Fingers brushing the strands of ginger-blonde hair away from his forehead, Richard grinned crookedly. "Is that what it says in her folder?"
Darcy glared. "Die in a fire."
That got a laugh. "C'mon, I'm serious…how much do you really know about Lizzie's past? Her dating history…" suddenly, he turned to his daughter who was busy making a smiley-face with her fries, "sweetie, cover your ears," when Daisy had enthusiastically cupped her hands over her ears, he continued, "that, baby could be anyone's. You're just the richest dumbass she could find."
Now, Richard knew very well that Darcy was the most discerning judge of character the world had ever seen, and if there was something even remotely fishy about Elizabeth, he would've jumped on it long ago and they're current discussion would've had more to do with lawsuits than nuptials. However, the devil had encouraged him to continue with this line of questioning, as it was causing the tiny vein in the middle of Darcy's forehead to dance.
Though his face remained cool as steel flames burned behind Darcy's eyes. "She's not – Daisy, earmuffs – after my money, you cockass!"
"Did you just call me a 'cockass'?" The devil was now doing cartwheels.
"I'd think I'd know if I were being taken in, as many vultures as I've had to deal with, and Lizzie's absolutely unlike any woman I've ever met!" Darcy continued, ignoring Richard's comment. "Besides, oh-fucking-wise-one, Georgie adores her, and if there's anyone in my life that's hard to win over it's her. Eva never got so much as smile."
Richard shrugged. "That's because Eva's brand of evil is a dead giveaway, what with those snakes for hair and her ability to turn people into stone and all."
Darcy made a noise somewhere in the back of his throat.
"I'll just have to be the judge of Ms. Bennet since you're too far gone to do it yourself."
"And what the hell do you mean by 'too far gone'?!"
Mouth agape and hands on the table instead of covering her ears, Daisy looked up at Darcy, clearly scandalized. "Ooh, Cousin Darcy, you said 'hell'."
* * *
Making sure to frown as dramatically as possible, Collins shoved his cell phone into Wickham's waiting hands. "Ms. De Bourgh has consented to speak to you," he said haughtily.
Wickham grinned madly. "Annie! How are you this fine November afternoon? How's the weather in Africa?"
"How do you think it is? It's hot and I'm surrounded by flies bigger than my head; and I've told you a million times, don't call me 'Annie'," a polished, yet supremely annoyed voice replied from the other end of the line.
Anne De Bourgh spent the majority of her formative years confined to a hospital bed. She had been an unusually sickly child – allergic to damn near everything animal, vegetable, or mineral, as well as severely asthmatic. She could barely take two steps out of her own house without breaking out into hives or collapsing in a coughing fit. Her early unhealthy existence molded and shaped the spoiled and rotten adult she would ultimately become; for her mother had constantly doted on her, and before long, Anne's sense of self was wrapped up in a false sense of great importance. Though most of her illnesses subsided with time, Anne had become quite the hypochondriac: hand sanitizer was on her person at all times, she absolutely refused to come in contact with small children and dogs (in that order), anyone who sneezed or hinted that they might have to cough in her vicinity was promptly dragged away by her hulking bodyguard/umbrella carrier, Rolf, and she wouldn't be caught dead out on the open streets without a mask (the smog, the hobos, the pigeons, germs, germs, germs…).
She never exactly went to college (the possible threat of meningitis was just too great), but that didn't matter, she was the offspring of Edward and Catherine De Bourgh and all she had to do was express an interest in any given field and they would make it happen. She'd tried fashion (the models were far too greasy), and acting (studio 9 on the Warner Brother's lot smelled strongly of onions and Chad Michael Murray made her itch), but it was journalism that ultimately called to her, and she proved to be quite good at it. Before long she was the head producer of E! News and was rapidly gaining a reputation as a cutthroat in the world of celebrity dirt.
"You've got one minute, Daniel," Anne barked and Wickham heard the distinct sound of a fly swatter crashing down on its prey. "Starting now."
"How can you be so flippant when I'm bringing you such a juicy piece of news?"
