“Fine. But your dad is going to be pissed. I’m sure through his eyes you’ve majorly downgraded.”
“Well, you’re not his first choice for me, we can’t deny that. But he just wants me to be happy. He’ll see that you make me happy and then he’ll be happy for me!”
“Let’s hope so,” Luke grumbled.
“Come on, get dressed. It’s almost five. They’ll be in the dining room having drinks, no doubt.”
“Good,” Luke rubbed his temples. “Drinks will most definitely be necessary.”
* * *
Darcy stood in the dining room doorway with her hands clasped insecurely in front of her. In the soft candlelight, she could see her parents sitting across from each other, her mother laughing at something her father had just said. Stately and formal as the room was, you’d never know it from the reclined, casual nature of Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam as they lounged lazily over martinis.
They hadn’t seen Darcy standing there, and for a moment she considered turning back, but Luke was standing right behind her and she didn’t want to appear weak, or let her fears show. It wasn’t that she was afraid they’d be mad at her, or even disappointed; she knew she’d seen the worst of that, and that they’d be sure to be as supportive as possible after she had ended up in the hospital. What she did worry about was that they’d have nothing to talk to Luke about, that the words they spoke to him and he to them would be lost in translation, and that it would be one of the many things to scare him away. But he’d been under their roof since late last night, and though the house was big, she was sure they would suspect it by now. It was time to be an adult and face the awkwardness.
Darcy cleared her throat. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam looked up from their conversation.
“Darling, hi!” Mrs. Fitzwilliam beamed. “Come join us.”
“And bring that young man hiding behind you,” Mr. Fitzwilliam joked. “Come on in, Luke. We don’t bite.”
“Good evening, sir,” Luke said stiffly, joining Darcy at the table.
“No need to be so proper, Luke,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam assured him. “You can relax. You’re welcome here.”
“That’s … great to hear.” He sat stiffly in his chair. Darcy stifled a laugh—she couldn’t help but be amused by his palpable discomfort. A maid, one Darcy didn’t recognize, came by and poured water into glasses for Darcy and Luke.
“Thank you.” Darcy nodded her appreciation, and Luke followed suit.
“Wine?” asked Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
“No, thank you,” said Darcy.
“Yes, please,” said Luke, simultaneously.
Mr. Fitzwilliam chuckled.
“Greta,” he addressed the maid. “Will you bring Mr. Bennet a glass of the Chianti?”
“Certainly, Mr. Fitzwilliam.”
The group sat in silence as Greta left and returned with a glass of bloodred wine for Luke. Darcy waited for him to take a sip, then she launched in, driven and cutthroat as if it were a business meeting and time was money. “So. As you probably guessed by now, Luke and I are dating. Thank you for letting us stay here last night—or, I mean, I don’t know if you knew that we were here, but if you did, thank you for not throwing us out. And if you didn’t know any of this, well, now you do, and I’m not sure why I felt I needed to ramble like this, but there, now that information is out on the table.”
“Darcy,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said, “this is as much your home as it is ours. And you don’t have to ask permission to have a guest over. You are a fully grown woman after all.”
“Oh.” She blushed, feeling an odd combination of relief and embarrassment. How could she have forgotten the fundamental truth that she was no longer a child in her parents’ home but a grown woman with a career and a Manhattan loft and even a new boyfriend? “Thanks, Dad.” She took a sip of her ice water.
“Now that we have all that settled”—Mr. Fitzwilliam folded his hands flat against the tabletop—“when’s the wedding?”
Darcy spat out her water. She watched Luke’s eyes bulge from his skull, and she was sure hers were doing the same. She laughed nervously.
“The what?” she asked.
“The wedding, of course,” he repeated. “When are you thinking you’d like to have it?”
“Why … uh…” Luke stuttered. “Why would there be a wedding? I mean … we only just—”
“Well, you both called off engagements. I assumed that meant you were sure about each other being the one.”
“Otherwise, why would you make such big decisions?” added Mrs. Fitzwilliam.
“I … I can’t speak for Luke,” Darcy spoke slowly, her head still spinning, “but in my case, calling off the engagement to Carl was actually just undoing a really big, really wrong decision.”
“It was the same thing for me.” Luke nodded ardently. “I felt pressured to marry Charlotte even though I knew it wasn’t the right choice. Once I realized it was the wrong decision and that I was doing it for all the wrong reasons, I had to call it off.”
“Right…” Mrs. Fitzwilliam tilted her head to one side. “And it was your feelings for each other that made you realize you were making the wrong decisions.”
“Partially, yeah, but—”
“I guess we just don’t understand why you’d want to wait.” Mrs. Fitzwilliam giggled. “You’re obviously crazy about each other.”
Maybe she’s drunk, Darcy thought, hopefully. Maybe they’re both drunk and don’t really mean what they’re saying.
“The Plaza is still an option, if you want to do a New York wedding,” her dad continued, much to her dismay. “But, of course, there are plenty of options right here in Pemberley as well.”
“Now, do you think you’ll be moving back to Pemberley, darling?” her mom asked. “Or Luke, will you be moving to New York? I personally think you should settle in Pemberley; it’s a much finer place to raise kids, after all.”
