“Nothing valuable; no jewelry, rings, no cash in your wallet, no credit cards. Just your driver’s license and your phone.”
Darcy tried to imagine what jail would be like, but the whole thing seemed fantastical and horrible—a nightmare, like trying to imagine visiting Hell.
“Will, are you still with me?” Burton’s voice sounded very far away.
“Yeah.”
“There will be media—shouting, lights, cameras in your face, the works. There’s nothing we can do about that. Just cooperate with the police and don’t say anything, okay?”
Darcy forced the words out despite feeling as though he were agreeing to his own execution. “Okay.”
After hanging up, Darcy stared at the wall and wondered what one wears to get booked in jail. What would fashion gurus advise? Loose, comfortable clothing? Look your best in up-to-date styles?
What am I wearing now? He had to look down. Sweatpants, bare feet, and a t-shirt that had seen better days five years ago. Yeah, I don’t want to be filmed like this. If his arrest would be on the cable news, he shouldn’t resemble someone who would give drugs to a teenage girl.
But Darcy didn’t move. He simply didn’t have the energy to go upstairs and change.
Pulling out his phone again, he flipped it to the only picture of Elizabeth he had. Taken on the In the Shadows set, it showed her laughing unrestrainedly at something that Jane had said. Covering Jane’s image with his hand, he stared at Elizabeth, happy, uninhibited, warm, and alive. God, he’d never talk to her again, would he? He’d never see her again—except maybe if she came to the trial. Oh, hell. Would they ask her to be a witness?
He peered out the window again, and his entire body clenched. There they were. A procession of two black-and-white police cars with lights flashing (but no sirens) and an unmarked car—most likely inhabited by the two detectives he had spoken with before whose names he couldn’t recall at the moment. What did that procession represent? Five police officers? Six? Why so many? It’s not like he was an international assassin; he didn’t even own a gun.
No, it was more likely that everyone wanted to be part of the action. “Yes, Grandson, it’s true. Once I helped to arrest William Darcy. Did you know he was wearing sweatpants and a ratty t-shirt?”
I really should go upstairs to change. But there was something mesmerizing about watching the flashing lights of the police cars as they snaked their way up the steep driveway.
Then they stopped.
All three cars came to a halt when they were only halfway up the drive. Did they feel the need to storm Pemberley? Were the officers going to get out and take selfies before they arrested him?
There’s a possibility that I’m getting a little hysterical, Darcy mused in a rather detached way.
No doubt the paparazzi around the gate were in a feeding frenzy. Their seven-day vigil was about to pay off. Had any of Darcy’s fans heard yet? A big crowd would probably assemble at the police station, eager to watch him get manhandled out of a car in handcuffs.
Why had they stopped?
His phone rang again. Burton.
He put the phone to his ear. “Yeah.”
“Will, they’ve canceled the warrant.”
“What?” This news was almost as hard to believe as the previous call had been.
“They’re not coming to arrest you after all.”
That would explain why the cars had stopped. “Why?”
“I don’t have all the information, but apparently someone came to the station with a recording from the witness, Flip Markham, in which he admits Wickham paid him to say you were driving the car.”
He felt a little lightheaded. It was as if the Tooth Fairy had delivered an early Christmas present wrapped by the Easter Bunny. “Who?” Darcy croaked. Who brought the recording?
“Some name I don’t recognize. Apparently someone who knows Markham. Garrett Cho?”
Suddenly weak-kneed, Darcy groped around for the nearest chair and fell into it with a dull thud. Garrett. Of all people… Garrett had come through for him.
On the driveway, the second police car was making a slow three-point turn. The first was already heading back to the street, and the third was waiting until the others were clear.
Burton continued. “The case isn’t closed; the police will interview the witnesses, but it looks promising.”
Thank God. Darcy glanced down at his hands and saw they were shaking violently.
Outside the window, the last of the police cars disappeared from view. “Once you’re cleared, you’ll be able to talk to the Bennet family. A little birdy told me you might be sweet on one of the daughters.”
