by Gigi Blume
“Wouldn’t you do the same for a girlfriend if she was making a major mistake with a guy?”
My thoughts shot to my confrontation with Charlotte. How I tried to keep her from Colin. It almost destroyed our friendship. And I was so very wrong about them.
“If I did,” I said after a pause, “she wouldn’t listen to me anyway.”
He laughed. “People rarely do.”
An announcement by the DJ came from the main ballroom. Ten minutes until midnight. Get your champagne for the countdown. Fitz grinned at me and nodded his head toward the bar.
“Should I get us two glasses each? I say we double fist it into the new year.”
Double fisting sounded great if it meant throwing said fists into Will’s smug face. I nodded in acquiescence and Fitz hurried off to get the champagne. My head was spinning, everything was suddenly unraveling out of control. Everything, all Jane’s suffering, the heartbreak. The telenovelas! All of it was because of Will Darcy. Wasn’t the man miserable enough without dragging his friend down his sick misogynistic path? How dare he ruin the happiness of two of the nicest people ever. I knew Bing couldn’t be so evil as to hurt Jane the way he did. He was just too easily influenced—which admittedly wasn’t a very charming character trait. Still, who knows what kinds of threats there might have been? In the end, it was his arrogant and famous friend that was to blame for inflicting them both with extreme sorrow. Okay, I was being melodramatic, but who does that kind of thing? What did Will have to gain by influencing Bing to break up with Jane? Jane! The most affectionate, generous person anyone could ever hope to love. I wanted to scratch his eyeballs out. That horrid man! And to have the gall to boast about how he tore them apart as if he was bragging about his golf score. Anger washed over me with every perusal of it. I had to get out of there.
Tall elegant forms in glitzy finery crushed against me as I bounded my way against the tide in a sea of party guests. I could barely make it to the nearest door into the courtyard before I imagined myself running out of oxygen. I took a deep breath, inhaling the crisp air. It hit me with a frigid blast, cleansing me from the fire burning between my ears. If there were snow on the ground, I’d stick my head in it and watch steam rise like in cartoons. The best I could do was lose myself in the gardens until I could calm myself down enough to drive home. It was almost midnight and the pumpkin was crashing down.
20
Cold Civility
Will
Let’s be honest, here. If I had known Elizabeth was going to be at Rosings, I still would have gone. But if I had known, I could have been better prepared. It was serendipity. Just like in the cheesy romantic comedy movies my sister made me watch with her, the crowd parted and there was Beth. When our eyes met, a jolt of electricity shot through me, temporarily stunning me in place. I couldn’t read her face. Was it surprise? Elation? Indigestion? It’s hard to say. It took me almost a full minute to recover from the stun-gun to my cortex—whichever cortex is responsible for gross motor skills. If my mouth wasn’t suddenly dry, a dribbling of drool might have formed on my chin. The way she looked in that dress. The word stunning does not do it justice. Ethereal. Sublime. Me want. My IQ plummeted into single digits.
As I drummed up the courage to approach her, Colin and Beth’s little bartender friend blocked my path. What in the world was that man wearing? I give him points for individuality.
I wasn’t interested in joining a group chat. That would entail being sociable when clearly my motor functions were barely working. Beth did that to me. The dress didn’t make it any easier. It was simply cut, straight and flowy. No frills. And it was held in place by two thin straps over her elegant shoulders. It was driving me loony. But then the trio disappeared through the crowd, shrouded by faceless blobs obstructing my view. Where were they going?
A few of the faceless blobs tried to strike up a conversation with me as I pursued Beth and her friends. I honestly couldn’t tell you what I said to brush them off or how rude I might have been. I didn’t want to lose sight of Beth.
