Elizabeth decided she didn’t need to know. “I don’t think it’s such a good idea to get involved with him.” She pulled her sister into an empty corner of the set. “I, um, recently learned that George used to deal drugs—opioids.” No way was she revealing anything about Will’s family to the gossip queen of Hollywood.
“No way!” Wide-eyed, Lydia wiped away meatball sauce with the back of her hand.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Lizzy, he’s too smart for that shit.”
“I have it on pretty good authority. But it was a couple of years ago; I don’t know if he’s doing it now.”
Lydia set down her plate. “It was probably just a phase, like sucking your thumb.”
“Maybe, but please be careful.”
Lydia snorted. “Only losers use drugs. I don’t need them. I’m high on life!” She punctuated this statement with jazz hands.
Elizabeth sighed. Lydia was not taking this seriously. “The smartest thing would be to stop hanging out with him at all. Opioids are serious stuff.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, I didn’t learn that the first seventy-two times they told us in health class. Take a chill pill; you worry too much.”
Maybe Lydia’s right. I’m probably making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be.
Her sister slid her plate into a nearby trashcan. “Lord, it is so easy to wind you up! I don’t know how you’re going to survive med school.” Lydia pulled out her phone. “If you’re done lecturing me, I need to call Kitty.”
Elizabeth watched her sister walk away with a vague sense of dissatisfaction, but she didn’t know how to fix it.
I should focus on avoiding Darcy. She had slept little the night before, wondering how she should respond to his email. Obviously she regretted believing Wickham, but Elizabeth still didn’t want to date Darcy. The briefest glimpses of the man conjured up a toxic mixture of anger, guilt, and awkwardness—not a promising recipe for a happy relationship.
On one hand, he seemed to genuinely like her; nothing else would explain his behavior. He’d made himself vulnerable by asking her on a date and thought she was pretty and intriguing. On the other hand, he seemed to believe all finer feelings were self-serving and implied that she wasn’t attractive enough to become his girlfriend. Also there was the galling assumption that she had a crush on him.
If only she could simply write him off. If only she could manage to ignore that deep, visceral pull when he was near—that tractor beam that kept her in his orbit. She could have watched him for hours: smiling, laughing, brushing hair from his forehead, drinking champagne.
Just because he was tall, dark, handsome, and rich, she had this automatic, involuntary attraction to him. It was a reflex, like when the doctor hits your knee with the little hammer. That was all. A knee-jerk reaction after a lifetime of being told that someone like Will represented the perfect guy. I might as well face it: I’m as programmed as a television remote.
Despite everything, she couldn’t help sneaking another peek at him. He has dark circles under his eyes and lines of tension around his mouth. I hope he’s feeling all right. Filming a movie had to be exhausting for the star; did I add to his burdens? Is he unhappy because I rejected him?
Gah! I’m doing it again. In search of distraction, she went to collect a champagne flute.
I bet he hasn’t given me another thought. Flirting is probably just a reflex for him—part of his cultural programming. As automatic as breathing, it’s something he does whenever he’s in the presence of a marginally attractive woman. He tells them all that they’re pretty and intriguing. That thought depressed her for some reason. Although she couldn’t remember his flirting with any women on the set.
Jane appeared at her side, grabbing a champagne flute as well. “Talk to me.”
“Sure.” Anything would be a welcome distraction.
“Charlie keeps trying to buttonhole me and apologize—again.” Jane’s expression was wistful. “I’ve told him that I forgive him, but I don’t want to get back together.”
“You don’t want to give him a second chance? It’s pretty clear Caroline intended to break you up.”
Jane took a long swallow of champagne. “Yeah, Caroline set him up, but he’s not a toddler. He knew what he was doing; I don’t think he can change his ways.”
That’s another good reason to avoid Will. He and Charlie probably go clubbing and pick up “chicks” together. Ugh.
“All right, I’ll stick with you and act as a Charlie deterrent,” Elizabeth promised. “If he comes anywhere close, I’ll throw meatballs at him until he retreats.”
