothing."

  "Is this your way of hanging up with me? " She sighed, "Fine, fine. I'll go watch One Tree Hill and blow off my Calculus homework just like a normal seventeen year-old instead of talking to the brother I adore and never, see…"

  "Don't be so dramatic," he told her playfully. "I'm gonna go pay a visit to mom and dad, so I'll call you later."

  "Say 'hi' for me."

  There was a time during the weeks and eventual months after his father's passing that Darcy made a habit of chatting with his parents; he enjoyed the quiet of the cemetery and frankly it was cheaper than spilling his insides to a therapist. He'd kept them up-to-date on everything ("I swear Georgie's got a boyfriend and she's not telling me", "I don't know if I can pull off this merger with Google and I don't want to let you down") and then his breakup with the aforementioned 'Eva the Terrible' happened. The visits stopped, and suddenly he preferred drowning his sorrows in a bottle of whatever was handy.

  Sneakers crunched loudly over fallen leaves as he made his way down the winding path toward the secluded spot marked by a large oak tree.

  Darcy sat down in between the two headstones, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Before I forget, Georgie says 'hello' and she's still being cryptic about the boyfriend situation. I'm looking into some academies on the west coast and maybe some sort of tracking implant; this growing up thing she's doing scares the Jesus out of me."

  He sighed heavily. "She's doing great, though. Unfortunately, I can't say the same about me. I've really messed up this time…"

  "Fitzwilliam? I thought I'd find you here."

  At the sound of the voice, Darcy gritted his teeth and coolly glanced over his shoulder,

  "Eva."

  * * *

  " You work here?!"

  Lizzie sighed dejectedly. She was currently on hour two of an eight hour shift, her feet hurt, the bits of toast and sausage she managed to down for breakfast were currently doing cartwheels in her stomach and this was easily the twentieth customer of hers to have a copy of that goddamn US Weekly:

  A New Love for L.A.'s Most Eligible Bachelor?

  The cover image of a smiling Darcy with his arms wrapped around her waist had stitched itself to her brain. It had only been a little over a week since she had suffered through that dinner at the Ivy and yet she couldn't, for the life of her, remember seeing one paparazzo. But, the bastards had been lurking about – pages 34 of US and 19 of People had the spreads to prove it.

  She smiled wanly. "Yes, I work here. Now, would you like to start off with an appetizer?"

  "Spinach dip." A beat, "And you're dating that Fitzwilliam Darcy guy – the one who owns Darcy Broadcasting and all that?"

  "Yes." Lizzie nodded. "Anything else I can get you this afternoon?"

  "No, just the spinach dip, oh and no sour cream on that. You know, if I were you, I'd quit and take up a career in gold-digging."

  "Why-oh-why don't I own a gun to bring into work?" Lizzie sarcastically lamented as she barged through the kitchen's double doors. "I could use a good killing
spree right about now."

  Charlotte laughed uncomfortably and gestured toward the young man at her side. "Lizzie, this Daniel our new trainee; Daniel, this is Lizzie, she'll be the one to show you the ropes."

  He flashed Lizzie a devilishly handsome smile and extended his hand. "Daniel Wickham. Should I be afraid?" he asked teasingly.

  "Lizzie Bennet," she grinned sheepishly as she shook his hand, "and no, once I've had my crazy pills I'm no longer a danger to society."

  "Good to know," he chuckled.

  Chapter 8

  Fitzwilliam, It was Really Nothing. Part One

  She brought a hand to her lips and tried her very best not to cry.

  This unfortunate event was just another prime example of her impeccably shit luck when it came to the opposite sex. Since about the age of fourteen, Lizzie had unwittingly amassed an impressive list of loser boyfriends, perverts, and emotional fuckwits; piles of stunted growth who had managed by the grace of god to dodge the clutches of natural selection.

  Unfortunately, her list of 'good ones' that got away' was equally as long (depressingly so) and growing longer by the second.