"56…55…" she counted down disinterestedly.
"Your dear, sweet cousin's humble fiancé is very much knocked up," he told her smugly.
"What? Why the fuck are you speaking in riddles? It's like I'm talking to Ted Casablanca." There was another loud smack, followed by a curse. "I swear to god, I'm going to get malaria…"
Wickham sighed. "Darcy's fiancé is pregnant and their wedding is totally shotgun," he told her plainly and was treated to a rather unmanly gasp from Collins' direction.
"What proof do you have?"
"I drove Lizzie to her doctor's appointment; she told me herself – what more do you need?"
"As truly special as your word is, Daniel, I need a little more than that to run a story. This isn't The Inquirer, I need baby bumps, pictures of this Lizzie stuffing down pre-natal vitamins or walking out of the office of an OB/GYN, she and Darcy shopping at Baby Gap, something physical!"
"But, I was told firsthand!" he said frustrated.
"Do you want a cookie?"
"And, I have reason to believe there's much more to this relationship than a baby – don't you think it's a little strange for Darcy, I mean, he was with Eva a full two years before he proposed and yet he and Lizzie…"
"I still need proof," Anne cut him off abruptly, "and your minute is up."
As he slammed the phone shut and stuffed it into the fat, little mitts of De Bourgh's assistant, Wickham silently vowed to do all he could to get to the bottom of Darcy and Lizzie's relationship.
Chapter 17
Jaws Theme Swimming. Part One
When the moment Richard would meet the infamous Lizzie Bennet had finally arrived, it bore little resemblance to the scenario that had played through Darcy's mind: Lizzie greeting them impeccably dressed and armed with a killer smile and dazzling quick wit that would instantly charm the pants off of his cuz (she would also have expert conversation skills and an affinity for vacuuming in pearls and high heels).
Yes, for reasons unknown, Darcy's brain fancied Lizzie a 1950's housewife.
Instead of a redheaded and infinitely sexier version of June Clever, what greeted he and Richard at the door was a frazzled, mess of a girl clothed in droopy sweats, a coffee stain down the front of her v-neck t-shirt, with a fire burning in her dark eyes and a broom cocked and ready in her hand.
Darcy blinked and stared at his shoes; as strange as it was, Lizzie's less than pristine appearance had somehow made her even more beautiful.
"I thought I told you blood sucking bastards to take your pathetic act to the house of someone who's actually famous!" Lizzie roared before recognition dawned on her and she blushed furiously as she attempted to prop the broom next to the door.
Richard, whose hands were in the air as if he were being held at gun point, was grinning from ear-to-ear.
"Sorry," Lizzie began sheepishly, "I thought…we've had paparazzi camping out in front of the place…" She gave herself a quick once over and if it were possible turned even redder. "Oh, crap…"
"You, look…" Darcy stumbled daring to meet her eyes and Lizzie cut him off with a self-deprecating snort.
"Like utter shit," she chuckled. "Yeah, I know."
"I'm sure he was going to say 'lovely', but that would be a lie and we were taught never to lie," Richard cut in, putting his hand in hers. "Richard Fitzwilliam; I'm Darcy's most beloved, most favorite cousin in the whole, wide world, but of course you know that cause I'm sure he's told you loads about me."
Richard's comment breaking the sudden shyness that had gripped him, Darcy quickly replied, "I haven't said one word about you."
Lizzie
smiled, bemused. "Lizzie Bennet; it's nice to meet you."
"Basically," Richard started with a pointed look in Darcy's direction, "we've come to kidnap you…"
"That is, if you're not busy," Darcy hastily added.
"Actually, I was just about to go out to lunch with Britney Spears," she told them dryly as she moved aside to let the men into the apartment.
Richard wasted no time flopping down on the couch as if he were at home. "Well, you are dressed perfectly for a Cheetos run."
Laughing as she closed the door, Lizzie turned around and came face-to-face with Darcy who suddenly looked more sour than usual. She raised an eyebrow. "What? You've got something against Cheetos?" She paused, "Or, perhaps Britney Spears?"