Jane hooked her arm through Elizabeth’s. “That’s true devotion for you: the willingness to chuck appetizers for the sake of your sister’s emotional stability.”
“Hell, if he’s really awful, I’m even willing to throw entrées.”
At least she could make Jane laugh. Elizabeth stuck with her sister until Roberta needed Jane for a private discussion about her next project.
Elizabeth wandered back to the food table and checked the door yet again. No Ricky. Maybe he wasn’t coming, in which case there was no reason she couldn’t leave now.
“Lizzy?”
She turned to find her father and Will at her elbow. Great. A whole day of avoiding the guy, and now he was directly in front of her—his face so scrupulously dead-pan she had no idea what he was thinking.
“Isn’t the screenwriter coming?” her father asked. “William wanted to compliment him on the script.”
Elizabeth kept her eyes fixed on Tom. “Ricky said he’d come, but I haven’t seen him yet.” She peeked at her watch. “I hope he arrives soon. I need to go.”
Her father snorted. “Why? Do you have a hot date?” As if the idea that she could have a date was ludicrous. A hot flush bloomed over her face. Her father had made similar “jokes” before, but why did he have to do it here? In front of him? She knew she wasn’t movie-star gorgeous; he didn’t need to rub it in. “No, I have to work on med school applications,” Elizabeth said from between clenched teeth.
Her father gave Will a smile and a “what can you do?” shrug. “I sent her to Stanford, and she comes up with an idea like medical school. Can you believe it? She could have a perfectly good career in Hollywood. I’ve told her a million times; she’s organized and persuasive. She’d make a good producer, but she has to do things the hard way.”
To his credit, Will didn’t nod in agreement, instead giving Tom a blank-faced stare. Maybe Elizabeth had been avoiding the wrong person at the party.
The tension that had been accumulating throughout the day abruptly bubbled over. “You know why I don’t want to stay in Hollywood, Dad? Maybe it has something to do with how you laugh at the idea I might have a date. At Stanford, people cared more about what I learned in biochem than whether I had perfectly shaped eyebrows. And I’m sure that’s what my patients will care about, too. You want to know why I want to leave Hollywood? You just demonstrated it!”
Her father had pasted a conciliatory smile on his face. “There’s no need to get upset over a little joke…” But he had turned quite pale. She had never spoken like that to him before.
Elizabeth put her hand to her mouth before she said anything else she would regret. I can’t believe how badly I lost it—and in front of Will! She needed to find an excuse to leave.
“I think you’re right,” Will said to her.
She gaped at him.
“I love being an actor,” he continued, “but I’m not blind to Hollywood’s flaws. And I think it’s great that you want to be a doctor.”
She blinked at him. “Who are you, and what have you done with William Darcy?”
After a pause, Will just laughed, but her father regarded her with wide and horrified eyes.
Will’s eyes met hers. “You are smart and compassionate. I think you’ll make a great doctor.”
“Thanks,” Elizabeth said, wondering if he had just made an oblique apology for
his dismissive attitude the previous day.
Will cleared his throat. “The True Colors program seems to be helping a lot of people.”
“I’m glad you think so.” Elizabeth gave him a bemused smile while Tom stared at her as if she had sprouted wings.
An awkward silence followed, broken by Jane’s appearance. “Still no sign of Ricky,” she said breezily. Elizabeth shot her a grateful look; no doubt Jane had noticed her blowup.
Will picked up the conversational ball. “Usually screenwriters love coming to the set.” Why was he being so amiable tonight?
“I guess writers are allowed to be eccentric.” Elizabeth addressed the remark to Will’s shirt; another glimpse of those blue eyes might deprive her of the power of speech. It was bad enough that he was being unexpectedly nice.
“Ricky really is a remarkable guy,” Jane told Will. “I hope you get a chance to meet him. A lot of the screenplay is based on his life: being transgender and being kicked out of his parents’ house.”
“What’s the writer’s full name again?” William asked.
