Reasons Why I Shouldn't Like Darcy
Lacks certain delicate brain to mouth communication
EXAMPLE A: "I don't know why you're complaining about not being able to see your feet, Lizzie. It's not like you spent the last six months eating your weight in cheetos. Wait, oh god, don't cry that was supposed to make you feel better!"
Is a total snob
EXAMPLE B: "I really hope you were joking when you picked out that Will Ferrell movie"
EXAMPLE C: "I'm just saying, I've known Charles for years and he falls so easily, and Jane's polite to be sure, but I just don't see her feelings for him. Is it wrong that I think he should be absolutely sure about her before getting in too deep? Especially when your family comes with the package…can you put the shoe down? I'm only being honest"
Likes metal, without the irony.
Is a meddler
EXAMPLE D: "Okay, so maybe I suggested to Charlie that he and Jane should take a break. If it makes you feel better, he told me to fuck off"
EXAMPLE E: "Give me just a minute; I'm finishing up some college apps for Georgie. What? It's for her own good."
…
Lizzie took a second to step back, examine her handy work and run over the myriad of irritating character flaws that made up her 'husband', and then the bathroom door creaked open. Startled, she turned to find Darcy's furrowed brow peeking around the corner.
"Lizzie, I…"
"Forgot how to knock?" she snapped.
Upon seeing she was fully dressed, he entered the room. "I didn't hear the shower running, what are you doing?"
Awkwardly she shrugged and rolled down the tube of lipstick. "I, uh well sometimes…" she stumbled as Darcy eyed the mirror with an unreadable expression.
"There's nothing wrong with liking metal," he said flatly.
"I get this strange compulsion to make lists. It's only when I have a big decision ahead of me or maybe something in my life has changed. I, guess it's my way of reconciling a part of myself – making that decision a little less scary. I did one about why I shouldn't pursue acting, why I shouldn't move in with Jane, why I shouldn't have a baby…"
"And, do you always write them on bathroom mirrors?"
"Oh," she chuckled, "no, see I have to write them down and I was already in here without a pen and paper. Don't worry, I'll clean it off." Lizzie ran a nervous hand through her red locks. "I'm so sorry, Darcy. You weren't supposed to see this."
Darcy was ramrod straight, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Oh, I see," he said in clipped voice.
"Because number five would've been, 'too sensitive and jumps to conclusions'."
"So, this is your opinion of me?"
"Yes," Lizzie nodded with a smile, grabbing the bottom of his oxford and pulling him closer. "You are absolutely all of these things, on top of being selfless, loyal, caring, hilarious, sexy – you have no idea how goddamn hard it is for me to be under the same roof with you! All I do all day is struggle to not combust while you manage to look at me as if I'm the only girl in the world and still be cool and disarming." She gestured towards the mirror, "This was just my really childish way of accepting the fact that I'm falling for the very man I swore to loathe for all eternity."
"Five Reasons Why I Shouldn't Like Lizzie Bennet, by Will Darcy," he quoted as the corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, "One: she's a waitress posing as an actress." Darcy placed a kiss on her forehead. "Two: she's middle class," he said kissing the tip of her nose. "Three: her mother and younger sisters are beyond ridiculous." His lips pressed against her cheek. "Four: she hits very hard," he chuckled in her ear before taking the lobe between his teeth. "Five," he whispered as his mouth moved to the smooth skin of her neck, "she's so fucking stubborn and I think she hates me so it's pointless to pine away for her." He added after a pause, "I also make lists, but I like to scribble them on my meeting notes. It pisses Denny off."
With her arms now wrapped around his waist, she pouted. "There's nothing wrong with being middle class."
Darcy pointed at the mirror just over Lizzie's shoulder. "Reason number two," he laughed as he bent down to finally capture her lips.
xx
"Do you make a habit of whisking strange women away to your house? I'm curious, because this really isn't a norm for me," Lizzie found herself babbling while Darcy worked on the buttons to her blouse. "I mean, I know I made that whole spiel about having skanky intentions, but I'm really not, you know…a skank."
