Pride and Prejudice and Mistletoe

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “I just do. And I’d love it if you’d considered my offer.”

  “I’m considering it,” she said, confusedly. “But to be honest, I really think these kids need some serious help. I think you’re right, juvenile hall isn’t the answer. That will only damage them further. But in addition to you … paying for the property they destroy, I need their parents to enroll them in therapy. And I’ll need weekly signatures from their therapists.”

  “Deal!” Darcy exclaimed. “Oh my goodness, Mrs. Walsh, you’re doing an incredible thing right now. I don’t know if you can tell that yet, but this really, really is right.”

  “I agree; that’s why I’m doing it,” said Mrs. Walsh, still looking at Darcy like a mythical being that had come gallivanting into her office. “But the other parents at the school, they won’t like this. Nobody wants these delinquents around anymore. They’re all going to need a lot of convincing.”

  “Do you have a phone list?” asked Darcy, with a sly smile.

  “Um … yes.”

  “Then I’ll take care of it.”

  * * *

  “Where have you been?” Bingley asked, as Darcy came flying through the door to his parents’ house. “I’ve been waiting for you for almost an hour.”

  “I had to do something important. I’m sorry, I should have texted.” She plopped down on the couch and let her head fall back. “Bingley, being a good person is exhausting.”

  “Uh…” Bingley sat down next to her. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

  “Yes,” said Darcy, lifting her head back up. “But you can’t tell anyone what I did.”

  “Wait, let me get this straight. You did something … good … but you don’t want anyone to know?”

  “Yeah. I wanna be humble about it or whatever.”

  “You, my dear,” Bingley said, laughing, “are a character. All right, let’s hear about this good deed.”

  “I went to Pemberley High and spoke to the new principal, Mrs. Walsh, and I told her I couldn’t let Kit and Lyle go to juvenile hall, and I offered to pay for all the damage they’ve caused, and she said that wasn’t good enough, so I said I’d pay for any future damages as well, so…” She took a deep breath. “She agreed to let them stay at Pemberley.”

  “What?” Bingley stared, dumbfounded. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Well, yes, probably, but in a good way, right?”

  “I mean, in a very good way. The Bennets are going to be so relieved. Oh my God, you have to tell them that it was you. They’ll love you forever.”

  “No. I told you, I need to practice being humble. Doing things for others without taking the credit.”

  “Fine.” Bingley rolled his eyes. “If you insist. But wait, those kids are literal nightmares. You could end up paying thousands of dollars a month.” He laughed at the thought of this.

  “So? Guess how much I make in a month.”

  “Honestly,” said Bingley, “I don’t even want to know.”

  “It’s not a big deal. And besides, it’s worth it if I can keep them out of that horrible detention center.”

  “Don’t you think maybe they need … professional help?”

  “Oh, they definitely do. Mrs. Walsh will require them to go to weekly therapy sessions.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re—”

  “Paying for that too? Yeah.”

  “Incredible.”

  “Feels good to be good,” said Darcy. “I think I like it. Okay, so what else is new in Pemberley?”

  “Well…” Bingley winced. “I don’t really want to tell you.”

  “Well, you have to,” Darcy said, feeling her pulse quicken. Her very least favorite thing in life was having secrets kept from her.

  “Okay,” he said hesitantly, “I’m just going to say it. Luke and Charlotte decided to majorly speed up their wedding process.”

  “Oh?” Darcy blinked, taking this in. “How majorly?”

  “The rehearsal dinner is tonight.” Bingley winced again. “The wedding is tomorrow.”

  “But … it’s … they’re having a rehearsal dinner on Christmas?”

  “Yeah. I know. See why I didn’t want to tell you?”

  “Well, that’s fine.” Darcy tried to brush it off. “What do I care? It’s not like Luke is my ex-boyfriend or anything like that. Luke and I never even happened. I don’t even like Luke. Why should I care if he gets married?”

  “I know about how you showed up at his house, and what you said to him.”