Elizabeth…
Darcy hurriedly stomped on nascent tendrils of hope. Would she even want to speak with him? Yes, she had wanted to talk when the whole shitstorm had broken, but he’d rejected her rather brutally—and she’d had plenty of time for second thoughts since then. Even if Darcy was definitively cleared, Elizabeth had been through hell. Surely she would decide she was better off without the complications his media profile would bring to her life.
Plus, he didn’t really know how she felt about him. She hadn’t told him she loved him back. Even the strongest love would be tested by what they had been through—and it was quite possible he was experiencing a one-sided infatuation that she had already dismissed.
Hell, she probably wanted to move to Baltimore and become a doctor in peace. And Darcy shouldn’t stand in the way. If he loved her, he owed her that much.
He had been silent for a long time. “Was that rumor wrong?” Burton asked.
“Yeah, it’s wrong,” Darcy said. “There’s nothing going on between me and any of Tom Bennet’s daughters.”
Chapter Eighteen
Elizabeth fussed with the folds of her gown, trying to get them to lay flat so she wouldn’t wrinkle the dark purple satin. Beside her, Jane clasped and unclasped her hands mechanically. Unable to stand it anymore, Elizabeth took one of her sister’s hands in hers. “Don’t worry about the award. It’s your night. Just enjoy it.”
Jane took a deep breath. “I know. I keep telling myself I’ve been to the Academy Awards; I know how it goes. But I’ve never been nominated before. It’s a whole new level of anxiety.” She gave Elizabeth a self-deprecating smile. “What if I win?”
“You’ll be fine.” Elizabeth smiled at her. “Remember, you have the cheat sheet of thank yous in your pocket.”
On Jane’s other side, Ricky blew out a breath and gave his girlfriend a jittery smile. “You think you’re nervous? At least you’re a performer. You’re used to audiences and delivering lines. What’s a poor screenwriter supposed to do if he wins?”
Jane’s free hand squeezed his. “I hope you win Best Screenplay. It would mean so much to all those trans kids out there.”
Ricky grimaced. “Thanks, honey. That’s the way to take the pressure off.” They laughed.
Their group fell silent for a moment. In the opposite bank of seats, Elizabeth’s mother was telling Lydia about movie roles she could audition for. “The first one I thought of for you is being directed by Sterling Taylor, who’s very up and coming. It’s about a world-champion knitter who acquires a limp as a result of a tragic blender accident—”
As Lydia’s first industry event since the accident, her trip to the Oscars was garnering a fair amount of media scrutiny. All the drama about who had driven her car had heightened interest in the story and transformed Lydia into a media darling.
Oddly enough, she didn’t seem to care. Over the past three months, she had devoted all her energy to physical therapy and her recovery. She still needed a crutch to walk, but the therapists thought she’d be past that stage soon.
Lydia cut her mother off. “Mom, I told you, no more auditions! I’m on a crusade to rid the world of coral lipstick.” She had indeed declared her desire to quit acting and become a makeup designer. Their mother was reluctant to accept her youngest daughter’s decision, but Lydia seemed happ
y—and more than a little relieved—with her choice.
“But there’s another role that would be perfect—” Franny Bennet was nothing if not persistent.
“No,” Lydia said emphatically.
Without missing a beat, her mother turned to Kitty. “What do you think, Kitty? Could you limp convincingly?
“Me? You want me to audition?” Kitty positively glowed in the light of her mother’s attention while Lydia seemed equally pleased to have lost it.
Every time Elizabeth saw Lydia’s crutch, she felt a flare of anger at George Wickham, which was only partially mitigated by knowing that he’d be in prison for a long time. It hadn’t taken much pressure from the police before Flip had agreed to turn state’s evidence and give up Wickham’s location. The reckless driving charge alone wouldn’t have gotten him that much jail time, but police had found sufficient quantities of opioids to put him away for a while.
Elizabeth leaned across her sister to squeeze Ricky’s hand. “I don’t have to worry about giving a speech,” Elizabeth said to them both. “I’m just here for moral support, so let me know if I can help.”
