Sherry’s mouth fell open so wide they could both see her pink bubble gum. “You met George Clooney?”
“I did more than just meet him—”
Vanessa held up her hand. “Stop. We don’t need to hear it, do we? Now, Sherry, why did you bring Lexi up here?”
Today Sherry had on a T-shirt that read, What do you mean Mr. Darcy isn’t real? She looked at her phone. “Well, my Ask Mr. Darcy app wasn’t helping us determine whether you really should go to Bath or not, remember? So I thought I’d bring Lexi over to help us think it through.”
Vanessa laughed. “There’s nothing to think through. I’m going. I just bought the plane tickets. Nine-day Jane Austen Festival, here I come!”
Sherry gave Lexi a worried look.
Lexi shot a glance at the flat-screen TV. “What the hell, Vanessa? You’re watching the 1995 version of Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth?”
“What’s wrong with that?” Vanessa asked.
Lexi sat down and crossed her long legs. “Nothing—except you can’t stand P&P in any of its incarnations.”
“People change. Right, Lexi? Would you like a cup of tea?”
Lexi gaped. “Tell me about the car accident. When does that neck brace come off?”
Vanessa adjusted the padded brace around her neck. “Tomorrow, thank goodness. I’ve been too embarrassed to go out much with this thing on. Grab a seat, Sherry.”
Sherry sat.
“Okay, girls, let’s watch this—it’s my favorite scene! Where Elizabeth plays the piano at Rosings and Darcy gazes across the room at her, realizing that he loves her . . . This wasn’t exactly in the book, but . . .” She lifted her hand to her heart. “And Colin Firth is so hot!”
Lexi stood and paced. “Wait a minute. You read the book?”
Vanessa paused the video, freezing Colin Firth. “There’s the Look! Isn’t it fabulous?”
“When exactly did you read P&P? You swore you’d never read Jane Austen—you told me yourself it only served to remind you of your parents’ divorce and how you were suddenly transplanted into your aunt’s life. How it was nothing but drawing-room drivel.”
“Come on, Lexi, I said that years ago. Anyway, right after the accident, the doctor advised me not to use my electronic devices and not to watch TV for seventy-two hours because it would strain my eyes. He even gave me an eye patch, can you believe it? I looked like a pirate. So Aunt Ella gave me her audio collection of Austen novels. I listened to them all—a novel a day. Then I borrowed all of her Austen DVDs. It’s been a great week with Jane Austen. I haven’t slowed down like this—ever.” She pressed play and it continued.
“Can you pause that and spill it, Vanessa? I’m here to help.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow. “I don’t need any help. I’m almost over the whiplash. Sherry, go ahead and tell her about the car accident. I don’t want to miss this scene.”
“O-kay. So. Vanessa and I were driving from here to the north shore hauling some stuff for her aunt. Her aunt’s moving in with her seventy-eight-year-old fiancé—”
“She is?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s got to be tough for Vanessa.”
“She’s been really cool about it actually.”
“A little too cool, maybe? As in: she’s not dealing with it?”
“You know I’m right here, don’t you?” Vanessa asked.
“It’s all stuff you should be thinking about yourself anyway,” Lexi said. “No secrets here. Go ahead, Sherry.”
“That happened to be the day after she had to take the car keys away from her aunt, too.”
“Ugh. Taking away her car keys,” Vanessa said. “That was the worst. After all she’s given me over the years, I have to start taking things away from her. Like her independence.”
“They had gotten into a bit of a tiff over it,” Sherry said. “Anyway, so everywhere we go, Vanessa’s pointing out things—saying how everything in the whole damn city reminds her of Julian. She said all kinds of things, like, ‘Oh, there’s Oak Street Beach, where we danced the minuet; there’s the John Hancock, where we had sex in the ladies’ room on the ninety-fifth—”
“What? In the ladies’ room on the ninety-fifth floor?! How did they pull that off? What was it, during the daytime?”
“No, it was a Thursday night.”