  If only she had spent that night at home instead of agreeing to go clubbing with Charlotte…

  If only she hadn't had that fifth tequila sunrise on a virtually empty stomach…

  If only she hadn't met Will Darcy and made an even bigger mess of her life…

  Lizzie let out a tiny sigh and continued to finger her lips as he gazed at her with a devilishly handsome smile on his face. "What are you thinking about, Lizzie?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper, and leaned in close to her once again,

  If only Daniel Wickham hadn't been such an excellent kisser.

  One Month Previous

  It is a truth universally acknowledged that customer service workers lose any drop of humanity they might have possessed within the first six months of their employment. This is due to the fact that the general public is almost entirely comprised of wankers and waiting on them hand-and-foot is enough to bring anyone's inner demon to the surface.

  However, due to the need for a paycheck, these lowly workers are forced to direct their need to torture mankind at each other:

  "Jesus, don't tell me you need me to repeat this; it's incredibly simple."

  There was a flash of terror across his features, but only briefly, and Daniel glanced over his shoulder at the sound of snickers from the large group of his coworkers that had gathered in the kitchen doorway to watch the carnage unfold.

  One of the hostesses, Navi, was busy handing out snacks to the crowd, while, Calvin – another server, loudly exclaimed he had twenty bucks riding on 'the Newbie falling flat on his ass with this one', and Charlotte tried her best to look supportive and crossed herself.

  Clearly, he was in over his head.

  There was a huff, "I don't think you're even paying attention to me."

  Another glance at the crowd, this time his eyes fell on Lizzie – his designated sensei. She caught his look and gave a mock (but encouraging) bow.

  Daniel took a deep breath and flashed the customer a perfect set of teeth. "You wanted the Southwestern combination: a second burrito in place of the fajita. Ranchero sauce on the side, easy refried bean, no rice. The nachos you wanted no tomatoes, green onions, sour cream, or beans – just meat and white cheese, sauce and guacamole on the side. You also wanted the loaded baked potato, but without sour cream, bacon, chives, butter, salt and pepper, and the house salad with the vinaigrette on the side." He paused. "Did I miss anything?"

  Her squinty eyes narrowing, the woman adjusted her glasses and casually took a sip of her water (with just a hint of lime) before saying, "No, I believe that's everything."

  A mixture of cheers and groans erupted from the kitchen area as Daniel returned triumphantly with the order in hand.

  "This'll teach you to doubt the power of my tutelage," Lizzie said extending a hand in Calvin's direction.

  Calvin let out a snort and slammed a crumpled twenty into her waiting mitts. "Whatever, the Nazi was obviously not herself today." He shook his head, dark hair falling over his eyes. "And you're gonna take my last twenty bucks? Way to be cruel, Lizzie."

  Grinning, Lizzie wasted no time pocketing the cash. "This'll also teach you about the consequences of gambling."

  "Don't I get a share in that," Daniel interjected, "after all, it was me who was tossed to the wolves back there."

  Lizzie 'tsked'. "Sorry, but all the dole from the Noob training goes straight into the sensei's pocket. This is a hard and fast TGI Friday's rule."

  "Is that right?" he laughed as he scooped up a drink tray. "And you can't make any exceptions?"

  Lizzie could feel a blush creeping up in her cheeks; good lord was that man ever gorgeous! Daniel was tall (though not quite the skyscraper height of Darcy) and, his clingy Friday's uniform hinted at an unbelievably muscular figure underneath. He had perfectly coiffed blonde hair and light green eyes that sparkled when he smiled. The added bonus of being good humored and charming made Daniel Wickham All-American, teen dream puppy love personified; and Lizzie was finding herself to be not immune to the need to appreciate his fine qualities.

  Wickham flashed a smile that woke up every vagina within a fifty mile radius,

  "Maybe you could cut this Noob a little slack," he said absently arranging glasses on his tray, "just, you know, for the sake of a job well done."

  And Lizzie's eyelashes batted completely of their own volition,

  "What makes you so special, Mr. Wickham?" she asked teasingly.

  "Nothing," Calvin snorted on his way out of the kitchen.

  "Build a bridge and get over it, Calvin," Lizzie shot back at his retreating form.

