by Ari Rhoge
He picked up her abandoned carry-on, and slung it over his shoulder. “Let's go to baggage claim. Do you have everything with you, from the plane?”
“Who, what, where now?”
Darcy raised his eyebrows, and smiled — only a little, a twinge, really. But it was still weird. “You couldn't look more surprised. You didn't expect me to pick you up, did you?”
“No.”
“Check your phone,” he said, in monotone.
Warily, Lizzy dug through her bag. She peered up at Darcy through her eyelashes, so suspiciously that he actually snorted and turned away. Then she finally found her phone. Of course, a text from Charlotte:
I just got your voicemail. I'm busy preparing the rehearsal dinner, sweetie. Didn't I tell you that Will Darcy is picking you up?
“No!” Elizabeth all but shouted at her phone. She sighed gravely, and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was so typical — she had been so excited for a getaway. It was only natural that something would have to fuck it up. She didn't enjoy this particular brand of déjà vu, either. It rang a little too closely to that double date with Jane and Charlie an eternity ago. I should check my texts regularly.
They barely spoke through the terminals and gates they passed, nor at baggage claim. Elizabeth was too busy scowling, and Darcy was preoccupied with being indifferent. But then he offered to take her luggage, and Lizzy softened. He had her blue Jansport bookbag slung over one shoulder, and a duffel bag in his other hand — so she took claim of the black suitcase from the carousel. It suddenly occurred to her to ask Will Darcy what business he had being invited to Bill Collins and Charlotte's wedding. Surely he hadn't picked an acquaintance connection through her?
“Of course not,” said Darcy. “My aunt is his godmother.”
“His?” Lizzy prompted.
“Bill Collins.”
“Oh — oh,” said Elizabeth, with dawning comprehension. “Oh.”
Outside, the air was crisp and fresh — and Lizzy was surprised it was evening already, though she had very much expected it to be. A shiny, sleek black Audi was parked between two white vans at the curb, its emergency blinkers on — somebody was already inside the car. Darcy opened the trunk, and Elizabeth helped him load her luggage in. Their hands touched for a fleeting moment — his were cold — and she pulled back instantly. “Thank you,” Lizzy mumbled.
“You're welcome.”
She met Richard Fitzwilliam 30 seconds later, after she had climbed into the back and clicked in her seatbelt. He was driving, and turned in his seat.
“You're Elizabeth, the lady of the hour! Pleased to meet you. —— I'm Richard — Will's cousin.”
She grinned. “Lizzy.”
Richard Fitzwilliam was loud, extremely chipper, and had a watered-down British accent. Lizzy sensed either multinational parents or too many years spent here in Southern California. He was lanky as anything, and a little shorter than his cousin, with a crop of messy blond hair and bright, eerily blue eyes.
“Right — I knew that.” Richard smiled at her, cryptically. “Lizzy, Lizzy, Lizzy… I've heard some stories about you.”
“Uh-oh. Nothing too terrible, I hope.”
“Nothing too terrible,” Richard agreed, solemnly. Lizzy laughed, and he smiled at her reflection through the rearview mirror.
The passenger door slammed, and Will settled in, fastening his seat belt with a heavy sigh. “Rich, I told you to let me drive — it's a stick.”
“Relax. If we die, we die together.”
“The biggest comfort in the world,” said Darcy, glancing out the window.
“Will, that was beautiful.” He gunned the engine, and pulled slowly away from the curb, waiting a minute to slip into the flow of clockwise traffic. They were on the highway five minutes later, and Richard cranked up the satellite radio. “Come on, you guys! Cheer up. We're going to have a hell of a time this weekend.”
“Hear, hear!” Lizzy declared, laughing.
“It'll be a clusterfuck of a wedding, love,” said Richard. “The laughs will be endless.”
“That's the toast he's writing for the reception,” Darcy told Lizzy.
Elizabeth grinned, and leaned close to the two of them, her elbows resting on either seat. “I like it. Are you writing one, Darcy?”
“Oh, he's got a bit of poetry tucked up his sleeve.” Richard winked at his cousin. “Lord Byron, was it?”