“Well! I taught her everything she knows.” Lexi smiled. “But there is no escaping the one-hundred-story Hancock; you can see it from all over the city. Have sex up there and you’ll be reminded every damn day, for better or worse. Mental note taken.”
“So she’s driving along, talking to herself, saying she just needs a sign. Some kind of sign that she belongs with Julian.”
“Oh, no, that doesn’t sound like her at all. She doesn’t believe in signs or horoscopes or palm readings or any of that shit.”
“Really? Well, that I did not know.”
“I’ve been her friend a lot longer than you have.”
Sherry raised an eyebrow. “Anyway, she actually takes her hands off the steering wheel for a minute, saying ‘All I need is a sign!’ and boom.” Sherry clapped her hands together.
“Boom—what?”
“We rear-ended a semi on LaSalle Street.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Luckily nobody was behind us, but Vanessa kept thinking she had dropped a tray of her aunt’s teacups and favorite teapot. She kept talking about shattered china. It was very strange. But that only lasted a few minutes.”
“Oh, wow,” Lexi said. “Poor Vanessa. Once her parents finalized their divorce when she was a kid, she did drop her aunt’s china tea service, and it traumatized her. Into her twenties she would freak if so much as a wineglass broke and shattered. The crash must’ve dredged all of this up for her.”
“I don’t like broken things,” Vanessa said.
“The safety glass on the car’s windshield was decimated,” Sherry said. “We were very lucky, because I was fine and she was just diagnosed with whiplash and advised to stay away from screens for seventy-two hours to avoid eyestrain.”
“Huh. I can’t imagine her without her screen time.”
“Here’s the freaky thing,” Sherry said. “The truck had one of those big, huge logos on it. You’ve seen these trucks before. On all sides of the truck was ENGLAND in huge red letters. C. R. England trucking. As soon as we hit the truck, the Clash’s ‘London Calling’ came on the radio. Wild, huh? I told her after we got out of the ER, I said, ‘That was your sign.’”
Lexi laughed. “It’s called coincidence, Sherry; it wasn’t a sign.”
“Yes, it was. That was when she decided to go to the Jane Austen Festival in Bath. She said life is short . . . he may be the One . . . how will I know if I don’t give it a shot . . . But after that letter from him I’m not so sure.”
“Letter?” Lexi did a face palm. “Why didn’t you tell me about this letter sooner? Where is it?”
Vanessa pointed to her fake fireplace mantel, and there, propped up against a teacup, was a gorgeous thick envelope with Vanessa written on it in very ornate handwriting.
Lexi snapped it up and read it out loud.
Dearest Vanessa,
First and foremost, I would like to thank you for a wonderful time in Chicago. You are a lovely girl and we had a fantastic time.
I also would like to thank you for all the hard work you put into promoting my book, which raised more funds than I could have imagined.
I find it difficult to leave you this way, but, due to circumstances, I must. For that I am sorry, because you are a love . . .
All the best,
Julian
Lexi tossed the envelope and letter into Vanessa’s fake fireplace.
Vanessa leapt up off the couch and whisked the envelope and letter out, as if they would really catch on fire. “Don’t do that!”
“So. You had sex with him.”
“It wasn’t sex. We made love.”
“Uh-huh.”
/> “It was the most thrilling lovemaking ever.”
“The thrill was the excitement of maybe getting caught in a public restroom. And the fact that he had to leave. There’s nothing more thrilling than a man with an expiration date. It makes you want more.”
“You’re such a buzz kill.”
“It’s the truth. Half the LDRs I know wouldn’t last a week in the real world.”
“LDRs?”
“Long-distance relationships. They’re total bullshit and they’re only possible because of modern technology. Why be together when you can be apart and create a perpetual state of fake honeymoon? LDRs are for amateurs. A relationship means you’re together. What good is having a man when you have to wait six weeks to sleep with him again?”
“What’s wrong with a perpetual fake honeymoon?”
“Did you see him the morning after?”
Vanessa slid the letter back in the envelope and set it back on the fireplace. “No, but he left that letter. You know, nobody’s ever left me a letter the day after.”