"Both, actually," with a mere two steps Darcy had closed the gap between them and without another word, grabbed the bottom of Lizzie's ratty T-shirt, fanning it out.
Bottom lip captured quite nervously between her teeth, Lizzie's gaze traveled from Darcy's hands to his eyes, which were the sort of stormy blue that had the power to liquefy a girl's insides – and her insides were responding accordingly – the little Judas's.
She swallowed. Hard. "We've already established the fact I'm the height of hobo fashion right now; there's no need to rub it in."
Darcy frowned. "You've been drinking coffee."
"Oh," she sighed, brown eyes rolling heavenward, "is that all?"
"Is that all?!" he scoffed. "You've gotta stop, you know. It's not good for the…"
"Kidneys!" Lizzie cut him off with a harried look at a beaming Richard. "Yeah, I know…I'm working on the addiction…"
"Baby," Darcy finished. "It's okay, he knows."
Lizzie cut her eyes, "You couldn't have told me this before I made an ass of myself," and got a grin in response. "Besides, I didn't actually get to drink it – Jane caught me red handed before I could even take one sip and snatched the mug out of my hands, hence the stain." She sighed forlornly, "The entire apartment has been stripped of Folgers and their friends, so you can cancel the lecture."
"Really, cause you would've loved it. I've been reading Pregnancy for Dummies – it was going to be a very well-informed chewing out," he said good-naturedly before realizing he still had her by the shirt tail; overcome with schoolboy embarrassment, Darcy promptly let her go.
"So, Tequila Sunrise, huh?" Richard spoke up, ending the awkward silence that had settled itself in the room. "I make a mean Tequila Sunrise; it's a damn shame I didn't meet you first…"
Darcy eyed him derisively over his shoulder. "I'm sure Mags feels the same way,"
"Drown in a pool," Richard grunted and suddenly took great interest in the ring on his left hand.
Lizzie smiled. "Wow, you two really are the worst kidnappers ever."
"If you're busy, we understand…Richard wanted to meet you…this is all his idea," Darcy babbled to his feet.
"Darce, she's not busy. Lizzie, is your schedule so full that you can't fit in some time with your handsome fiancé and his way handsomer cousin?"
Lizzie snickered. "Britney will be disappointed, but I've got a few hours to kill before work."
"Sweet!' Richard exclaimed, reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table. "That's exactly the answer I longed to hear; now, go change into something a little less gross, Darcy and I will entertain ourselves."
Darcy stood very still, hands shoved deep into the depths of his jeans; he silently prayed that if he merely pretended Richard was far away – on the moon, far away – that his smug, bastard of a relative would disappear and Darcy would no longer have to contend with his shit-eating grin. It didn't work, and said grin was just as wide as ever now that Lizzie had left the room; Darcy finally admitted defeat and spared a glance in Richard's direction.
"What?" he practically growled.
Richard was suddenly the picture of innocence. "I didn't say anything."
"No," Darcy shook his head with a sigh, "but you're clearly thinking and that's never good."
"Lizzie's nice, I like her."
"Uh-huh."
"No, I mean it. She's…um, what's the word…spunky? Yeah, she's funny, too and cute as all hell – you lucked out big time considering your captain was piloting with beer goggles."
Darcy continued to eye him suspiciously. "I thank you; anything else?"
Hesitating, Richard waited for the distinct sound of a running shower before he said, "And, you are so far gone it's hilarious."
Darcy huffed indignantly and began to pace back and forth. "I am not 'far gone'! I don't even know what the hell that's supposed to mean!"
"Oh, sure you don't," Richard rolled his eyes, "Darcy, you're completely spun on this girl! The last time I saw you this socially awkward around a female we were playing Magic: The Gathering after fifth period and whining about chem homework."
At this point, Darcy was in danger of wearing a hole in the carpet. "Lizzie and I, it's just business…"
A snort, "Don't be an ass, just admit it and deal with it."
"Okay, let's say I did like Lizzie – hypothetically…"
"Leave it to you to throw caution to the wind like that," Richard sniggered.