  Daniel chuckled, "Hey, I survived the Nazi on the first go round that's gotta earn me at least a cup of coffee with my wonderful sensei."

  "Someone obviously doesn't subscribe to US Weekly," Navi remarked off-handedly as she breezed past the pair and Daniel raised a brow.

  Embarrassed, Lizzie covered her face with her hands. "Thanks ever-so, Navi," she told the teen sarcastically.

  Navi shrugged and loudly popped her chewing gum. "You managed to snag Fitzwilliam Darcy and still come to work at this shithole every day? You were dropped on your head as a baby, weren't you?"

  The very second the Darcy name was uttered, Daniel's eyes widened considerably. "Fitzwilliam Darcy: the Darcy Broadcasting heir?" he asked, head curiously cocking to the side.

  Lizzie smiled grimly. "I just call him 'Sweetie-Pie'."

  He stared at her in silence before finally giving a curt, "Good luck with that," and suddenly became engrossed in making sure his drink tray was perfectly arranged.

  "Wow, did it just get chilly in here," she chuckled humorlessly. "Guess you're not a big fan of ridiculously wealthy types."

  "Oh, I've got no problem with ridiculous wealth – the more ridiculous, the better, I always say." He nodded. "It's…"

  "Sweetie-Pie?" Lizzie offered flatly.

  That got a shrug. "Hey, I'm not one to go around bashing other people's boyfriends, so if you're happy with Will, I wish you the best of luck." Daniel smiled thinly and headed for the double doors with Lizzie fast on his heels.

  "Wait a minute, Danny!" she called after him. "Do you know Darcy?"

  Wickham stopped in his tracks and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a thoroughly amused Calvin.

  "Hey, Lizzie, you've got a group that requested to sit in your section." Smirking, Calvin gestured towards the booth where Charles Bingley and his shrew sisters stuck out like sore, diamond encrusted, thumbs. "Man, do I love karma."

  * * *

  "Have a hap-hap-happy birthday…!"

  "…yes, a hap-hap-happy birthday…!"

  "Have a hap-hap-happy birthday from the TGI Friday's Crew!"

  Caroline Bingley smiled from ear to ear. Her lips curled behind her pearly, white teeth and her eyes gleamed.

  She was immensely happy, so happy
, in fact she almost wished it actually were her birthday (which was not for another six months and thirty was absolutely nothing to celebrate, thank you). For this would most certainly have been the greatest gift she had ever received; it toppled the hot, pink Barbie Power Wheels she was gifted with at age six, and sent the pony her father got her at ten straight to the glue factory.

  Caroline took a moment to glance up at Lizzie Bennett and let the sheer ridiculousness of the girl's garish red-and-white striped uniform (oh, suspenders and buttons!) sink into her subconscious.

  The memory was guaranteed to keep Caroline warm at night.

  "Encore! Encore!" Caroline clapped wildly.

  Charlie put a hand to his head probably in hopes he would disappear. "That's enough," he told her sternly.

  Their sister, Louisa, who normally had no trouble inhaling her dinner, disinterestedly pushed her loaded baked potato around her plate with her fork while her husband looked over the drink menu.

  A pseudo-friendly smile unfolding across her face, Caroline took a sip of her Diet Coke. "What a quaint, little restaurant you work at, Elizabeth." Turning to Louisa, she added, "I can't believe we never thought of coming here until today. It's so…festive."

  With a brief (but apologetic) look in Lizzie's direction, Charlie shifted and pulled a folder from underneath his seat. "I'm really sorry about this, Lizzie. I intended to come here alone to give you this, but Caroline and Louisa insisted they were interested in trying out the food. I had no idea…"

  Lizzie raised a hand to silence him. "It's cool, Charlie," she told him reassuringly as she took the folder out of his hands. "My, my, this is very Russian spy of you."

  He laughed. "It's just, um, some um, environmental cases I thought your, um, sister would be interested in."

  Lizzie nodded and smiled genuinely; from the rather large number of 'ums' Charlie managed to squeeze into that one sentence, she suspected the folder's contents might be of more interest to her than to Jane. "I'll make sure she gets it."