The Pride and Prejudice of Musicians

by Jessica Daw

  “I didn’t think I’d see him again, but I ran across his sister, Georgia, a couple years ago. She’d always adored me as a child, and here she was again, all grown-up. Beautiful. Sweet—or so I thought. I fell in love with her. Things were going really well, but she told Will. He swooped in and threatened me with financial and social ruin if I ever came near his sister again. I would’ve faced it—I was insane about her—but Georgia backed out. She cared more about what her brother thought than she cared about me.”

  He may have continued, but the waiter came then with our food. After he left, silence reigned for a moment. Thoughts were pounding through my mind, and I couldn’t fully focus on any of them. Finally I asked, “And have you seen either of them since?”

  He shook his head. “Georgia was young—probably too young for me,” he said with a rueful smile. “I can’t blame her for taking her brother’s lead. Will can be very . . . persuasive when he wants to be. Honestly, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Georgia’s always worshipped Will.”

  “Why?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Why do so many people like him? Like Cade—I can’t understand how they’re friends with Will being what he is.”

  “I don’t know Cade personally,” Yuri answered, choosing his words carefully. “But Will can be very likable when he troubles himself to be.”

  I stabbed at my dinner, my eyebrows folded. “It makes no sense. Why can rich people get away with so much?” A thought occurred to me. “Why don’t you tell your story publically, defame him?”

  Yuri shook his blond head. “I can’t try to ruin his life. I can never forget what his dad did for me. He saved me, Lilly,” he said, entirely serious, his swimming pool eyes intent on mine. “I can’t be so ungrateful as to try to defame his son.”

  “You have much more self-control than I would if I were you,” I told him.

  He laughed. “Not really.”

  “And modest too.”

  “No, not modest. I’ll definitely be bragging about catching a date with the best-looking girl in the village on my first day,” he said with his most blinding smile.

  “Very smooth,” I said dryly, though I ruined it by laughing.

  The rest of the evening passed without either of us saying anything serious. I enjoyed myself immensely—not only was Yuri clever and fun, he was also a visual treat. I knew he knew I liked looking at him, but he knew I knew he liked looking at me too. I felt relaxed, comfortable. And never once did I have to wonder why he hated me. Not that I was comparing being with Yuri to Will—I wasn’t.

  But if I had been, there would’ve been no comparison.

  chapter five

  When I entered our shared room that night, Jane was still awake, sitting up and waiting for me.

  “You had a good time,” she said at seeing my smile.

  “A very good time,” I said honestly.

  “He kissed you, didn’t he?” she guessed.

  I smiled wider. “Just a little,” I confessed.

  “Don’t tell Mom—she’ll think you’re engaged,” she teased.

  “Ugh, don’t I know it.”

  “So how was it?” she asked with un-Jane-like slyness.

  “The date or the kiss?”

  “Both.”

  “The kiss was great. It really was short—you know I don’t usually kiss on a first date, but I made an exception for Yuri Wickham. And can you really blame me?”

  Jane laughed. “And the date?”

  “Pretty fantastic. He’s very clever, and tons of fun to be with, not to mention ridiculously attractive. Oh! I almost forgot. You’ll never believe the story he told me.” And I launched into a lengthy retelling of Yuri’s history with Will Darcy.

  Jane listened with a disbelieving and increasingly unhappy expression but didn’t speak until the end, when she said, “Oh dear. Something is terribly wrong.”

  “Yes! Will Darcy is,” I said emphatically.

  “But no one could do that,” she said softly. “I just can’t believe Cade’s friend would do that. It’s so . . . cold.”

  “Will Darcy is that cold, Jane,” I said harshly. “Have you ever heard him say a nice thing, or seen him do anything for anyone but himself?”

  “He said that the music was better after we worked on it,” she said uncertainly.

  “And then specifically said it wasn’t a compliment,” I countered.

  “Cade likes him so well, though.” Her voice was fading. I felt bad for making her miserable with the story, but I couldn’t keep it to myself, and I couldn’t tell anyone other than Jane. Besides, I couldn’t help the truth.