Lexi sighed. “That’s because nobody’s ever left you! No guy in his right mind would ever leave you!”
“Wow, thank you. That’s very nice of you to say.”
“Well, it’s true. I’ve actually spoken to some of your exes and they still ask about you. I miss you, too. I wish you would forgive me already. And you’re a great catch.”
“Thank you. And I’m warming up to forgiving you—” Maybe she and Lexi could patch things up and be friends again. She could be a pain, but . . .
“My point is you’ve dumped every single guy you’ve ever dated. And how many proposals have you refused?”
“Two. One of which I accepted. I changed my mind the next morning, but still. Oooooh! Look! I skipped to the wet shirt scene!”
“Vanessa, you did not keep this Julian thing in the ‘lust’ stage, did you? Sounds like you went right from lust to romantic love to attachment in one night. Did you orgasm with him?”
Sherry buried her head in her hands.
Vanessa sighed. “Somehow I knew that was where this conversation was heading. And yes, I did. Four times. How’s that for TMI? I’ll never look at a pair of breeches the same way again.”
Lexi flopped down in a chair. “Oh, no. This means you got extra hits of oxytocin.”
“Whatever that is, I sure did!” Vanessa laughed.
“What’s—oxytocin?” Sherry asked.
“It’s a hormone that’s released during orgasm. It acts as a neurotransmitter in the brain and it helps us to bond, trust, love, and attach. Basically, a few orgasms with one person, and you’re hooked. It’s like a drug. It’s not love.”
“But it could be the start of something. I can’t help but think what might have been and what could still be. For once in my life I need to put myself out there. I need to go there and give it a shot. He and I had a thing going—”
“You and he had a one-night stand.”
“You’re wrong about that—I think. If I don’t see what this is, I’ll be thirty-six and wondering what if. You know what? Jane Austen died at forty-one. No time like the present.”
Lexi sighed. “Darcy himself said something very poignant.” She sucked in her cheeks, raised her chin, and lowered her voice for effect: “‘A lady’s imagination is very rapid; it jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony, in a moment.’”
Vanessa glared at her. “I’m not thinking of marriage—yet. But what if he is the One? My last chance? How will I ever know if I don’t explore it?”
“Once you see him for what he is, you won’t want him anymore. I can tell he’s an ass. You were his last chance. He’ll never land a better woman than you. Forget your age. Forget your timeline. Look at his actions. He slept with you and left you a Dear Jane letter—”
“He had to fly off to New York.”
“And now he’s home. It’s been a week. Have you heard anything from him?”
“He doesn’t use his phone, you know that.”
“I’ve seen him use his phone. He can use it. It’s very convenient that he chooses not to. This isn’t really the 1800s.”
“Fate threw him my way. What’s the likelihood of my having any more Mr. Perfects thrown my way in the next five, ten years?”
“I’ll throw one your way tonight, and he won’t leave you in the morning! Trust me.”
Vanessa shook her head. “It never happens when you’re looking, Lexi. It happens when you’re not looking. With the most unlikely guy ever. I don’t want a hookup—especially now that I might have something meaningful on the line.”
The doorman buzzed again. “Miss Roberts? Floral delivery.”
She jumped up from the couch. “Send them up!” She shot a told-you-so look at Lexi.
Flowers! From Julian! She couldn’t wait to read what the note on the bouquet would say. She flung open the door and, with ceremony, accepted and carried the vase full of gorgeous cabbage roses, rose hips, foxgloves, and snapdragons and set it on her glass coffee table. For a moment she just drank in the feeling of getting such a clearly lavish and expensive bouquet from him. The pinks, purples, reds, and yellows heralded sunshine and promise.
Lexi and Sherry watched as she removed the plastic and pulled the tiny card out of the card holder.
Nothing, nothing could have prepared her for the sheer drop from the top of the roller coaster she didn’t even know she was on. The flowers were from Chase.
Just checking in on you . . .
I’ll be calling you soon!
