Personally, I'd Rather Lick Sand: A Modern Pride and Prejudice Variation Romantic Comedy

by Ari Rhoge

  I heard Will, then, deep voice surprised. “Really?”

  “Yeah,” snorted Georgy.

  “You're making this up.”

  “I'm not,” she said, laughing. “Over there.”

  … Oh, please, don't tell me she just did what I think she —

  The door opened, and light flooded the closet, tall Will Darcy looming above me, mouth hanging open in shock. I cringed.

  “Hi, Lizzy,” Will said, quietly.

  “Hi,” I replied, dying a little inside.

  “… How are you?”

  “I'm not hiding in your closet.”

  “Oh.” he rubbed the back of his neck, blue eyes curious. “Right.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “… I think so.”

  “As long as you're sure.”

  “Can you just,” I hesitated, mimicking the gesture, “close the door? Just for an itty-bitty second? I swear, I got this.”

  “You want me to close the door?” He raised an eyebrow. “Just close you in again?”

  “Yeah. Don't worry about it —— I'll take care of it.”

  “But —”

  “Just close it!”

  He blinked, and stepped away, clicking the door shut. And, dying of embarrassment, I found an old blanket, balled it up, and vented it for a good 30 seconds. Then I stood up, brushed off my jeans, and stepped out of the closet, ready to face the Darcy siblings.

  Georgy was pointing. “Did you just… quietly scream? In there?”

  “No.”

  “But it sounded like —”

  “How are you?” Will suddenly asked. I glanced up.

  Will Darcy seemed… well, he seemed calm. A little hesitant, but I drew relief from the fact that the expression that had haunted me for a couple of months, all dark-eyed and wounded beyond belief, was absent from his face. And his eyes were bluer than they were at Rosings. Or else, it seemed like it in this light.

  “Lizzy's on her way down to Myrtle with her aunt and uncle.” Georgy breezed by. “Heck of a drive, I know.”

  “Oh,” Will said, surprised.

  “Yeah, she just wanted to visit me for a bit. They were passing through States—”

  “I didn't know you would be home,” I blurted out. He raised his eyebrows. I blushed more. Damn. “I just meant… I didn't want to intrude.”

  “You're not —”

  “I… want to go see what Bea is making for dinner,” said Georgy, cheerfully. She beamed, waved, and practically skipped out of the room. It was so fast I didn't even have any time to threaten her. I gaped.

  “So,” Will cleared his throat. “You're okay?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “In good health, I'm guessing?”

  “Oh. Yeah.”

  “… That's good.”

  “… Yeah.”

  “Would you excuse me?” Will asked, politely. I blinked and moved aside, and he gave me a strange kind of nod before disappearing out of the room. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

  At least it was over.

  Now, I just have to get out of here.

  • • •

  To say that Will Darcy had not spent the majority of his time thinking about Elizabeth Bennet in the last three months would have been a blatant, simply insulting lie. While he was fairly convinced it would take a strange realignment of the stars (or maybe just a bribe to Georgy) to see the girl who had so effectively rejected him again, he had simply not anticipated such an arrival. And one curled up on the floor of his coat closet, no less, brown eyes wide and shining, face positively flushed, body compacted into a tiny, Lizzy-shaped ball.

  Will had never seen her look so terrified — he had to stifle a laugh.

  Of course, two things crossed his mind. One, she seemed pretty damn mortified. Two, mortification normally led to bolting. For this reason, he changed out of his work clothes as quickly as humanly possible, and practically sprinted downstairs in jeans and a T-shirt. And then his face fell.

  He couldn't find her. She wasn't in the sitting room. Nor was she in the kitchen, and there was coffee out, for God's sake. Will sighed, taking a seat at the foot of the stairs.

  Then he caught it — snippets of conversation, coming from near the dining room. He snapped his head up. Lizzy's voice, and Bea's, and somebody else's —— a woman's. He smiled crookedly, and got to his feet, walking briskly around the corner.

  Lizzy was tugging on an older woman's sleeve, almost like a petulant child, her eyes big and her body language impatient. “Please, Aunt Trish. I think I forgot something. In the café. 27 miles ago, by the Exon, see? I remember! Let's go.”