The word settle paired with the word kids made Darcy light-headed. She didn’t mean to, but she snapped.
“None of this matters right now,” she blurted dramatically, startling the whole table, Luke included. “Today is literally the first day of our relationship. We’re taking things slowly, and quite frankly it’s none of your business anyway.” She felt her cheeks grow hot and her throat close up.
“Now, Darcy,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said gently, “take a deep breath. We don’t want you fainting again.”
He was right; this wasn’t worth another hospital visit. She took a deep breath and tried to tell herself that there was no pressure, that she and Luke could move at their own pace, that china patterns and venue scouting could be safely in the distance if she wanted them to be.
“Excuse me,” she said. “I need to get some fresh air.”
She scooted her chair out and hurried back through the doorway, scampering up one flight of stairs to the top-floor balcony. She pushed open the French doors and breathed in the fresh, icy air. Seconds later, Luke appeared next to her.
“You can’t just leave me alone with them!” He laughed. “That was so awkward!”
“How can you be laughing right now?” she asked, impressed with his composure. “Didn’t you hear them? They’re hearing wedding bells and naming grandchildren in there!”
“So? That’s their problem, not ours.”
“Okay, okay.” She wrung her hands. “Maybe you’re right.”
“You never used to care what your parents thought. What changed?”
“Wrong. I always cared what my parents thought. I defied them anyway, but their disapproval tore me up inside. I just finally got their approval back. I guess I’m scared to lose it again.”
“Hey…” He took her hands in his. “They’re always going to love you, no matter what.”
“You’re right,” she sighed. “I need to chill.”
“Yes,” he agreed, laughing lovingly at her. “You do.”
“But how am I supposed to chill when we have big decisions to make? I mean, even if we don’t plan
on getting married, we have to decide if I’ll move here or you’ll move to New York. But let’s be real. I know you don’t want to move to New York, so that means I have to quit my job and sell my loft and—”
“Whoa, whoa, stop jumping to conclusions. I would move to New York if you wanted me to. I’d happily move to New York or I’d happily stay here. As long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Seriously?” This sounded too good to be true.
“Yes, seriously.”
“But your family is all here. Wouldn’t you miss them?”
“Sure.” He shrugged. “But I’m a grown-ass man, Darcy. I can handle it. I’ll visit them and they’ll come visit us in the Big Apple. It will be fine. If that’s what you choose.”
“So what you’re saying is it’s literally up to me to choose.”
“Literally, yes.”
“Oh boy.”
“But you don’t have to decide right now.”
“But I kind of do! I need to let work know if I’ll be back on Monday.”
“Well, then, you can go back on Monday and think about what you want to do from there.”
“I guess I could do that.” She chewed anxiously on the cuticle hanging off the side of her thumb.
“You know what I think you need?”
“Brain surgery?”
“Very funny.”
“Okay, what? What do I need?”
“A day with Bingley. Why don’t you two go to the spa? You can get massages and manicures or whatever.”
Darcy laughed.
“Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean he likes manicures,” she told him.
“Sure,” he said. “But Jim gets them all the time, so I assumed maybe Bingley did too.”
“Jim gets manicures?”
“I know, pretty out of character, right? He’s normally not into superficial stuff, but he’s weirdly OCD about his nails.”
“You learn something new every day. And you’re right. I’m going to call Bingley. There’s nothing more soothing than spa day with your bestie.”
20
“Can you believe they said that?” Darcy asked. It was the next morning and she was lying next to Bingley on a lounge chair, both of them in terry cloth robes, with cucumbers over their closed eyelids.
“Well, yeah, kind of,” Bingley said, taking a sip of lemon water. “They’ve always been kind of traditional, if not outright conservative.”
“I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t be surprised. I guess I just thought their traditional side would want me not to rush into marriage. Not the other way around.”
“They just want grandchildren, like all old people do,” he explained. “And you’re almost thirty. They don’t want to die before they have a chance for you to reproduce. Or worse, stay alive long enough to see you become infertile.”
“Bingley,” she scolded. “I’m appalled.”
“What? It’s true. You’re not gonna be young forever. And what are you waiting for, anyway? Just get a ring on it and start popping out them babies.”
“Oh really? And what about you? When are you having kids?”
“Um, I know you weren’t a biology major or anything, but maybe you’ve heard that two men can’t make a baby?”
“So? You can adopt. And you should adopt. Do you have any idea how many kids are out there who need homes?”
“I see what you’re doing. We are not making this conversation about me.”
“Fine. Let’s just be quiet and enjoy the pleasure of doing absolutely nothing.”
“Fine with me. What’s on the nothingness agenda?”
“I booked massages in fifteen minutes, and then cinnamon body scrubs right after that. Then I was thinking we could do some sauna time.”
“Ugh, yes,” he said emphatically. “My pores need so much help.”
“Let’s get you a facial too, then.”
“Not gonna say no to that.”
“Didn’t think you would.”
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
“As long as it’s not about marriage or babies or buying a house in Pemberley freaking Ohio.”