Love, Chase
“Oh,” was all she could say as she dropped the card and it fluttered to the floor. Logically, how could Julian even know about her accident? And did she really think he’d send flowers? Well, she hadn’t until she’d heard “floral delivery,” and then it seemed to be a perfectly rational thing to assume.
Lexi picked up the card, read it, and showed it to Sherry, who instantly said, “How nice of him.”
Lexi trotted the flowers out to the kitchen and came back.
“How did he know about your accident?” she asked.
“He works with Paul. And he came over with chicken noodle soup he’d made.”
“He cooks?” Lexi asked.
“Evidently. It was pretty good, too, wasn’t it, Sherry?”
“Yeah. Really good.”
“He saw you—like this?”
“Uh-huh.”
“And he sent you flowers today? Honey, when a man sees you at your worst and comes back for more, you have to sit up and pay attention.”
“I’m not at my worst!”
Lexi laughed. “Well, I’ve never seen you worse off than this. It’s not so much the neck brace as it is the hung-up-on-Julian thing.”
“Chase is just being nice. That’s how he is.”
“Exactly. He’s a great guy and he obviously has feelings for you, Vanessa.” Lexi tapped the side of her cheekbone with her finger. “Didn’t he say he’d be in London while the Jane Austen Festival was going on?”
Vanessa nodded. “Yes, the auction house is one of the festival sponsors, and he has some auctions to attend at Sotheby’s. But strike my hooking up with him from your to-do list.”
Lexi threw her arms in the air. “Got it. For better or worse, you’re going to the festival for Julian.”
“Yes. And you know what? He got through to me without texting and without a single emoticon.”
“I know. At least you won’t have to unfriend him on all your social media once you see who he really is.”
Optimism never really was a tool in Lexi’s toolbox.
* * *
Two days later, with Lexi’s help, Vanessa had cleared enough of her work to leave for a week. She drove up north to tell Aunt Ella and Paul she’d be going to Bath for the Jane Austen Festival.
Not only did she drive the speed limit, but she didn’t check her phone at every stoplight—just once in a while.
Paul’s house was, appropriately, a well-lands
caped redbrick Georgian with a circular drive just a few blocks from the lake. The simple wedding they had planned at the end of the month would be held in his backyard under white tents with a small crowd of immediate family. The doorbell had a regal ring to it, and truly, Vanessa couldn’t imagine a more idyllic setting for her aunt than this, complete with the man she loved.
“Vanessa, darling!” Aunt Ella opened the forest green door into the vaulted-ceilinged foyer and kissed and hugged her. “Come in. What a gorgeous floral skirt you have on! And a pink silk tank? I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in pink. You look fantastic.”
“The skirt is floral, yes, but it’s still a miniskirt, isn’t it?”
“A pink manicure, too?”
“Hot pink.”
Paul came to hug and kiss her, too, and they all sat down in the dining room for a glass of wine before dinner. With the wine and the appetizers they spoke of the surprise engagement party; at dinner they discussed the wedding; and, with the apple pie dessert, Vanessa announced she’d be going to Bath for the Jane Austen Festival, unless they really needed her, in which case she’d exchange her plane fare for some other time.
They were both equally shocked and thrilled, but the thrill outweighed the shock. Of course they wanted her to go!
After they ran down the list of everything she had to see and do, and Paul tried to work out how often she could see Chase while in Bath, he went to take care of some paperwork. Aunt Ella sat with Vanessa in the living room just like they used to do when they lived across the street from each other.
Her aunt spoke first. “You’re wearing pink, you’ve switched from coffee to tea, and you’re going to Bath. I realize anyone can fall in love with Jane Austen after reading even just a few pages of one of her novels—that is the gift of any good author—but why do I get the feeling there’s a man involved here? Specifically Julian?”
Vanessa smiled. “You may be right. But maybe I just want to take in the waters at the Pump Room.”
“Vanessa, listen. You’re getting a bit long in the tooth to be playing these games. You’re going to go there, you’re going to get him, and you’re going to bring him back. For your sake and mine. I’d very much like to be cognizant of what man finally does win your heart!”
Undressing Mr. Darcy Page 19