At the sight of her front-clasping bra he lifted his head and met her eyes with an amused expression, and a raised eyebrow. "Wow, that's convenient."
Mortified, she groaned and put her hands over her face. "Supreme laziness does not equal skanky."
He grinned, leaning in to kiss her. "I'll take your word for it."
"No, really!" Lizzie now propped herself up on the bed effectively leaving Darcy hovering mid-pucker. "There's such a production involved with putting on a bra that I would rather just cut to the chase, and you never answered my question."
"I wouldn't call it a habit and you're not that strange." He hitched her legs up around his waist, a smug smile forming on his lips at the playful yelp his action elicited from her. "I have a question for you; do you talk, as a rule, while having sex?"
"Absolutely not," she shook her head, "I prefer to be totally silent and stiff as a board. I'll just close my eyes and recite the Declaration of Independence in my head." Darcy laughed at that and once again attempted to kiss her only to be again thwarted by Lizzie's desire to talk, "Last question, I promise…"
"Jesus, aren't you an inquisitive one," he sighed.
Lizzie smiled sweetly. "You do have a condom, right?"
"Of course," he told her as he reached across the bed to yank open the nightstand drawer. What greeted him was an empty box of Durex with a lone wrapper crumpled in the corner. Oh, that was just fucking wonderful. Normally, Darcy would have sucked it up and made the mood-killing trip down to the nearest drugstore, but the picture Lizzie painted – top undone, skirt haphazardly bunched up, and he between her thighs, was having strange affects on his judgment skills.
Whatever, he was an experienced guy that knew his body and he wouldn't let things get too far.
Darcy's utterance of "Nothing to worry about" was the last sentence that didn't contain the words 'oh', 'yes', and 'god', that would pass between the two for the rest of the night.
xx
"Oh, god!" Lizzie cried out and slapped her hands over her eyes.
"What – what's wrong?" Darcy jumped, having been startled back to his present situation with Elizabeth. It was funny; the two of them had seemed to move from the relatively cramped quarters of her bathroom, to the expanse of her bedroom quickly and without missing a beat.
It was also funny that it took a mere glimpse at a bra that clasped in the front to jog his memory.
"You think I'm hideous, don't you? That's why you stopped," she sniffed clearly holding back the flood her out-of-whack hormones were ready to unleash on him.
Darcy's eyes widened. "No! Lizzie, you're gorgeous! I just…"
"I'm fat."
"Yo, Lizzie, get your butt down here! I'm starving!"
"Is that…Charlotte?" he asked with a look and was treated to the sound of snorting snot in return.
"Oh, I forgot about Charlotte," she sobbed. "We're supposed to have lunch and you're not supposed to be here today."
"Lizzie! Hello! If I catch you sleeping at one in the afternoon, I swear to God, I'm dipping your hand warm water and sharpie-ing 'balls' on your forehead, I mean it!"
"How did she get in the gate…and subsequently into my house?"
"I gave her the pass code and a key; I fall asleep a lot more easily these days and I didn't want her waiting around…and now she has to wait around, because I haven't even showered yet, and you're mad, aren't you? I can tell that you are!"
Lizzie was teetering on the edge of hysterical and Darcy had to bite the inside of his cheek to ke
ep from laughing. Her emotions these days were a veritable rollercoaster and he was sure a giggle would end with the nearest object being thrown at his head.
He gently wiped her face with the sleeve of his shirt. "I'm not mad, sweetheart. C'mon, stop crying; I'll go and keep Charlotte company while you take a shower, okay?"
She loudly sniffed. "Okay."
* * *
"Oh hey, Darcy!" Charlotte greeted him from her rather relaxed position on his couch. She absently munched on a bowl of dry Lucky Charms – apparently, Lizzie's milk-less cereal habit was rubbing off. "I didn't know you were here."
"I took the day off."
She nodded. "Sorry for barging in, but I'm supposed to have lunch with your reluctant wife this afternoon…"
"I know; she's upstairs getting ready."