“Ricky McWilliams, but it’s a pen name,” her father responded. Huh, I didn’t know that. “How’s this for irony?” Tom gestured expansively. “His real name is Richard Fitzwilliam. Isn’t Fitzwilliam your real first name?” he asked Will.
Will couldn’t have been more surprised if someone had run him through with a sword. He made a vaguely affirmative noise.
“Funny coincidence,” her father continued, oblivious to Will’s reaction. “It’s not like Fitzwilliam is that common a name.”
All the blood had drained from Will’s face in a matter of seconds. “No.”
“There he is!” Jane cried. She hurried over to the entrance and pulled Ricky toward their little group. Every time Elizabeth had seen Ricky, he had been laid back and friendly, but today his face was gray, his entire body stiff.
Jane gestured to Will. “Ricky, this is William Darcy.”
Ricky managed an unconvincing smile.
“Regina?” Will said hoarsely.
“Hi, Will.” Ricky extended his hand tentatively. Will took it without hesitation and then pulled the other man into an awkward hug.
Elizabeth exchanged mystified looks with Jane. “I take it you two know each other?” she asked when they had broken apart. It must have been before Ricky transitioned.
Will seemed to have trouble breathing, but Ricky responded, “We’re cousins.”
“Oh my God,” Jane exhaled. Elizabeth’s reality was shifting; she had all the puzzle pieces, but they fit together in a new way.
“I haven’t seen you in…what? Thirteen years?” Will’s gaze was riveted to his cousin’s face.
“Fourteen.”
“Uncle Henry and Aunt Ellen said you ran away from home.”
Ricky’s lips twisted in a parody of a smile. “Is that what they said? They, um, kicked me out.”
Will’s face grew even paler. “Christ.” He ran both hands through his hair as he glanced away from his cousin.
Ricky gave a bitter laugh. “Yeah. They weren’t so happy to discover their daughter was really a son.”
“You should have come to my parents.”
“I did.”
“They turned you away?” Will said in a strangled voice.
Ricky shrugged. “They didn’t want to get involved in a dispute between me and my parents.”
“Oh my—” Will rubbed his hand over his face. “That’s— I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, I guessed.”
“I should have done something. I should have helped you!”
“You were fourteen. There was nothing you could have done.”
“You were homeless. I should have at least searched for you when I became an adult. But I thought…God, Reg—Ricky!”
Ricky put a comforting hand on the other man’s shoulder. “I landed on my feet.”
Elizabeth was torn between believing the men deserved some privacy and thinking that maybe Will could use her support somehow. She sought guidance from her sister, but Jane was mesmerized by the exchange between the two men.
Will seemed oblivious to their audience. “You haven’t talked to your parents since you left home?”
Ricky shook his head. “I google them occasionally to see if they’re still alive.”
“God. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe they did that.”
Ricky stuck his hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. “I wasn’t sure you’d…I mean, I didn’t come to the set because—”
Will laughed. “I’m so glad you came today! Jeez, Georgie and I talked about what happened to you. I even thought about hiring a private investigator.” He frowned. “Did you have anything to do with my being cast in the film?”
Ricky shook his head. “Pure coincidence. You know the screenwriter doesn’t have any say in the casting.”
Will snapped his fingers. “Hell! What am I thinking? You should say hello to Aunt Catherine.” He gestured to the corner of the room where the older woman was surrounded by her admirers.
Ricky raised an eyebrow. “What is she doing here?”
“She’s in the movie, playing Peggy.”
“Huh. I didn’t know that.”
“C’mon.”
Ricky sighed. “She never liked me.”
Will barked a laugh. “She doesn’t like anyone. Come and say hello. At the very least you can pay homage to the latest dog.”
One corner of Ricky’s mouth curved upward. “I have to admit that I’m curious.”
The two men fell into step as they walked toward Mrs. de Bourgh’s chair. Elizabeth followed. These developments were simply too fantastic to ignore.