  “What? I didn’t say anything. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried hard to make this sound convincing but could sense that she had failed miserably.

  “Darcy.”

  “Ug-g-gh, are you serious?” She hid her head in her hands. “Luke told you about it? This is so embarrassing.”

  “No, Jim told me. He was there, remember?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Darcy, you shouldn’t feel embarrassed. It was a last-ditch effort at love. No one can blame you for that.”

  “Well, Luke did. He called me a self-obsessed snob who thinks she’s better than everyone else. He said someone like me doesn’t even know what love is.”

  “Ouch,” said Bingley. “Jim didn’t tell me that part.”

  “He probably didn’t hear it.”

  “I’m sorry, Darcy.”

  “I’ll survive. At least I’m not marrying someone who’s totally wrong for me. That was a close one.”

  “Indeed,” said Bingley. “How are you going to tell your parents?”

  “Oh God, Bingley, I have no idea. They’re going to murder me. But the way news travels in this town, I wouldn’t be surprised if they already know. Carl’s parents have probably told them.”

  “Maybe,” Bingley agreed. “But don’t you think they’d have called you by now?”

  “Probably true. But either way, they’ll find out soon enough, and then I’m basically dead. Oh God, I’m going to be excommunicated from my family for the second time. Dammit, I had just finally gotten onto the right foot with them.”

  “If your relationship with them could recover from that, then it can recover from this too, don’t you think?”

  “I have no idea. And in the meantime, what am I supposed to do? All I can think of is getting a room at the nearest hotel and hiding there for the rest of my life. What do you think about that?”

  “I … I think it’s a start.”

  Darcy entertained the idea in her mind. It occurred to her that she didn’t want to go back to work, that with the fear of her father’s wrath and the crushing blow of losing Luke and Carl in just a few days’ time, she had little interest in actually doing anything. This was yet another new feeling, not wanting to go to work. Until this moment, work had been her very favorite thing, her saving grace. Now, suddenly, work didn’t seem to matter. Actually, nothing seemed to matter. All she wanted to do was curl up in bed and stay there forever.

  “Oh my God, Bingley.” She grabbed his hand and held tight. “I think my throat is closing up. I can’t swallow. What’s happening?” She inhaled deeply, struggling to fill her lungs with air.

  “What do you mean? Can you breathe?”

  “I don’t know. No, I can’t breathe.”

  “I once read that if you can talk it means you can breathe. So if you stop being able to talk, that’s when we have a problem.”

  “Am I having a heart attack?” She thought of her mother and how these ran in her family, especially among the stressed and overworked, which her mother was not, though Darcy definitely was.

  “How are your arms?”

  “My arms? Fine.”

  “Then you’re not having a heart attack. Darcy, you’re hyperventilating. I think this is a panic attack. You’re going to be okay. Take slow breaths. In … out … in…”

  She followed his lead until her heartbeat relaxed and she felt her throat loosening up.

  “What the hell was that, Bingley?” she snapped, terrified of whatever force
had just descended upon her.

  “It’s just intense anxiety. It feels like you’re dying, but you’re not.”

  “That was literally the worst. I don’t understand where it came from.”

  “Darcy,” he said lovingly, “you have a lot of stressors right now. You’re beyond overwhelmed. It would be crazy if you didn’t have a panic attack during all this. You broke off an engagement, your relationship with your family is at stake, Luke said some really unkind things about you, you just agreed to pay potentially tens of thousands of dollars so some kids you don’t even know don’t go to juvie—for some odd reason that I still don’t really understand, unless maybe you’re having a manic episode. All of this is really distressing stuff, Darcy. I think you need to take it easy. Don’t get a hotel room; just stay right here. I’ll set you up in the guest room, okay?”

  “Okay,” she agreed weakly, relieved by the idea of not having to go anywhere or do anything.