A streak of pink swept around a corner. Colin’s powder puff tuxedo. I swear, he looked like bubble gum and cotton candy had a love child and well-meaning friends would visit to congratulate them on their new baby bliss but then snicker, saying, “It is unfortunate your baby is so ugly. Have you tried hiding it in a tower?” My eyes were in actual physical pain. But that didn’t matter because…Beth. The pink ruffles and top hat were like a beacon that led me to her—like a very strange light house on a foggy night when the captain of a ship at sea might be all “WTH?” As for myself, I was only interested in hollering “Land ho!” To my chagrin, the land came in the form of one Catherine de Bourgh. I should have known that clown was on his way to seek her approval for whatever nonsense he was currently into. Once he actually wasted a half hour of precious rehearsal time describing his new closet organizer. Shelves! What a concept. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t really saving any space. Maybe if he wasn’t trying to channel 1970s Elton John, his closets would have more room.
I followed the trail to learn where they were going, keeping my distance like a stealthy love-sick James Bond. What was I doing? I was supposed to get this girl out of my thoughts. She assaulted my dreams, stole my peace. Kept me up at night. My trips to her workplace were supposed to fix that. Newsflash: It didn’t help.
She’d deliver me tasteless beer and charge my credit card for the most expensive items on the menu just to spite me. It was strangely alluring. Her moxie. Then I got that phone call and had to leave the restaurant. My sister wasn’t in any danger, but I couldn’t take the chance. It wasn’t the kind of distraction I would have welcomed. But it took my thoughts away from Beth—for a while. A quiet Christmas with my sister was perfectly adequate, thank you. Over the course of a week, I only thought of Beth three times: when I looked at the tree, when I looked at Christmas lights, and when I heard Christmas music play. Only three times. Totally not obsessed with her.
But then there she was. A vision of watercolor on an acrylic backdrop. All soft lines and diffused radiance. Everything else fell out of focus. Why? Why was she there? Surely some demented Cupid had it in for me.
And then that comment she made. Pumpkin pie. She was taunting me. Teasing me. I really loved pie.
I told myself I could keep my distance. Let Fitz show her a good time while I sulked in the corner watching dancers do a lyrical rendition of twister in plastic bodysuits. But then she bolted. Something upset her. What the blazes did Fitz do?
She ran into the gardens, hiding away under the archway of star jasmine vines. She looked like a sprite in a magical dream surrounded by moonlight and white twinkle lights. My heart leapt to my throat.
When she saw me approach, her eyes widened, and she recoiled.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
She answered with cold civility. “Peachy.”
This was new territory for me. Her eyes were leaking. I had no idea how to deal with that.
“Have you been crying?”
Real smooth.
She shot me a severe stare and walked away finding a small amphitheater shaded by billowy canvas sails. It was a creative breezy place to sit in the summer but now on a chilly winter night, it was quiet and still.
“Elizabeth,” I called softly. “Wait.”
She halted her steps but didn’t turn to face me, hugging her arms. She was cold.
“Take my coat.” I rid myself of my tuxedo jacket and offered it to her, but she shook her head vehemently.
“No,” she said in clipped tones. “Thank you.”
She wasn’t a shy woman. Until that moment, I’d never known her to be short on words. Usually the words were laced with pithy and quick-witted banter. Was this another side of Beth? Could it be she had the same paralyzing fears as I did, afraid to face this intense attraction? Did she feel for me what I felt for her?
My whole body was charged with an unquenchable magnetic energy. She was the central force
drawing me in. I could hardly stand it. But I knew my words were inadequate to share that with her. How could I? If I learned anything over my encounters with her over the past few weeks, it was that I was particularly adept in shoving my foot directly in my mouth. So I didn’t speak at all. There was enough noise from the friction in the air between us. It crackled. It popped. It snap, crackle, popped? Eh, okay, a little less breakfast cereal and a little more lightning and thunder. We were in a charged sphere. If we were in a sci-fi movie, you’d see a glowy dome surround us, sparks flying around the edges, and possible levitation.
The far-off voices of party guests counting in unison down from ten assaulted the electric cocoon Beth and I had formed. She turned her head slightly toward the ballroom to listen to the countdown into the new year. Ten seconds suspended in a single breath I was holding. Then she cast her glistening eyes to meet mine. The goddess deigning to acknowledge me. My pulse quickened as she opened her lovely mouth to speak.