  “Lizzy, don't be ridiculous,” the woman snorted, brushing her hair back. “You came here to visit your friend, and Benny and I obliged, didn't we? Plus, Mrs. Reynolds just invited us for dinner. You can't very well decline.”

  Lizzy passed a hand over her eyes. “You very well can! Say no. You don't want to impose, do you?”

  “It's really no problem,” Will insisted, and Lizzy whipped around, startled. He cleared his throat, wincing a little. “I'm sorry. My name's Will Darcy. I'm Georgy's older brother.” Trish looked at him carefully as he approached.

  “Ben Gardiner,” the older gentleman next to Lizzy introduced himself, taking Will's offered hand. “I'm Lizzy's uncle. This is her aunt, Trish. She glares a lot.”

  “I do not,” she muttered, swatting him lightly across the chest. She eyed Will critically. “So, you run this estate, I'm guessing?”

  “I do,” he said, smiling slightly.

  “It's beautiful, I've got to say.”

  Will couldn't help the swell of pride. “Thanks,” he grinned. “We try to take good care of it. It's been in our family for ages. Family history, I guess.”

  But Trish Gardiner had already brightened. “I was just sharing with my husband —— the inlay work in the foyer is absolutely gorgeous. What kind of wood is that?”

  “Oh, thank you. Birch.”

  “And the floors?”

  “Hm.” He paused, looking down. “We actually went through renovations a few months back. Mainly cherry. Laminate. We used Spanish cedar in this room, though. We thought it would play off the light well.”

  “We?” inquired Ben Gardiner.

  Will shrugged uncomfortably. “Me and a couple of friends. We stripped the floors. It was a summer job. Georgy helped.”

  “Impressive,” Lizzy's uncle commended, nodding. Will smiled in thanks.

  Lizzy still wasn't looking at him. He wasn't sure if he should find this as cause for amusement or concern. He cleared his throat. “As I was saying, any relative of Lizzy is always welcome. And you're probably tired from your trip —— I insist you stay for dinner.”

  “We'd love to,” Ben said, smiling.

  “What happened to being pressed for time?” asked Lizzy, shrewdly.

  “Oh, Lizzy, where are your manners?” said Trish. “He insisted.”

  Will Darcy was suddenly very thankful for these Gardiners.

  “So, you two know each other already?” Ben asked, glancing swiftly to his niece and back.

  “Yes, Lizzy and I met late last summer. My sister was her housemate.”

  “You two have history,” said Trish, laughing, most likely unaware of just how much truth her comment contained. Lizzy colored, and Will couldn't fight back a smile.

  “Anyway,” she said, clapping her hands. “That Reynolds lady somehow disappeared. We didn't even see the sunroom, and she was boasting about it.”

  “Honey, come on,” started Ben. “That's not necessary.”

  “Oh.” Will winced. “Sorry about that, she must have gone off to make dinner. She's an excellent cook —— another reason you should stay, by the way. And I'd be happy to show you the rest of the house, if you want.”

  “That would be great,” Ben grinned.

  Will nodded once, and laced his hands in back, Lizzy falling into step beside him as he led them pas
t the staircase. She eyed him carefully, one eyebrow raised. “What?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “No, I'm not,” she murmured, quietly. “Just… ignore me. I'm acting weird, I know.”

  “You're not,” he said, smiling a little. “I know you didn't plan on seeing me.”

  “Yeah,” she said, laughing lightly, dark eyes downcast. “There is that. And the closet.”

  Will watched her as they walked, how she bit her lip, willing to get over some leftover embarrassment. He held back a smile. It was somehow… adorable beyond words, if not mildly ridiculous. They were passing the main, circular window just at the foyer, and the light from the dying sun framed her strangely, illuminating the gold in her hair and the smooth curve of her cheek.

  She caught him looking, and, if it was even possible, her face flushed even more.

  “Do you like the house?” Darcy asked her, attempting to ease some discomfort.

  “I do. It's beautiful.”

  “Good. I'm glad.”

  “Glad it's beautiful? Or glad that I like it?” Lizzy asked, carefully, some of the liveliness back in her face. She was teasing him.

  “Glad that you like it,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth turning upward. “Glad that you're here.”

  Lizzy looked away, possibly to conceal another blush. Will grinned.