Jane returned a grateful but slightly worried smile; surely she had noticed the way Elizabeth was fidgeting with the folds of her dress. Jane could always tell when her sister was fronting. Although Elizabeth didn’t have the weight of an Oscar hanging over her head, the prospect of seeing Will again was just as daunting.
She had expected to hear from him after Garrett’s actions cleared his name. When that hadn’t happened, Elizabeth had called and texted him, only to discover he had changed his number. Perhaps he hadn’t intended it as a signal that he wasn’t interested in continuing their relationship, but Elizabeth took it that way. Her number hadn’t changed; he wouldn’t have had trouble getting in touch with her.
She concluded that he simply couldn’t get past his disgust with her family. After all, they had nearly gotten him arrested and had refused to tell the press they believed in his innocence. In his shoes, she would probably want to avoid everything Bennet as well.
And then the celebrity internet sites had been full of pictures of Will with Caroline Bingley at various premieres, restaurants, and industry events. Certainly it made far more sense for him to date a fellow actress than to pursue a wannabe doctor.
Elizabeth had had three months to get over it. And those months had been full: being a lab assistant at a clinic in L.A., helping Lydia recover, and completing med school applications. She didn’t think about Will much during the day, but at night when she couldn’t sleep…that was a different story. That was when every muscle in her body seemed to stiffen, and scenes from their glorious weekend together replayed in her head. At those moments, the prospect of encountering Will at the Oscars made her hands sweat and her heart beat more rapidly.
She had considered skipping the event, but In the Shadows was nominated in so many categories that she simply couldn’t stay home.
It had been awkward when she needed a date. Her life had been so busy she hadn’t had time to date, but she’d had an extra ticket. Charlotte had actually offered to lend her Bill; Elizabeth had somehow managed to decline without gagging.
She had considered various possibilities—friends or ex-boyfriends—but nothing seemed right. Until she had arrived at the perfect solution. She turned and smiled at her date, who smiled back. At least that part wouldn’t be awkward.
Then suddenly they were pulling up in front of the auditorium and the chauffeur was opening the door—and still Elizabeth didn’t feel quite ready. Her parents and younger sisters exited first. The media fussed and exclaimed over Lydia and her date.
When Jane emerged with Ricky, the crowd erupted in cheers. Her portrayal of Jordan had been a fan favorite, and she had already won a Golden Globe. Nobody even noticed when Elizabeth and her date stepped out of the limo, but she was just as happy. Being at the Oscars was overwhelming enough; she didn’t need additional scrutiny.
An usher held them back while Ricky and Jane greeted the phalanx of reporters, giving each one of them a soundbite before moving on to the next. Elizabeth didn’t mind waiting; she craned her neck to spot celebrities entering the auditorium.
Then the usher instructed them to stay on the left side of the red carpet—which was rather wide— and walk directly toward the main entrance. Elizabeth had been briefed that non-celebrities were shuffled to the left so they wouldn’t interfere with the celebrity interviews taking place on the right side. As they hurried along the path, Elizabeth did her best to look around and soak up the ambience.
She passed an entertainment show host interviewing Glenn Close and then an ABC News reporter chatting with Billy Crystal. Next up was her father talking with great solemnity to a reporter from The New York Times. They were nearing the entrance; Elizabeth wondered which movie stars she would see inside.
Then she faltered. The last couple being interviewed on the red carpet was Caroline Bingley…and William Darcy.
***
Darcy had been to the Academy Awards seven times, and this was his third nomination. In the past he had been nervous about many of the details: whether he had the most au courant look or the right designer tux or if he could make the necessary industry contacts. When he was a presenter, he’d focused on not flubbing his lines. When he was a nominee, all his energy had been concentrated on giving a speech if he won, which he hadn’t—so far.
Tonight, however, all he could think about was his date: who she was and who he wished she was. For a brief shining moment after the premiere, he had dreamed of walking the red carpet with Elizabeth on his arm. What a fool he’d been to ever worry that she didn’t have the Hollywood “look” or that she wasn’t a name the reporters would recognize. Now he’d give anything to face such “worries.”