“I haven't prepared a toast,” said Will, very slowly, as if speaking to a toddler. “I'm not… the best public speaker.”
“Without Jägermeister, you mean,” muttered Richard, weaving into the next lane. A Toyota SUV behind him honked, and he grimaced and rubbed the stubble on his chin, as if contemplating whether or not he should flip the soccer mom off.
“No — just in general.”
“Really, Darce?” said Elizabeth, conversationally. “I thought you were always pretty skilled at talking out of your ass. You can definitely channel that into a speech — I have confidence in you.”
She was testing him, trying to see if things were as tense as they had left it at Netherfield. It was important. She didn't like him by any means — but she was determined to have a good weekend, and perhaps that would only be achievable if she temporarily buried the hatchet.
Elizabeth saw the corner of Darcy's mouth pull up in a fleeting smile, before he shook his head disapprovingly. “Maybe you can help me write it, then, considering your kindergarten-teacher expertise.”
“… Challenge accepted.”
“Darce,” Richard echoed, amused. “That's cute — I might use that.”
13
—
You Know I'm No Good
It was a little after midnight when Richard pulled into the empty parking lot of Sunset Diner. It seemed old and decrepit — the front sign pulsated neon pink erratically. Darcy stepped out of the car, cautious. Behind him, Elizabeth stretched her legs and shook her hair out from its ponytail. It was starting to drizzle, so she pulled her hood up, and squinted into the mist.
“I don't like the look of this place,” said Darcy, to his cousin.
“I have a switchblade in case somebody decides to jump us,” Richard assured him. “Oh, and my fierce kung-fu prowess, of course.” At that, he raised his fists and snarled.
“See? We'll be fine,” Lizzy said, grinning.
They found a booth inside — it wasn't difficult, because all but two were empty. Darcy slid in first, his blue eyes suspiciously trained on an older bearded man three rows down. Richard sat beside him, and snorted, “Jesus, Will — don't stare at him. Drifters can smell fear.”
Lizzy covered her mouth with her hand.
Their waitress had smudged eye makeup, electric-orange hair, and a habit of grunting her words. She slid three menus across the table, and Richard thanked her graciously. “You're the best, Nancy! A lovely morning to you.”
“Thanks,” she muttered. Nancy scribbled their drink orders down (three coffees and three waters) and turned back to proceed to the kitchen, feet dragging.
“I don't think she appreciated that. Now she's going to do something to our food,” muttered Darcy, opening up his menu.
“Nonsense! I want bacon,” Richard said, to nobody in particular.
“Ooh, me too,” said Lizzy. She skimmed over her menu. “And pancakes, and some OJ. —— Short stack.”
“Breakfast?” Darcy asked, incredulously, staring at her. “At this hour?”
She met his eye. “Um, it's morning.”
“It's midnight,” he said.
“Okay, it's very early morning — but morning nonetheless.” Lizzy paused, and narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop judging me —— I want pancakes.”
“Be my guest,” Darcy insisted.
“Well, technically she's the diner's guest,” Richard pointed out. Darcy closed his menu, and stared his cousin down. He raised his hands. “What?”
By her example, the men ordered breakfast as well. Darcy got scrambled eggs and toast.
Richard ordered waffles and bacon. It was half past midnight, and they were halfway to the Rosings vineyard in Santa Barbara. Elizabeth slathered butter on her toast, and squinted out the window, not able to make much out in the darkness. It was starting to rain.
“Looks like the weather's followed me all the way across the country,” Lizzy mused, laughing softly. “Awesome.”
“It'll clear up by morning,” said Richard. “Maybe. I don't actually live here — I wouldn't know. What do you think, Will?”
“I don't live here, either,” he mumbled.
“Where do you live?” she asked Richard.
“It's a secret,” Richard said, winking.
Darcy rolled his eyes, freeing the napkin coiled around his utensils. “He lives in—”
“Shh — I'm trying to intrigue her.”
Lizzy shrugged, and cut up her pancakes, smiling for a moment. “I'm not that intrigued. I mean, clearly you're from England. When did you move to the States?”