  “Anyone can treat their friends well,” I said, my voice flat.

  “But he can’t be all bad if Cade likes him,” she persisted, her gentle eyes begging me to throw her a bone. She really couldn’t bear the idea of someone being so bad, I realized.

  “No one is all bad,” I conceded. “But I don’t think Yuri can be wrong. And if he’s right, then Will has some serious personality flaws.”

  She released a troubled sigh. “I don’t think Yuri’s wrong. But Will doesn’t seem capable of doing that.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at her perseverance. “Jane . . . only one of them can be good. I think it’s Yuri.”

  Her eyebrows stayed folded together. “I guess you’re right.”

  “It’s a good thing that you want everyone to be good,” I said consolingly.

  “I’m not . . . naïve, am I, Lilly?” she asked imploringly.

  I laughed. “No, you’re not naïve, Jane. You’re good through and through, and someone like that can’t understand bad the same as someone like me can. You’ve never had the sorts of thoughts and feelings that lead to doing things like threatening an old friend with financial and social ruin.”

  “And you have?” she asked disbelievingly.

  I grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “So . . . are you saying you can, at least a very little bit, empathize with Will Darcy?”

  My grimace deepened. “I guess that’s what I’m saying.”

  She nodded, thinking. “I think that’s better, Lilly. To be understanding.”

  “Oh, no—I’m not letting you make me the good guy here. Will is still my least favorite person on the face of the planet, even if I can start empathizing with him.”

  She laughed, though she shook her head.

  I didn’t see Yuri for a few days, though I texted him kind of a lot, usually after he texted me first. When Lydia and Kitty figured out I was texting Yuri Wickham (they had, by the way, had jealous fits when I’d disclosed my date with him) they took to stealing my phone every time my guard was down, which fortunately Yuri thought was hilarious, and would text them, pretending he didn’t know the difference. And because of our increasingly frequent recording sessions, necessary to finish the music for Cade (I refused to think of it as for Will), I spent more time with Lydia and Kitty than I usually did.

  Not that they were making our recording process any smoother. They kept skipping sessions to hang out with what felt like innumerable Hollywood suitors, though when I commented they claimed that Lydia was mostly just seeing a stunt man named Carter and Kitty a professional driver named Denny.

  Mom, of course, was over the moon with all the attention Lydia and Kitty were receiving, and even mustered up some enthusiasm for my date with Yuri, though she said it didn’t seem like it would go anywhere if he hadn’t set up another date. Dad almost entirely ignored the twins’ behavior, just saying to no one in particular that he had two of the silliest daughters in the States. Jane and I agreed they were going to get in trouble if they weren’t careful but didn’t know what to do if our parents wouldn’t step in. Neither of us had any influence over them.

  Mary was still Mary. She talked about work and her own talents and how some people didn’t have a serious thought in their head, which would make Lydia stick her tongue out and reply that at least some people had a life.

  At the end of the week I saw Will. I
’d been swimming less than usual with my recent hectic schedule, but Sunday morning I cleared my schedule and went to the pool with every intention of swimming laps until I felt cleansed. I always swam at the indoor pool because it was much emptier than the outdoor, not to mention closer to home. That morning no one was there but me, which was why I surfaced when I noticed a second human presence.

  I immediately regretted stopping. Will Darcy stood by my lane, wearing nothing but black swim trunks and a white towel around his neck. How long had he been watching me? I couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious, in my worn navy one piece and tired white swim cap, but I refrained from smoothing away a few loose strands that were plastered to my forehead. Resigned, I swam to the side and hung on.

  “Lilly.” No hello. No good morning. Just my name. I considered pretending I hadn’t heard and going on swimming, but it felt beneath me. This was the first time we’d been alone since I’d learned about his past with Yuri, and I didn’t know how to behave, which made it worse, but what choice did I have? If Yuri didn’t want to confront Will about what had happened, it would be wrong to do anything to incite a confrontation.