“It’s midnight,” she whispered. “You’ll be a frog forever.”
A frog. Doomed to a curse without the kiss of his princess. It wouldn’t do. There was mischief in her expression—a dare. She didn’t think I would follow through. But I was never one to hold back on what I wanted. And I wanted her. I’d wanted her for several weeks but was too full of myself to accept it. Now I was done running from it.
I closed the gap between us, allowing my feet to carry me. I couldn’t have resisted if I’d wanted to. Full disclosure: I didn’t want to. I cupped my hand behind her head; she was so petite, my thumb could reach around to graze her chin. She lifted her gaze to meet mine, hot and cold, and rimmed with a question. I answered with the caress of my lips to hers, slow and savoring. The skin of her lips was soft and pliant, so very dainty and tasted slightly of salt from her tears. I wanted to erase all her tears with my kisses, hold her and shield her from whatever grieved her. Everything within me was charged and culminated in her. In that kiss. Her delicate hands traced the edges of my collar, inching their way up to thread her fingers through my hair.
And then—she yanked, severing her lips from mine, and probably taking a few strands of my hair in her fists.
“Mother Abbess!” I cried reaching to the back of my head. It was stinging from the attack. Her face was flushed with rage and, clenching her teeth, she screamed, “What is wrong with you?”
Wrong with me? Wrong with me?
“You,” I snapped. “You are wrong with me.”
“Me?”
“I have been fighting against my better judgment for weeks. I tell myself that it’s a bad idea, me and you—but I keep coming back for more in spite of myself.”
She stared at me, color rising in her cheeks and was silent. Was it doubt in her expression? I found it excessively difficult to read.
“I shouldn’t let myself get involved with a girl like you, but I find myself unable to stay away, despite the warning bells going off in my head.”
She narrowed her eyes. “A girl like me? What exactly does that mean?”
Foot in mouth.
“A distraction,” I said. “A siren, crashing my ship into the rocks.”
She shook her head with astonishment—or maybe amusement. Crashing my ship into the rocks? Even I thought I was a moron.
“Elizabeth,” I softly bade. I didn’t want to talk. I lost all cognitive ability to speak around her. All I wanted was to kiss her again. One kiss wasn’t enough. Twenty kisses wouldn’t be enough. My desire for her was insatiable.
I reached for her, needing to convince her with a gesture I found lacking in the encumbrance of words. Pesky words. But she recoiled hastily, violently opposed to my touches.
“I can’t sleep at night. I can’t eat, can’t concentrate on anything,” I pleaded, appealing the best I could to her sense of compassion.
Note to self: This is not an effective tactic when it comes to strong-willed women. But I didn’t know better at the time.
“You are not the kind of woman I usually date,” I said. My foot was halfway down my throat by this time, so why not shove it down further? “But I’m willing to take a chance with you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Lucky me.”
This was going all wrong. Where were my lines? Where was the script? Even so, I had the feeling if there was a script, this scene would go off-book anyway.
“Should I be grateful the amazing Will Darcy has condescended to bestow his glory upon me? I suppose you expect me to thank you for the unique honor of your attention, oh Great One.”
“I never said—”
“I’m not impressed by you,” she spat. “I never asked to be singled out by you, and I don’t care what kind of girl you usually date. I’m obviously not your type, and if you get over yourself for three seconds, you’ll realize you’re not my type either. I’m sure after all the flattering and warmhearted compliments you’ve paid me, you’ll survive. That last bit was sarcasm in case you were wondering.”
She was putting up her dukes. It was war with this woman. Also, was I reading her all wrong this whole time? Reading that kiss wrong? Because for a moment there, she was really into it.
“Hold up,” I said as calmly as I could, “Why are you still pretending to hate me? I thought we were past all that.”
“I’m not pretending to hate you. This isn’t some Netflix rom com. Life isn’t a movie.”
