Page 103 of A Searing Acquaintance
Darcy stared up at her, wondering at her denials and the edge in her voice. He knew she was nervous about the book party and the decisions she hoped to hear soon from publishers for her new work. But she hadn’t been this contentious with him since…before they were them.Was their first fight going to be over whether or not she thought herself beautiful? He looked at her steadily, fear and frustration warring within him.
“Sweetheart…” He rolled to the side of the bed and grasped her hand, pulling her down beside him. Carmen meowed and raced out of the room. “You overwhelm me. You take my breath away. I will never stop telling you these things. I can’t.”
“But no one has ever…” Her head dropped and she stared at her toes. She’d teased him and painted her toenails orange last week. It really was a hideous color. She sighed shakily. “I’m sorry, Will. This is stupid. I don’t want to argue about this…me.” She looked up at him. “I’m just nervous.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “But it’s a good kind of nervous, right? Because you’ve put in all the work, and the book is brilliant.” He put his finger on her lips as she started to protest. “Elizabeth, you know it’s great. Just enjoy it now.” He smiled. “Enjoy your moment.”
She reached for him and pulled him into an urgent, desperate kiss. As they fell back into the sheets, she stayed him with her hand and whispered, “Ourmoment.”
He sent flowers to Elizabeth’s office in the morning, and that night, he watched her at the book party, dazzled by her smile, her mastery of the crowd and the subject, and her easy way with everyone there. Darcy knew she was nervous, but she didn’t betray it for a moment. Not when a book critic asked about PEDs and drug scandals. Not when a partygoer raised her eyebrow upon learning Elizabeth had her master’s in creative writing. Not when Mr. Philips knocked over a stack of books onto the foot of theSports Illustratedreporter. She won the room, and she won the attention of a few young men (and women) who clearly—to Darcy, anyway—wanted more than just an interview with his girlfriend. It felt good to be territorial, and he didn’t mind showing it off in front of his cousin. Rich just laughed and made Darcy promise he’d be the best man. “I’m already writing the toast in my head.”
“Good to hear something is going on in there,” Darcy replied. “Otherwise, the world has gone to hell.”
“Yes, it has. But you’re in love with a beautiful woman, so all is right with yours.”
Darcy’s slow, happy smile prompted another round of eye rolling. A literary agent desperate for a mojito caught Rich’s eye, and he dashed off to make her acquaintance before escorting her to a bar just around the corner. Darcy watched them leave, and it hit him that, for the first time since he’d met Elizabeth, they’d be leaving a party together.
Charlotte, near the bar talking with Jane and Mary, had made sure to tell Darcy he was a lucky man, getting over his previous stumbles and winning the heart of her best friend. Mary, silently observing Darcy and Elizabeth exchanging glances and holding hands, had nodded when Jane asked her to stay quiet about the unsurprising and not unwelcome romantic development. She rather liked the quiet, well-read man. He was definitely the best-looking guy she’d ever met who’d actually readThe Hobbitmore than once.
The remaining members of Elizabeth’s family had sent their regrets, though only the Gardiners, home with two sick children, were genuine in their regret and truly missed. Ted Bennet had told his daughter that, while coffee-table books about sports stars might pay the rent, they couldn’t feed the soul. Thinking he would inspire her, he’d added that he’d wait for something of greater substance to emerge from her highly educated brain. Darcy ground his teeth thinking about the expression on Elizabeth’s face as she’d told him that last night. He still knew herfamily only tangentially; she preferred not to introduce him as her boyfriend until Charles and Jane’s wedding to spare him her father’s jokes. More likely, she was sparing herself his scorn, the only emotion Darcy had seen the man offer beyond semi-benign neglect. One of these days, he’d finally get her to talk about them. And perhaps, one day, she’d tell him exactly what Aunt Patricia had said, though he had his suspicions.
