Page 78 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

“Why is it so important to you that you won?” he asks, his brows pulling together in confusion. “Why does it matter?”

I let out a breath. “Because it was mine. Something good that finally happened to me after years and years of ... disappointment.” The last word catches on a sob, and Zane instinctively reaches for me. I step back, pushing his hand away. “But now, instead of something I earned, it feels like I’m here because someone else decided I should be—just another thing someone has done for me, another thing I’ll never be able to repay.”

“Macey,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “You don’t owe us anything.”

“That’s good,” I say, my words laced with bitterness. “Because at this point, I wouldn’t know where to start.”

He takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, his tone is gentler. “My parents love you, Mace. We all do. We’d do anything for you.”

“I know,” I say. “And I love all of you; I do. But you can’t keep stepping in. Do you know how that makes me feel? Like nothing is my own. Like nothing good that’s happened to me is mine. Amelia is always trying to fix things for me—your parents too. And you’re even changing your plans and jumping on planes for me.”

“I thought you didn’t want to go alone,” he says, squinting his eyes. “You were crying at the airport. I thought—”

“I was crying because I’d gotten another ‘please forgive me’ email from my mom,” I cut in, letting my arms fall to my sides. “Not because I was too scared to go by myself.”

“Oh.” He runs a hand through his hair, messing it up in that familiar way he always does when he’s frustrated or unsure. It’s been so carefully styled this week that I almost forgot how he looks with it like this—so much younger, softer, more like Zane.

“I didn’t know,” he says softly.

“That’s on me,” I admit, my voice quiet now. “I let you believe that. I should have said something. I ... need to work on that.”

“You’re doing a great job right now,” he says, offering a sad smile.

For a moment, I almost apologize. The word “sorry” teeters on the tip of my tongue, but I catch it. I’m not the kind of woman who apologizes for things anymore. Well, I still might be because it’s the polite thing to do, but only if I’m actually in the wrong. No more taking responsibility for other people’s feelings.

I exhale, feeling the weight of everything between us. “I don’t need you to save me. Or your parents. Or Amelia.”

“You’re right,” he says. “I’m sorry. I feel like such a jerk now, invading your trip like I did.”

I shake my head. “I’m not sad you came, Zane. There have been some amazing moments that wouldn’t have been the same without you. But what about you? You were supposed to be figuring out your future; have you even thought about what you want to do?”

He lifts a shoulder, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a self-deprecating way. “Not really.”

“See?” I say, letting out a shaky breath. “You were supposed to be on a beach in Costa Rica, figuring out your life, and instead, you jumped into thisPride and Prejudiceadventure with me.”

“Macey—” he starts.

“You can be so impulsive, Zane,” I say, cutting him off. “And that’s something I’ve always admired about you—how you can just decide to hop on a plane to England without a second thought.”

“That wasn’t me being impulsive,” he says, defensively.

“Yes, it was. You’ve done it all week. What about jumping into reenacting with hardly any preparation or even hesitation to do it? Who does that? What about getting me to sneak out with you?” I swallow hard, forcing myself to say the next thing on my mind. “Or what about kissing me? Did you think that through?”

His eyes widen. “Of course,” he says, but then his gaze drops to the ground. My words, it seems, have struck a chord.

I wait for him to say something, to deny it, but he doesn’t.

“I don’t want to be something you decide on a whim, Zane,” I say, my voice trembling. “Or someone you think you can save.” It might be the most real thing I’ve ever said, and yet it doesn’t feel empowering. It just feels ... sad.

He looks at me then, and there’s hurt there, and I hate that I’ve done that to him. I want to fix it, to tell him that it’s okay, but I know I can’t. I have to stop with all that.

“Macey, that’s not how I feel about you,” he says, his voice steady now. “I’m not trying to save you—I just want to be with you. Isn’t that enough?”

I shake my head, and tears fill my eyes. “I don’t think you know how you feel. It’s only been a week since I could act like an actual human around you. That’s not enough time to know.”

“So that’s it? You’ve just decided?” he asks, his forehead creased, his tone heavy with disbelief.

Tears are streaming down my cheeks now. Because as much as I want to tell him no, that I haven’t made up my mind ... I think deep down, I already have. If we try this and it turns out to be another one of his impulsive decisions—if one day he wakesup and realizes I’m not what he wants—I don’t think I could handle that.

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