“Seven years ago,” said Richard. “My parents are still back there. And Aunt Catherine lives in London. You'll meet her tomorrow — she's a barrel of peaches.” Darcy and he exchanged glances, and the latter smirked.
“So, are you two first cousins?” asked Lizzy. “Your parents are siblings?”
“My mother was his father's sister,” Darcy said, quietly.
“Hmm.”
Richard took a sip of his coffee. “I hear you've got quite the collection of siblings yourself.”
“You heard right.” She clicked her tongue. “Charlotte must have told you. Just be grateful they couldn't come this far for the wedding. There's a lot of us.”
“So I hear. From Will actually, not Charlotte.”
Lizzy looked up, mid-bite. But Darcy was shaking a sugar packet into his coffee cup, his head bent forward. She couldn't see his face.
Richard grinned. “The bride-to-be was unavailable for questioning. I had to pump my cousin for information on the mysterious Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Mysterious?” She laughed.
“Notorious, really.”
“How so?” Lizzy arched an eyebrow.
“Well, you smashed his car.” Richard shrugged. “You're a regular bandit and criminal, according to the legend.”
Darcy did glance up then, his mouth open. Elizabeth scoffed, and set her fork down, annoyed. “Listen, I didn't smash his car, he—”
“Can I get you anything else?” Their waitress had swung around, and was looking explicitly at Richard now. She even cracked a smile.
“Nancy, darling, could I trouble you for one more cup of coffee? I'm driving for another two hours — so I need caffeine.” Richard smiled widely at her, and Lizzy could count the rows of pearly whites. He tapped the crook of his elbow, as if the waitress was meant to stick in an IV.
“I'll go get that for you,” Nancy said, pleasantly.
“Cheers.” He waited until she was gone before he elbowed Darcy, laughing theatrically. “Do something to our food, he says. That woman's three minutes away from giving me her number! … Not that I really want it, but I am going to this wedding stag, so perhaps it's something to consider.”
“Is that really how you're introducing me to people?” Lizzy asked Darcy incredulously, leaning forward in her seat. “That girl who totaled your car? You know that's absolutely false.”
Darcy sighed, and rolled up his sleeves. “Turn signal—”
“Shut up.”
“You're only angry because I'm right.”
Lizzy laughed. “Oh, wow. I almost missed that arrogance. Almost. Close, but no cigar.”
“Nobody's listening to me,” muttered Richard. He took a bite from Darcy's scrambled eggs — his cousin didn't notice.
“For the record, it's not like I'm skipping around talking about you, or mentioning that we met at the scene of a car accident,” Darcy assured her. “Richard happens to be my closest of kin here — I told it to him in passing.”
“Among other things,” added Richard, waggling his eyebrows. Darcy looked at him quickly, and turned away.
Elizabeth slumped back in her seat. “Fine. Whatever. I don't care. Richard, you should know he's not telling you the truth — he caused the accident, not me.”
Richard smirked, bemused. “Will, you dare accuse the lady—?”
“It's subject to interpretation,” Darcy interjected, hotly. He folded his arms across his chest. “The accident, I mean. Nobody had full blame.”
Richard looked at Lizzy. “I wouldn't worry about it, even if your reputation does get tarnished. This is a Collins wedding, after all. Nobody cares what that little twit and his family think.”
“True.” She cocked her head.
“Word on the street is that his tux is purple,” Richard stage-whispered. “Shiny, too.”
Lizzy scrunched her nose. “Not surprised. I've seen his boxers. They had lightning bolts and checkers on them. They were Bill-Cosby boxers.”
“Wait —— excuse me?” Richard's brows pulled together, and his mouth twisted into a disbelieving smirk. “You and Bill Collins…?”
Elizabeth smiled sweetly over the rim of her coffee cup. “Oh, yeah. All night long…”
Darcy hiccoughed into his water, and his cousin clapped him on the back. He spent the next 15 seconds clearing his throat, and Lizzy raised her eyebrows, amused.
“Seriously?” laughed Richard.
“No, I'm just fucking with you.” Lizzy waved her hand.
“Oh.”
“Him and Charlotte, though —— all over the apartment. I had to clean up underthings — lots of underthings. It was gross.”