  21

  —

  Like a Rolling Stone

  I was fairly certain that my life had become Invasion of the Body Snatchers. The victim was Fitzwilliam “Will” Darcy. Only, he wasn't exactly a Pod person, because that would imply a catatonic state. But I was 99.89% sure that something or somebody had possessed him. And who would do such a thing? Drumroll, if you will…

  Jane Bennet.

  Think about it — it's pretty plausible. My sister has this uncanny ability to not only gush absolute pleasantry and sweetness but also make you feel guilty in the process, for being such a juvenile little asshole in comparison. And Will Darcy had been taken over by somebody who was warm and inviting and obliging and ridiculously understanding. And it was wigging me out.

  Why? Well, for starters, I wasn't sure if, deep down, he'd always been like this or if this was just a ruse to make me feel even guiltier for judging him like I did back in December. Was his behavior a “see, I'm genuinely not a shithead” kind of shtick? Or was it more “man, if you hated yourself by the end of my letter, you're in for a treat now”? Was it both? Analyzing this alone had me mentally exhausted. I was never sure.

  I was also never more awkward.

  As Georgy and I roamed Pemberley's property, exploring this fairytale landscape that probably hadn't witnessed the peeping Toms and Christmas-light malfunctions and potty accidents that my yard had, I felt myself kind of drawing inward. I forgot to speak, most of the time.

  It wasn't until we took a seat at the gazebo that Georgy called me out on it, Will lingering patiently beside us. Bea had returned to sum up her tour, and was leading the Gardiners inside, and Georgy elbowed me to get my attention. “You're really, really quiet,” she announced. “It's creeping me out.”

  I shrugged, not knowing what to say. I guess this didn't really help my cause. Will laughed. I avoided his eyes.

  “Maybe she's tired,” he suggested, taking a seat next to his sister. “We have a guest bedroom upstairs. It hasn't been used in years, but I could have Bea air out new sheets.”

  “No, that's fine,” I said, quickly, fiddling with my jacket's zipper. “You don't have to do that.”

  “Do what?” he asked, politely.

  “Just… that.” I winced. “That whole hospitable thing.”

  Darcy looked amused. “Sorry — I didn't realize it offended you.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It doesn't offend me. It's just… nice.”

  The Darcy siblings looked at me like I had just spoken fluent Japanese.

  “Okay,” I said, laughing awkwardly. “I guess I'm trying to say that I don't want to impose.”

  “Then just say that,” Georgy snorted. “My God… you're like me, freshman year of high school.”

  “She's not wearing a Star Wars T-shirt,” Darcy mumbled, looking away. Georgy hit him, and he snorted, slinging an arm around her shoulder. I smiled. At least this was an area of familiarity — I had always thought Will Darcy to be exceptionally sweet to his younger sister. I could deal with this.

  “Oh.” Georgy winced. “I guess I should apologize for totally telling Will where you were hiding. I couldn't help myself.”

  “I'm pretty sure I would have found you anyway,” Will said. “I use that closet a lot.”

  I reddened. “I panicked… okay? And Georgy, you're not forgiven. You suck at promises.”

  “I never promised,” she grinned.

  I looked at her for a moment. “You probably get along really well with Rich Fitzwilliam, don't you?”

  “She does,” Darcy said.

  I laughed, and he smiled, holding my gaze.

  Georgy clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Let's go in and see if dinner's ready.” She stood up, and stretched. “Last one inside is a…” Her brow crinkled. “Damn, I can't think of anything.”

  “Rotten egg?” Will suggested.

  “That's so overused,” she scowled. She sighed. “Last one inside is… a big… jerkface. —— Bye!” At that, she hopped from the gazebo, and sprinted down the pathway, her long black hair whipping behind her. I snorted.

  “That was really original.”

  “Why did you panic?” Darcy asked, suddenly. I turned around to face him. He was still sitting down, his elbows resting on his knees so that his hands dangled loosely, his face tilted up toward me. “Earlier, I mean,” he elaborated. “Why did you freak out?”

  And because the truth was extremely muddled, congealed and gray, I could only grind out, “I don't know.”

  He looked unconvinced. “I'm sorry if I made you so uncomfortable.”