Eyeing him closely, Charlotte's lips twisted into a huge smile. "Although, I'm beginning to question just how reluctant she is nowadays," she popped a marshmallow into her mouth, "you missed a button by the way."
Chapter 25
Snitches and Talkers Get Stitches and Walkers
Life & Style was never really his cup of tea – it lacked all of the important features of an entertaining magazine, like bare breasts and centerfolds, but this specific issue caught his eye:
America's Sweethearts
An in depth look at the whirlwind romance of Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy.
By all appearances the article was your standard puff piece; it was an exclusive with basically anyone who'd ever remotely come into contact with Darcy and Lizzie (the sort of thing that reeked of journalistic desperation when the actual subject(s) of the piece refused to be interviewed). There were words from some of Lizzie's former co-workers, from her best friend, her mother, Darcy's cousin Richard, and to his surprise Georgiana – who Darcy practically stowed away in an underground bunker just to keep the press off of her.
It was touching, really: Fitzwilliam, still nursing a broken heart from his break up with model, Eva Lane, reluctantly agreed to be setup on a blind date with Lizzie (orchestrated by their mutual friend, Charlotte Lucas). Bird's chirped happily, deer and other various cutesy woodland creatures frolicked, the hills were alive with the sound of music – oh, it was love. Their courtship was brief, with the couple tying the knot a mere two months after taking their relationship public, and then of course came the happy announcement that Elizabeth was pregnant. She'd gone a whole five months with nary a clue (and there was a very amusing anecdote from her mother about how they all thought, "she had just gotten a bit fat").
For the life of him, Wickham could not recall ever having seen such a large amount of horseshit contained in one place. The public would eat it up and he was more than willing to let those who based their entire life's happiness on the trials of celebrities keep their fairytale dream. Once upon a time, though, he'd gotten off on the idea of being the one to break the news of Fitzwilliam's great scam; watching the Prince Regent of the Darcy Empire crushed under the weight of such a scandal would have been better than sex and the opportunity had practically fallen into his lap. But, Wickham had a penchant for blowing his load way too quickly, and decided on celebrating a victory over that pompous shithead that had yet to come. A trip to Vegas and a buy in into an exclusive, high-stakes poker game was in hindsight, a deeply stupid idea, one that required he break the lease on his apartment, shut off his cell phone, and pay a surprise two month visit to his Nana Lucille in Kansas (where he was a hit at the Shady Groves Retirement Home backgammon tables).
The door creaked open enough to allow a bald head to poke itself around the frame and Wickham casually tossed the magazine to the side.
"Shane says he'll see you now," the bald man grunted in a heavy Boston accent.
Wickham rose to his feet and made sure to flash an unaffected smile as he walked into the room because the worst thing he could do at this moment would be to let on just how close he was to passing out from fear. "Long time no see, man. How've you been?"
The coolly imposing figure with his feet casually propped up on the desk let the corner of his lips jerk upwards in a bizarre state in between a smile and a sneer. "I can't complain. You look taller somehow, Danny. Pat, does Danny look taller to you?"
The bald man, who'd positioned himself like a statue in the corner of the room, ran his beady, black eyes over Wickham. "People always seem taller when you haven't seen them for a while. I'm thirty four years old and my mom always thinks I've gotten taller."
Shane gave a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm inclined to believe that Danny here is still a growing boy, he's so baby-faced. I trust you're in good health?"
Wickham nodded. "How's the wife and the kid?"
"Peachy keen," he told him with a toothy grin, "April and I are thinking of trying for another one since Lola's started kindergarten, and when are you going to cut the shit and hand over my money?"
"Shane, I…"
"Unless the following words out of your mouth are 'Shane, I have your $500,000' I don't want to hear it. That is a substantial amount of money…"
"A colossal amount," Pat dryly supplied from his corner.
"That is not the sort of debt a man can just let go unpaid," Shane continued, "I'm sure you understand, Danny. I mean, it's nothing personal – it's just the way this business works. If I gave every guy a pass and let him welsh on a bet, this bad ass mother fucker image of mine would be impossible to maintain."