Even now he couldn’t help picturing her by his side on the red carpet or during the ceremony. She would make sardonic comments in his ear while they sat through endless speeches and would whisper words of encouragement while he waited to hear if they would announce his name. Her presence would make the whole thing bearable; Caroline’s certainly wouldn’t.
But then…Wickham had happened. The guy was like a man-sized natural disaster. Darcy couldn’t be happier that he was facing a nice, long prison term. But revealing the truth didn’t undo the damage the man had caused. If Wickham hadn’t tried to frame Darcy, he might be here with Elizabeth. He tried to push such thoughts out of his mind, but the Academy Awards seemed to have reset his emotional dial to “gloom.”
I’m probably idealizing Elizabeth, he told himself. She would have seen through me eventually; she would have figured out that I didn’t deserve her. No doubt it was better this way, with their relationship confined to the memory of one perfect weekend.
He figured she had moved to Baltimore anyway and was dating Mr. Doctor-in-the-Making. Darcy had seen Ricky and a few other mutual friends over the past months, but he hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask about her. He was afraid to know the answer.
However, as the Oscars drew closer, Darcy couldn’t help wondering if Elizabeth might visit L.A. for the ceremony. Her father would receive an Oscar if In the Shadows won Best Picture. Jane and Ricky had both earned nods for the movie. So had Darcy, although she obviously wouldn’t attend just for the pleasure of seeing him win.
Ironically, Darcy had barely thought about the nomination at all. Oddsmakers in Vegas were giving him the edge in winning Best Actor, and all Darcy could think about was whether Elizabeth would be at the ceremony. It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. And he couldn’t help it. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even see her. There were more than a thousand people at the event. Elizabeth could sit a couple of rows over, and Darcy wouldn’t even know she was there.
Even if he saw he saw her, it wouldn’t change anything. They’d exchange a few polite words and go their separate ways. After all, Elizabeth would have her dreamy doctor date, and Darcy was stuck here with Caroline. He’d invited her to most of his industry events rec
ently, primarily out of laziness. She was eager and available and eminently suitable. Best of all, she’d been willing to settle for being seen with him; she loved the prestige enough that she had stopped pressuring Darcy for something more. Their arrangement also kept Roy off Darcy’s back. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.
Tonight, however, it wasn’t feeling very beneficial to Darcy. Miffed that she hadn’t received a Best Supporting Actress nomination, Caroline had done nothing but complain from the moment they hit the red carpet. Her dress scratched. The air was too cold. She was hungry. She didn’t have a diamond as big as Nicole Kidman’s. She thought Angelina Jolie’s dress was terrible. The EW reporter ignored her. The CBS reporter didn’t spend enough time with her.
Darcy had finally stopped responding, even with grunts, but that hadn’t slowed the flow of inanity. He tried to tune her out completely while also attempting not to think about Elizabeth. Doing mental jujitsu was not improving his mood.
He couldn’t mention Elizabeth within earshot of Caroline. Somehow sensing her competition, Caroline could disparage Elizabeth for fifteen or twenty minutes at a time without stopping to take a breath. Darcy sighed. When he’d envisioned attending the Oscars as a kid, he’d never expected he’d spend most of his time thinking about what he shouldn’t be doing.
God, this Elizabeth-shaped hang-up was stupid. He responded to reporters’ questions on autopilot while constantly checking over their shoulders in the hopes he might catch a glimpse of her. I’m such a fool. Her whole family probably burned him in effigy every night, and yet he couldn’t help hoping for a quick look.
He was talking with the reporter from ABC when he noticed Tom and Lydia Bennet working the red carpet. If she was attending the event, Elizabeth would be nearby, although the ushers would have sent her on the non-celebrity route. He strained to find her amidst the crowds over the reporter’s shoulder.
She gave him a polite smile. “Mr. Darcy?” Apparently he had stopped talking.
He gave her an abstracted look. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Darcy in Hollywood Page 26