  So I said, “Will.”

  “I got the music you sent.”

  I waited, but that was it. “Glad the internet still works,” I said sarcastically.

  Sounding as if the words didn’t want to leave his throat, he said, “The songs are very good. I wouldn’t be surprised if you and your sisters were picked up by a label.”

  If he hadn’t said it with prompting, I would’ve been shocked by the compliment. As it were I didn’t buy it. “Thanks.”

  My opinion must have made its way into my tone. “You think I don’t mean it.”

  “Well, yes,” I said, almost involuntarily. “I mean, no, I don’t think you meant it.”

  He looked frustrated. “Why are you so convinced I don’t like you?”

  “You haven’t given me a reason to believe otherwise.”

  “What should I have done? What do you want me to do?”

  “Maybe ask me how I’ve been? If I swim often? I don’t know, just make small talk.”

  “You like small talk?”

  “I like people at least pretending they’re interested in my feelings and activities.”

  “I am.”

  “You are what?”

  “Interested in your feelings and activities.”

  I snorted.

  “Why do you doubt that?” he asked, the frustration more evident.

  “Maybe I’d believe you cared if you weren’t still standing there with your towel.”

  Without comment, he tossed his towel on a nearby bench and sat next to where I hung on the wall, his actually rather impressively muscled legs sliding into the water next to me. “Better?” he asked, and I thought I saw a hint of humor glimmering in those deep blue eyes. Deeper than Yuri’s, and those black lashes are longer than Yuri’s tan ones, I thought involuntarily.

  Ugh, what was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I ignore a pretty face? Not that Will was pretty per se . . . more like perfectly sculpted. . . . I hauled myself out of the water to sit next to him. It wasn’t to be polite—it was because I’d started staring at his pretty dang defined abs. This way my weak female mind wouldn’t be distracted by looking at him.

  “So, Mr. Caring. What do you want to know?”

  “Do you swim here often?” he asked, his tone perfectly conversational, as if I were being polite. As if any of this were normal.

  I surprised myself by answering as if I thought it were normal. “Usually, but I’ve been pretty busy the past few days.”

  “You prefer it to swimming outdoors?”

  “I prefer it to swimming through crowds of people.”

  He laughed, and I had to forcibly remind myself of what he’d done to Yuri to stop feeling breathless at the rich sound, and how the smile transformed his face.

  Not that it did any good—to remind myself—because I went and blurted, “You have a really nice laugh.” What had I just said? Quickly I added, “You should use it more often,” to make it seem more like an insult than a compliment.

  Apparently it wasn’t clear enough, since he tilted his head and looked mildly pleased. “Not many people make me laugh.”

  “Don’t wait for people to make you laugh; find something to laugh about,” I counseled.

  “That’s what you do?”

  “Yes—for example, I could laugh about what someone would think if they saw us sitting here.”

  His dark eyebrows drew together. “Why would that make you laugh?”

  I blinked twice. Was he being serious? “Well, first, we’d look kind of funny, alone with a big pool in front of us, obviously dressed for swimming, and just sitting here talking. And second, they’d think we were friends, or maybe even dating.” I chuckled a bit at that.

  Evidently he didn’t find it amusing. His face got kind of stony. “And of course, we’re not friends.” His accent was stronger, tidily clipping his words. Apparently that happened when he was irritated.

  “Well, no,” I said bluntly. “Friends, you know, spend time with each other. Have each other’s phone numbers. Stuff like that.”

  “I have your phone number. I assume you have mine.”

  I couldn’t tell if he was serious or not. “There’s still the spending time together part.”

  “We’re not spending time together now?”

  “Doing fun stuff,” I clarified, more irritated than I should’ve been.

  “This isn’t fun,” he said, his voice oddly flat.

  “It’d probably be funner if you liked me.”

  “I do,” he said in a tone that implied the reverse.

  “Sure,” I said disbelievingly.

  He made a frustrated noise. “Do you always do this?”

  “Sit on the side of the pool and make conversation? No.”