“It’s not,” Bingley said, somewhat delicately.
“Then shoot.”
“Does it bother you at all that Luke said … you know?”
“No, what?” Darcy said, though she had more than a clue what he was talking about.
“All that stuff about you being a snob and thinking that you’re better than everyone else. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s obviously crazy about you, but I just keep thinking about it, about what a jerk he was to you that night.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know. I guess that I hope he’s apologized.”
“Of course he’s apologized. And he doesn’t feel that way anymore, remember? I told you the whole story about how—”
“I know, I know,” he said. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah,” she said, rolling her eyes, which was a bit of a challenge beneath the cucumbers. “Maybe you shouldn’t have.”
“Darcy Fitzwilliam?” A masseuse in a black clinical outfit with the words “Oasis Day Spa” embroidered above a breast pocket came out from behind a curtain. “It’s time for your massage.”
“Perfect.” Darcy sipped from her water and stood up, careful to keep the robe closed as she stood.
“See you on the other side,” said Bingley.
“See ya,” said Darcy, with a hint of bitterness.
* * *
As she lay in the cool dimness of massage room A, the recorded sounds of waves washing over her, her thoughts returned to what Bingley had said. It was true, Luke had called her a snob, among other things, but he didn’t think that way about her anymore, did he?
“How’s the pressure?” the masseuse asked in a soft, melodic voice as she kneaded the knots in Darcy’s tense back muscles.
“It’s great, thanks,” Darcy murmured. She wanted to add, “The pressure of life, however, is not so great,” but decided against it.
You’re a snobby New Yorker. She heard Luke’s voice from that night, saying those words that had shocked and crushed her. She rocked her head from side to side, trying to get the voice out of her head.
You’re so obsessed with yourself. There it was again. When she had returned to New York after he said those things, she had buried the memory, pushed it out of her mind, but Bingley had unlocked the box, and now the experience of standing, cold and vulnerable, in the Bennet living room was flooding out.
You don’t know what love is.
All you’re thinking about is yourself.
You should go back to the city and leave me alone.
You’re even worse than I thought.
Darcy squeezed her eyes shut, as if this would chase away the flashes of unwanted memory, but they only grew louder. As much as she now wanted to, she couldn’t pretend it hadn’t happened. But he apologized, she told herself, and he took it all back, so why are you getting so bent out of shape about this?
“Excuse me?” she asked the masseuse. “Do you know which room my friend is getting his massage in?”
“Um, yes,” the masseuse replied, confused. “He should just be in the room next door.”
“Great.” Darcy began to sit up, then stopped herself. “Would it be snobby and selfish and, like, inconsiderate of me if I interrupted this for just one second to go ask him something?”
“Snobby and selfish in what way?” the masseuse asked. “And inconsiderate to whom?”
“Oh,” thought Darcy. “Well, I guess to you.”
“You’re paying me, and this is your massage, so all you’re interrupting is your own massage time.”
“Interesting.”
“I suppose it might be inconsiderate to interrupt your friend’s massage, especially if he’s enjoying it.”
“Oh, I’m paying for his entire spa day. He’ll survive.”
“Well th
en…” The masseuse smiled, clearly amused. “I’ll wait right here.”
“Bingley!” Darcy swung open the door of the adjacent room. Bingley was lying on his stomach with nothing but a tiny towel covering his butt.
“Darcy, what the hell?”
“Excuse me, miss, but—”
“It’s okay, Glenda,” Darcy said, reading the tag on the masseuse’s lapel. “I’m paying for all this. And I tip really well. Will you just give us a moment?”
“Uh … sure.” Glenda wiped the oil from her hands.
“Again, let me repeat: Darcy, what the hell?”
“You’re the one who put those thoughts of what Luke said to me back in my head, so now you’re the one who is going to help me figure them out.”
“What are you even talking about?” Bingley sat up and pulled his terry cloth robe off of a hook and onto his body.
“You reminded me of all those horrible things Luke said to me, and now I can’t get them out of my head. But the thing is, I can’t figure out why.” Darcy sat down on a black leather stool. “It shouldn’t matter anymore.”
“Okay…” Bingley scratched his head. “Why shouldn’t it matter anymore?”
“Because he apologized for them. And he acknowledged that I’ve changed. So I shouldn’t care anymore; what’s passed is passed, right? Ugh, this is so annoying. When did my life become a game of Whac-A-Mole?”
“Whac-A-Mole?”
“Yes, when I’ve moved on from one problem another one pops up right in its place. I was stressed about my parents wanting me to get married, and as soon as I settled down about that, this thing with Luke decides to start haunting me. Partially your fault, but you were right to bring it up.”
“I wish I hadn’t.”
“But you did. So now help me.”
“Oh boy. Well, I guess if this massage isn’t happening…”
“It’ll happen. It will be your reward for helping me.”
“Fine.” He glared playfully at her. “Do you want to know what I think?”
“Obviously.”
“I think what he said is bothering you because, even if he apologized for it, he still meant it when he said it. So, at one point in time, not too long ago, he perceived you as being a snobby elitist without a heart.”