Will stepped in front of his aunt’s chair like he was bearding a lion in its den. “Aunt Catherine, you have to see who I found!”
He gestured for Ricky to come forward. “Hello, Aunt Catherine. It’s me.” He cleared his throat. “I used to be Regina.”
She peered at him myopically, examining him from head to toe. “Regina? And now you’re a man, huh?”
“I go by Ricky now.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Hmph. You don’t make a half bad looking man.” She stared for another long moment. “At least you’re not a teenager anymore. Teenagers are so messy, leaving crumbs everywhere and spilling sodas. And they never dress appropriately.” Elizabeth managed not to laugh but just barely.
Finally, the older woman waved a hand at the chair next to hers. “Very well, Ricky. Come, sit by me and tell me what else you’ve been up to.”
***
Darcy was already at the table when the maître d’ showed Ricky to it. The two men shook hands. “Am I late?” Ricky asked as he slid into his seat.
“No, no.” Darcy waved this away. “Actually, I was a little early.”
This would be the third time he had a meal with Ricky—including the time his cousin had come for dinner at Pemberley. His parents had flown in from Europe, and Georgiana had come from San Francisco for the event. The evening had been awkward but not a complete disaster. Georgiana had been thrilled to see Ricky, and they had hit it off immediately. Darcy’s parents had been polite at least and had immediately flown back to Europe, much to his relief.
At their first dinner—only a few days after the wrap party—Darcy had arrived with a combination of trepidation and obligation. He barely knew this “new” cousin but felt it was his responsibility to integrate Ricky into the family.
To his relief, Darcy discovered that he rather liked Ricky, who was warm and amiable with a quick wit and a way with words. They had reminisced about summers in the Hamptons and the disastrous Christmas when the tree fell over. Darcy usually warmed to people at a glacial pace, but Ricky was unusually easy to talk to.
He was also enjoying some success as a screenwriter. While In the Shadows was the first of his scripts to be turned into a film, two others had been optioned and one was in pre-production. The cousins had even discussed doing a project together.
&nbs
p; Today their table was tucked into the back of the restaurant, but other diners were staring at Darcy and talking furtively. Fortunately, none had dared to approach his table with a request for a picture or autograph. He shifted uneasily, trying to keep his head down. Perhaps he should have had his new personal assistant make a reservation for a private room. So far they were leaving him alone, but if one person felt bold enough, the floodgates would open and every person in the restaurant would want something.
“When are you leaving for Vietnam?” Ricky asked after a sip of wine.
“Three days.” Darcy couldn’t wait; being in L.A. was making him ready to jump out of his skin. It had only been a few weeks since the wrap party, but as it was, he saw false “Elizabeths” several times a day, some of whom bore little resemblance to the original. At least in Vietnam that would happen with less regularity.
“So how is the project shaping up?” Ricky asked as he perused the menu.
“Well, you know it’s a thriller,” Darcy said. “Not my preferred genre, but the script is good.” He left “beggars can’t be choosers” hanging in the air unspoken, but Ricky gave him a sympathetic look. At a previous meal, they had commiserated over the vagaries of Hollywood. Ricky understood that this new movie represented the best choice Darcy had at the moment.
They had shared their love/hate relationship with the Hollywood universe: the glamour and magic of film warring with the maneuvering and pettiness. “It must be frustrating.”
No need to ask what “it” was. At least Ricky didn’t ask about the Palm Springs incident.
Darcy stared moodily into his wine. “Everyone’s career has ups and downs. Nobody stays on top forever.” At least that’s what he told himself and hoped that it was true. “Fans are fickle, and studios are skittish. That’s Hollywood.”
“In the Shadows is getting good advance buzz,” Ricky said. “That should provide a boost.”
“Yeah. My agent is already fielding some promising offers. It’ll be good to do some projects I’m passionate about.” Actors like Charlie never seemed to have a problem with movies that didn’t ignite their passions; they just took whatever came along. But Darcy wasn’t built that way and never had been. If he wasn’t invested in a project, he had difficulty doing his best work.
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