  “Tell people what they think rather than letting them tell you?”

  “I don’t need people to tell me what they think when I already know,” I said, and I was sure he knew I meant him.

  “Fine. What else do I think?”

  “That you know more than everyone.”

  “I think I know more than most everyone, not absolutely everyone,” he disagreed.

  I rolled my eyes. “What a distinction.”

  “An important one, I think.”

  “If you say so.” I said that, but I sort of got it too—what he meant. I kind of thought the same thing, that I knew more than most everyone, and that thought bothered me. I forced it out of my head, not wanting to understand Will at all.

  “Is that all I think?”

  “How should I know?” I asked, suddenly uncomfortable with this conversation.

  “My point exactly,” he said with a hint of acidity.

  I wanted out. I looked up at the black-rimmed plastic clock that hung on the wall above the diving boards. “Oh, look at the time.” Yes, I really said that. “I need to go.” And with that, I took my feet out of the water and stood.

  He stood too, to my great annoyance. “Lilly, I . . . goodbye.”

  “Bye.” Feeling thoroughly discomfited, I walked away.

  I was still preoccupied when I got home, which I think partially excuses my lamentable slow-thinking.

  Sitting with Mom, Dad, Jane, and Mary in the front room was a man I’d never seen before. He was short enough that I could tell he was short, even sitting down, and fairly slender. He wore expensive clothes, but they didn’t do him the favors they should’ve. His brown hair was short and tidy, his face was plain and neither old nor young, his eyes dull brown and without apparent intelligence.

  “Oh, Lilly!” Mom exclaimed upon seeing me. “Collin, this is my second oldest daughter, Lilly. Lilly, this is Collin Williamson, Deborah Long’s nephew, and you’ll never guess what his job is!”

  “I,” he began a sort of whiny, slightly high-pitched, and very self-important voice, “write for Rosings.”

  Rosin
gs was a soap opera that Mom watched with religious regularity. If I ever watched for longer than five minutes I had to fight the urge to gag. “Well. That sounds fun,” I said.

  “Sit down, Lilly,” Dad said, and, really looking at him, I saw his dark eyes—twins to mine—were brimming with laughter. “Collin was just telling us about the star of his show, Catherine de Bourgh. I think you’ll enjoy what he has to say.”

  I barely had time to sit as instructed before Collin launched into a dry, repetitive, and almost unbelievably pompous narrative about Catherine de Bourgh. I learned that she was 58 but didn’t look a day over 40; she had been nominated for two Academy Awards in her time, but they’d been stolen from her by upstarts; she’d married Lewis Somerset five years ago, but he’d died three and a half years ago; Lewis had brought a daughter named Princess to the marriage, who’d adopted Catherine’s last name and treated her as her mother; Princess de Bourgh was my age at 25 and apparently as beautiful as the loveliest starlet, not to mention very nearly as talented as her stepmother, but devotion to said stepmother kept her on Rosings instead of letting her move on to wild fame and success.

  Though Collin didn’t say it, I also was sure, by the end of his speech, that Catherine was vain, judgmental, condescending, and interfering, and that Collin himself was obsequious, extremely self-satisfied, appearance-obsessed, and interested in nothing and no one who wasn’t higher up in the world than he was.

  Dad was amused for the first twenty minutes, which was about ten minutes longer than I found the man entertaining in the slightest. I couldn’t do anything—any time I tried to interrupt, Mom sharply pinched me. She was interested, or at least did a fairly good impression of it. Mary was rapt, watching him intently. Jane was polite as always, but I knew her well enough to see how bored she was.

  Finally, Dad tired of the monologue and interrupted. “I wonder how you could stand to part from your, ah, Catherine de Bourgh to come here to visit your aunt.”

  “Naturally, sir—” he consistently called Dad sir and Mom ma’am “—I wasn’t eager to bid farewell to that paragon, but she rarely ventures beyond the confines of the small, idyllic town which we call home—Hunsford, Canada. I believe I mentioned it.”