Darcy glared. "It wouldn't matter anyway because she barely tolerates me! The two of us are operating on a pretty shaky truce at the moment; just a week ago, she wouldn't even speak to me."
"She's pregnant and hormonal." Richard paused with a shrug. "Besides, you probably said something douchey and deserved it."
"That's beside the point; no matter what I may or may not feel for Lizzie, she certainly doesn't return the warm fuzzies so why should I put myself out there like a jerk?"
"I dunno, your personal happiness, maybe?" A beat, "Dude, could you stop with the pacing you're giving me a headache." Darcy's feet skidded to a halt and Richard continued, "Look, I know it's scary, especially after Eva – don't scrunch your face up like that, hear me out – Lizzie's the first woman since that disaster you've been genuinely interested in and everything involving your relationship has been done woefully backasswards, but it's okay, Darce. No one ever said you had to stick to tradition; you'd be the biggest idiot in the world if you didn't at least try, so you suck it the fuck up, marry that girl and make her fall in love with you."
Darcy gave him a sideways glance. "You meant all of that hypothetically, right?"
Cutting his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Richard mumbled, "I'm going to put my fist through your face."
A sigh, "I'm really that transparent?"
"Like a Hogwarts ghost."
With a shake of his head, Darcy was able to stop his futile attempt at wearing a hole in the ground and flopped down next to Richard, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. "That is possibly the dorkiest sentence ever uttered," he said with a crooked smile.
"Of course you conveniently forget what you said when I told you Maggie and I were getting married." Richard turned his nose up smugly.
"Please forgive me; I usually keep every word I use in each and every conversation we have catalogued for moments such as this." Darcy rolled his eyes.
Snickering and in the haughtiest voice he could muster, Richard said, " 'Maggie agreed to marry, you? You must've cast a Level 7 Love Charm'."
While his cousin roared with laughter, Darcy frowned. "Hey, eighteen was still an awkward age for me."
"You were twenty-two."
"Go ahead and laugh," Darcy told him while Richard wiped the tears from his eyes, "I know where you keep your action figures stashed."
The laughter immediately died. "I bet Lizzie would love to hear just how many times you saw the Lord of the Rings trilogy in the theater." A beat, "Tell me, Gandalf, how many miles is it to Mordor?"
"I don't know, Malfoy; why don't you Apparaite?"
xx
Now, it was painfully obvious to even the most casual of observers that Darcy loved Richard a great deal. He considered Richard to be more like a brother than anything else, but there were times, and he would never admi
t it out loud, that Darcy couldn't stand Fitzwilliam.
Unsurprisingly, these periods of intense dislike only occurred when there was an outsider in their midst; and this dislike rapidly crossed over into hatred if said outsider happened to have girl parts. Richard had the good fortune to be blessed with the sort of easy manners that made his dealings with the opposite sex seem almost effortless, whereas Darcy was busy fighting against a strong current in a sea of social retardation. Fitzwilliam would flash that smile, ruffle his ginger-blonde hair, say something astoundingly witty, and suddenly everyone was in love, and Darcy, poor Darcy, was nothing more than an insignificant spec caught in his cousin's orbit (because being good-looking meant absolutely nothing if every chick in the room thought you were a morose type of fucker). Although the days of competing for a woman's attention had long since passed, every now and again, Darcy would find himself in desperate need to quell a strong desire to put his foot in Richard's ass.
As the trio walked through the crowd on the Third Street Promenade, Richard was busy laying it on thick and Lizzie was lapping up his every word; she laughed loudly at his jokes and threw him adoring glances (a little, too adoring) – the two of them were positively beaming, all the while Darcy remained sallow and silently plotting a way to get him alone and snap his neck.
Perhaps sensing blood in the water, Richard casually wandered into the graphic novel section of Barnes & Noble, leaving Darcy and Lizzie completely alone in self-help.
"Richard's hilarious," Lizzie said absently glancing over the book titles.
"He's married, you know; with kids. Two kids," Darcy blurted and instantly regretted it. Good god, he had developed situational Tourettes.
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