Now as he watched her, it hit him that, as paltry a father figure as Ted Bennet was, the larger issue was that Elizabeth didn’t have a mother either. Her stepmother filled in—somewhat—but the ghost of Sylvia Bennet lingered. She was alive, but Elizabeth never referred to her as mum or mom or mother. She’d abandoned her daughters—made them feel less than deserving of love. Like him, Elizabeth had lost her mother, but it had been her bloody mother’s choice.
From the little Elizabeth had told him, Jane had flung herself into relationships, hoping to find the perfect fit, while she’d shied away from them, distrustful of those who might show affection. God, he’d been so fortunate; whatever mistakes they’d both made early on, however big an ass he’d been to her, he hadneverbetrayed her trust.
Darcy leaned against the bar and gazed upon the beautiful woman he loved. She was laughing and smiling, cajoling Mr. Philips, intently conversing with sportswriters and book reviewers, and greeting the book’s subjects and introducing them to one another. Darcy saw members of the crowd watching her as he once had: fascinated, curious, unknowing but intrigued.They can look all they want, but she is mine.
When the evening ended and they climbed into the car, he held her close and expressed, as always, his awe at her talents and her beauty. Then he got to more immediate concerns. “Tell me you’re wearing nothing under that little black dress.”
Elizabeth, a tad tipsy with joy over the evening, nodded solemnly. “I’m wearing nothing under this little black dress. Except something pink and lacy and possibly edible.”
Their driver saw and heard nothing. He’d swear to it.
The following evening, they spent their third-ever night at her apartment. Darcy had pushed the point, wishing to spend more time immersed in her world, surrounded by her things, especially now thatJane had moved out. Always a light sleeper, he woke up when he heard a crash, followed by a hushed “Dammit!” in the kitchen.
Pulling himself from the warm bed, he wandered into the kitchen and found Elizabeth wiping up loose tea from the countertop. “Love, is something wrong?”
She didn’t want to tell him that she was still angry with her father and his excuses for not attending the book party. She hated complaining about her parents’ neglect. Fitzwilliam Darcy was the last man in the world who needed to hear such whining. She didn’t want to talk about what Jane had told her about Sylvia. She’d only had him for a few weeks, and too many things were changing. No pre-game superstition or ratty gray cardigan was going to stave off bad things.
But she had to tell him. She owed Darcy the same honesty she demanded of him. Elizabeth finished making a pot of tea then curled up on her oversized red sofa and told him about Sylvia’s impending visit and her dread of it all.
“She wasn’t so bad.”
“Right. You met her at the engagement party. You saw her! I don’t want her near you or near me. I don’t want you to see her and think, ‘Oh, Elizabeth has that same expression or nervous gesture’ or something. I do not want to be anything like her. I don’t want her in my life. I don’t want her to mess up Jane’s wedding.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she angrily wiped it away.
“Darling, it’s?—”
Eyes welling up, Elizabeth shook her head. “She doesn’t deserve us. She made a choice and left us. She thought she was a wonderful person for waiting until after my birthday party. Well, I get a choice too, and it’s too late. I don’t want her for my mother. I want a mother like you had—” She froze. “Oh God, I’m sorry; that isn’t fair.”
Darcy leaned forward and pulled her onto his lap. “It’s okay, it’s okay. I lost a wonderful mother. And you lost a woman who didn’t grasp what it meant to have children and feel that unconditional love. You’re right. She doesn’t deserve you.”
She looked sad and unsure and, he realized, frightened. He kissed her forehead. “Elizabeth, I watched you at the book party. You charmed and educated everyone. Your book is fantastic. I’m so proud of you. You took a one-shot marketing tool your boss thought up and turned it into a book with big names and mass-market appeal. It was your ideas and your writing that did that.”
She smiled a little and slipped her arms around his waist.
“And, despite their flaws and imperfections, you love people unconditionally. Jane, your family, Charlotte…and me. My God, you know every awful thing about me, and you absorb it, and you turn it around and manage to love me more. That isyour gift, and it’s amazing.”
He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “You get to choose who you trust with your heart. I’m beyond fortunate to have earned your trust. But your…Sylvia can’t demand it. She has to earn it, and then you make the choice.”