Richard winced, and tore off a piece of his waffle, dunking it in maple syrup. “That's a little disgusting.”
Darcy was silent again. He sat back in the booth, and drank his coffee, quietly staring out the window.
“Are you gonna eat that bacon?” Lizzy asked, a few seconds later.
Richard looked down at his plate, which was half empty now. “N—”
She snatched it quickly. “What?” Lizzy asked, when she saw that Richard was gaping at her. “You said no.”
He scoffed. “I was going to say 'naturally' — as in naturally, I would eat that bacon, Lizzy.”
“You're so full of shit. You were gonna say 'no'.”
“Piranha,” Richard mumbled, glaring at her.
“I'm hungry.” She chewed on the end of the strip.
Darcy was facing forward again, and Lizzy was surprised to notice that he had dimples — rather, one dimple. He was pressing his lips together, trying to keep from smirking, or smiling, or maybe even laughing. He rested his chin in his hand and covered his mouth.
Elizabeth leaned forward on her elbows. “Let it out, man! Before it gets trapped in your body and tears through your internal organs!”
“Let what out?” Darcy asked.
“That laugh. A laugh. You know, for the longest time I thought you were incapable of smiling, but then I realized that you just try really hard not to,” observed Elizabeth. She folded her hands under her chin and smiled at him. She was trying to unnerve him, but Darcy simply stared at her thoughtfully.
“I smile,” he said, defensive.
“He doesn't smile.” Richard helped himself to Lizzy's leftover pancakes.
“If something is funny, I laugh,” Darcy insisted.
“If you prick us, do we not bleed!” Richard demanded, loudly. “If you tickle us, do we not laugh!” He pounded his fists on the table, and the silverware clanged. Darcy elbowed him sharply, and Lizzy sniggered, smothering her giggles.
“Jesus, the owner's staring at you!” Will sighed angrily.
“He must have liked the performance, then.”
Elizabeth was laughing. “You're a Shakespeare enthusiast?”
“Not really, no,” Richard said. He reached across to her plate now, finishing the last quarter of her pancake. And then he got up, and stretched, rolling his shoulders. “I'll go pop by the men's room. Miles to go
before we sleep, and all that.”
“Boy must have been a poetry major.” Lizzy muttered, stealing some more of his bacon.
“Why is it that I always have to defend myself when you're around?” Darcy suddenly asked.
“Um.” Lizzy glanced up, surprised and laughing. “Blame it on the day job, I guess. You're a lawyer, Will.” A thought occurred to her, and she smiled. “Hey, have you ever argued your way out of a speeding ticket?”
Darcy looked contemplative for a moment, then shook his head. “No.”
“Liar.”
“I'm not lying. —— Have you?”
“Yep. Once successful, twice failed.”
Darcy smirked. He was fiddling with his fork absently, turning it over again and again. “I'm not going to lie to you — there have been some mild misdemeanors in my past. By affiliation, I mean — I had some crooked friends. Mostly in college. Nothing bad, though.”
“Wow, that was so discreet and politically correct of you,” Lizzy said, smirking. She chewed thoughtfully. “I doubt I'm going to get any more information on that one.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?” she prompted, setting her fork down.
“It's just… you're…” Darcy winced, and Lizzy enjoyed watching him struggle to put things delicately. “You seem like the sort of girl who would… be more aggressive about things. And maybe get into trouble for it.”
Lizzy half-smiled, and slumped in her seat. “Yeah. No scraps with the law or anything, but I've never really stood for people giving me shit. Even when I was little. Me and my big mouth.”
Darcy chose, wisely, not to reply to that one.
“I went through a really big kicking phase in elementary school,” she mused. “It usually happened at recess, because kids were teasing Jane.”
“Jane?” Will echoed, his face incredulous. “I would have never guessed.”
“Yeah. She was really tall for her age, before everyone caught up with her. The other kids used to call her Skyscraper. She was really sensitive.” Lizzy chuckled to herself and shook her head. “So, I kicked me some ass! And, you know, tore my mother's nerves to shreds, got landed in the principal's office one too many times. My parents were afraid I had anger issues — misplaced aggression is what they called it.”