Wickham swallowed. Hard. "Right, I understand…I just needed a little time, that's all, but I will have your money to you real, real soon."
Pat grunted, "I think you should make him pinky swear."
"Yes, that's a good idea, Patty," Shane said enthusiastically and motioned for Wickham to come closer. Placing his elbow down on the desktop, he stuck his own pinky finger up in the air. "C'mon then, Danny."
Reluctantly Wickham did as he was told; elbow on the desktop he slowly raised his pinky, and in one, swift motion, Shane snapped the digit back filling the room with a sickening pop and screams of pain.
"The next time you grace me with your presence, I better have some sort of fucking payment in my fucking hands!" He growled. "Are we clear?"
"Crystal."
As Wickham and his poor, broken finger made their way to the nearest E.R. he resigned himself to the fact that he may never get another chance to tap dance on the remnants of Darcy's perfect image. He'd never quite gotten a hold of the smoking gun, the contract, and without it no one else was buying. A great setback to his original plans to be sure, but on the bright side, all he needed was a good bluff to take Darcy for all he was worth.
* * *
Men never went for Charlotte Lucas. All of her life she'd played the plain, but amusing sidekick to some other girl's beauty. In times of despair caused by asshole boyfriends, she supplied the shoulder to lean on, and on nights out she watched the purses and made sure every drink was sufficiently GHB-free. This was all well and good with her – she'd never been much of a romantic – but on that fateful night between Lizzie and Darcy, Charlotte had dropped the "ugly friend" creed of 'we came together, we leave together' all because she had met a man.
Okay, so he wasn't exactly the best looking thing ever. He was shorter than her (and at 5'4 she wasn't what you'd call an Amazon), had non-existent dance skills, a tendency for weird compliments (apparently, she possessed the most exquisite earlobes), and, bless him, he still thought a soul-patch was a good idea. None of that really mattered to Charlotte, however, because for once she was getting all of the attention.
Attempts at contact had been fruitless ('the wireless customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable') and out of sheer desperation, she had lowered herself to going back to that club nearly every Friday night. Make no mistake, she wasn't suddenly in-touch with her mediocre chick-flick loving side. It was just that her apartment was a Jane/Charlie woobie love nest and well, with the way Darcy had been staring at Lizzie for the past seven months (and the way Lizzie was currently staring
at him from across the table) Charlotte couldn't help feeling as though she were missing out.
Silently Charlotte drank her milkshake, and kept a lid on her jealousy while Lizzie and Darcy teased each other.
"You said you'd give it a try."
"Well, then I'm a filthy liar."
"Oh, a liar in addition to being a snob, a meddler…what a fucking catch you are."
"You like me anyway."
Lizzie blushed and shoved her animal-style fries in Darcy's direction. "One bite."
He grimaced. "You're pushy."
"It's part of my charm."
It was a friggen smile-fest in the middle of In-and-Out Burger (Charlotte had no idea that Darcy's face muscles were even capable of turning up that way) and the general get-a-room-y-ness of the two made her stomach churn. "I'm going to get another shake," she announced, slinking out of her chair, though it was doubtful the pair had heard a word she said.
Lizzie's giggle floated into her ear from across the room and despite every effort, Charlotte's eyes did the sort of exaggerated roll that necessitated a sudden pause in her step. The poor guy booking his way to the soda fountain never saw it coming.
There was a rapid exchange of 'ow's" and 'oh, geez – I'm so sorry's' before recognition dawned on them both:
"Charlotte?!"
"Henry?!"
"Oh my goodness; the world really is as small as they say!" Henry beamed like a kid on Christmas and threw his arms around her in a bear hug.
She gave a nervous laugh, a little taken aback by the show of affection. "It's good to see you."
"Wow, this is just so great! I thought for sure I'd never see you again; I lost your number and I've just gotten back from Indonesia…"
"Indonesia?"
"I was doing some filming there and – well, hey come and sit with me and we'll catch up."
Twenty Months Page 15