  There it was. Was it guilt-inducing, sincere, or both? Body-snatcher or Will Darcy? It almost made me angry. The difference here was that I was angry at myself. I snapped, “are you serious? You're sorry?”

  “Yes,” he said, blinking, one eyebrow cocked. “I'm kind of sure I just said that.”

  “You can't be sorry,” I mumbled. “That's stealing my thunder. I'm the one supposed to be sorry.” I slumped my shoulders, defeated. “I should probably make a list of what I'm sorry about. Because between Wickham, Georgy and my stupidity, I could probably write a novel.” There was a stretch of silence after this where Will simply stared at me.

  “I thought you were already writing one,” he suddenly teased. But there was an underlying earnestness coloring his voice.

  “Yeah, that's true,” I said, smiling crookedly. “But this one would be like, epic, and full of self-pity.”

  “Like Harry Potter.”

  “… Uh.” I laughed. “I guess it depends on your perspective.”

  Will smiled slightly, but he seemed at ends with something. He was constantly chewing on his lower lip, frowning thoughtfully. I opened my mouth to say something, but then he glanced up, his blue eyes wary. With trepidation, he asked, “how is your sister?”

  Jane? “She's okay.”

  He nodded quickly, knotting his hands together. And then I understood perfectly.

  “Look, Darcy —”

  “I called him, after you left,” he said, shortly, standing up. “I guess you beat up my conscience pretty well, because I couldn't wait to get Charlie on the phone.” He looked to the side, his jaw tight. “I told him everything. I want you to know that. About how Carolyn and I interfered with Jane, anyway. Charlie knows everything.”

  “And?” I asked, quietly.

  “And he just started speaking to me again, two weeks ago,” Darcy said, laughing. But his tone was heavy. He was upset. There was tension in his posture, and the way he clenched and unclenched his fists. It had been bothering him for quite a while.

  “Sorry.”

 
; “What?” He looked up sharply. “How is this your fault?”

  “No,” I corrected. “I know what it's like to fight with your best friend. I'm sorry you had to go through that. It can't be pleasant.”

  “I deserved it, I think.”

  I didn't say anything awhile. Not that I agreed or disagreed — my mind wasn't working properly that day, to begin with. We kind of just lingered. In a way, I was grateful that we had cleared the air. Some of the static was gone. And because Will Darcy had a penchant for staring at me for abnormally long periods of time (with I-want-to-penetrate-your-soul intensity), I sought to brush away some of the awkwardness with a couple questions of my own.

  “So, how are you?” I asked this quickly, and while I was exhaling, and all the words streamed out in a slurred saryoo? more than anything else. I winced. He gave me a funny look, bemused, but he understood nonetheless.

  “You really want to know,” Darcy asked, dryly, folding his arms across his chest.

  “Uh.” I laughed. “I don't think I would have asked if I didn't want to know.”

  “You sure about that? —— I'm not sure,” Darcy observed, slowly, and I was extremely cautious of Pod-person Will Darcy's introspective glance into my psyche. It was just another factor to wig me out. “You're trying really hard to be nice,” he observed, casually. “Jumping through hoops, one would say.”

  “In all fairness, maybe you're comparing my behavior to what it was the last time you saw me,” I said, pausing reflectively. “Your memory might be a little foggy. I wasn't much of a gem. There was a pretty nasty slap involved. Some belittling. Definitely cringing.”

  “I appreciate the abridged version, thank you. But, no, my memory's not a little foggy, at all. It's actually very clear. You have a good arm.” There was no humor to this statement.

  I opened my mouth, then closed it, feeling my face grow warm.

  Darcy's eyebrows shot up, and he laughed so abruptly that it startled me. “You were actually going to say thank you to that!”

  “I was not.”

  “Oh, come on. I know you too well.”

  He said it with such certainty, too. I found it difficult to meet his eye. I shifted my weight, and crossed my arms, glancing to the side where a dried-up vine curled around one of the wooden planks of the gazebo, withered leaves bending in the wind. It had gotten considerably cooler since noon. I shivered, just once, and, the next thing I knew, Will Darcy was shrugging out of his jacket, arm outstretched. I sidestepped him, snorting. “Oh, please. Don't do that.”