“Then why? What do you have against me?”
Besides your lips. I would very much like those against me again, please.
“Oh, where should I begin? Ah, here’s one. After you basically insulted me, you still want to go out with me, even if it goes against everything you stand for. Charming. Real charming.”
She turned her back to me as if to walk away but thought better of it and spun back around to point her forefinger into my chest.
“But that’s not even why I’m mad at you,” she snapped. “I have a thousand and one reasons to be peeved with you right now—including what you did to separate Bing from my friend.”
Ah here we go.
“A thousand and one? Really?”
“You’re not funny. You think you are, but you’re so not. You’re the opposite of funny.”
Her finger was poking me repeatedly.
“You are anti funny. Playing with Jane’s emotions, ruining her happiness on a whim, just because you can—because it’s easy to influence impressionable men like Bing. And now they’re both miserable. Congratulations. You must be so proud.”
A lump formed in the pit of my stomach. She had no idea what the truth of it was. How could I explain it in such a way to prevent her from strangling me?
She put her hands on her hips. “Are you going to deny what you did?”
I had to assume some sort of dignity and so I rolled my shoulders back and proudly responded, “I have no desire to deny anything. Yes, I convinced Bing to stay away from Jane. But he wouldn’t have acted on my suggestions if he didn’t think I was right. Guess what? I was right. And I’m happy he ended it before making the biggest mistake of his career.”
If only I could follow my own advice.
Bing was a stronger man than I. My attraction for Beth was too intense. She didn’t seem to be listening, though. She went on.
“And what about Jorge?” she said. “What do you have to say about what you did to him?”
My ears rang at the mention of that name. I noticed my hands clench into fists, and it took everything in me not to growl like one of those orcs from Lord of the Rings.
“You,” I said through clenched teeth, “concern yourself too much with Jorge Wickham.”
“That’s because I have a beating heart that’s not shrivelled up and void of feeling. That poor guy.”
“That poor guy?” I repeated with contempt. “Oh yeah. He’s poor, all right.” It was such an absurd notion, it made me laugh.
“Yes. Poor. Because of you,” she cried. “You have taken away everything he had a right to—reduced him to nothing, cut
him off, turned people against him. Ruined his career. You did all this. And you think it’s funny. It’s all a joke to you.”
“Again with the funny. I don’t think I’m funny.” Admittedly I had just been laughing, but only because Beth was so worked up. And that did something new to me I couldn’t process.
“You think you’re awesome,” she sneered. “You… you with those eyes. And that hair.”
My eyebrows creeped up my forehead. “My eyes and my hair?”
She stuttered, like she was trying to pedal backward on a ten-speed bike. “Y-y-yeah. Superficial. A product of Hollywood. But ugly on the inside.”
A knife of silence sliced through the air at those bitter words. Sure, I’d been on those sexiest man alive lists, but I never gave them much credit. Frankly, I wish I had a big nose or something… get some meaty roles for my actual acting chops. But ugly on the inside? Ouch.
“Is that the way you see me?” I spat. “That’s your opinion of me?”
I paced the space like a caged lion. This wasn’t the New Year’s kiss I imagined.
“I’m the bad guy according to you. But maybe, just maybe your skewed opinion of me is clouded by your insecurity.”
“Whaaat?”
“You heard me.”
I was that caged lion. But I had a thorn in my paw, and the only thing I knew to do was roar.
“You got your feelings hurt because I didn’t flatter you. Because I was honest. Maybe if I sugarcoated things and puffed up your ego, you wouldn’t be so offended. Maybe I should have congratulated myself for falling for someone so far removed from my circle. Or if I had held back my true feelings leading you to believe a relationship between us would be easy. But I didn’t because I’m not a liar. I’m not ashamed of what I said to you. I meant it. Every. Single. Word.”
Her jaw dropped about a thousand feet without a parachute. HA! Take that.
She clenched her teeth and did that thing with her chin when trying to appear taller.