  “You just stay here. I’ll be right back,” Bingley said, pulling a throw blanket up around her. Darcy nodded and closed her eyes. She took a deep breath and realized that she was thirsty. When was the last time I had something to drink? she wondered, unable to come up with the answer. She thought to ask Bingley for a glass of water, but he was already down the hall, and after all he was doing for her, she didn’t want to impose any further.

  She shuffled the blanket off her shoulders and stood up off the couch, feeling a little bit wobbly and light-headed. She took a few steps toward the kitchen before the room began to spin around her. Before she knew what was happening, everything went dark, and the last thing she remembered was the sound of her head hitting the coffee table with a thud.

  17

  Darcy woke in a blue hospital gown, looking down at her bare feet. She wiggled her toes, sending blood swirling through them. In a confused daze, she moved her attention to her arms and legs, lightly shaking them just to make sure they could move. What happened to me? she wondered. And how did I end up here?

  She tried to remember the events leading up to now, but all she could think of was standing up to get water at Bingley’s house. That’s right, she thought, I was with Bingley. And I thought I was dying. And he said it wasn’t a heart attack. And then I stood up and everything went dark. She let her eyelids fall back shut so she could think more clearly. Bingley must have been wrong, she surmised. It actually was a heart attack. This realization didn’t bring her any solace but instead sent her heart back into a flurry. Am I going to die? she wondered, snapping her eyes back open and looking frantically around the room.

  For a hospital, it was quite a lovely room. It had a flat-screen TV, periwinkle curtains with white honeysuckle blossoms, and a big whiteboard to her left, with what looked like red squiggly marks jotted all over it. She blinked her eyes into focus and saw that the marks were actually words. They read “DARCY FITZWILLIAM, AGE 29, FEMALE, DEHYDRATION.”

  The word dehydration rang out like a comforting bell in her mind.

  Oh thank God, she sighed, placing her hand over her heart, so relieved to know that nothing was wrong with it. At first she was so relieved that she laughed, letting go of all the worry that had her so tightly seized up. But then less laughable thoughts came creeping in. This is embarrassing, she realized. I’m in the hospital for forgetting to drink enough water? I’ll be the laughingstock of the town. But soon something much more serious occurred to her: if she was in the hospital in a town as tiny as Pemberley, Ohio, her parents would definitely have been notified by now and would know that she was back in town.

  “Dammit,” she cursed out loud. “I have to get out of here.” She tried to stand up but realized she was too woozy to lift her head, let alone her whole body. It was then that she noticed the IV tube stuck in her right arm. Even if she could manage to get out of bed, she wasn’t crazy or desperate enough to rip an IV out of her arm, so there was officially nowhere she could go. She pressed the shiny red button on the left of her bed, hoping she could get a nurse to take pity on her and get her out of there before anyone could find her.

  She felt dumb for coming back to Pemberley. She had left New York to avoid Carl and give him space, but why’d she have to come back here, walking right into the lion’s den that was her family’s hometown? Why couldn’t she have gone to Europe? Asia? Hawaii? Why couldn’t she have gone literally anywhere else but here? She suspected the answer had something to do with Luke, and she wasn’t happy about it.

  A handsome nurse strode energetically into the room.

  “Knock, knock,” he said, in lieu of actually knocking. “How are we feeling, Ms. Fitzwilliam?”

  “Fine,” she lied. “Absolutely fine. I think I’m ready to go home now.”

  The nurse laughed, checking the IV bag and making a note on the whiteboard.

  “You can’t go home yet, Ms. Fitzwilliam. You fainted from dehydration. We can’t let you out until your levels are back to normal.”

  “Listen,” she tried to reason, “I’m a very healthy person. And I really can’t be here right now. Once my parents realize I’m here, they’ll come find me, and my father is going to kill me. Not literally kill me, but he is going to throw a fit so rageful we will all wish we had never been born, do you understand? You have to let me out; it’s what’s best for both of us.”

  “But Ms. Fitzwilliam … I don’t know how to tell you this, but your parents are already here. They’re in the waiting room.”

  “Excuse me?” Darcy felt as though she might throw up. “Why are they here? Who told them?”

  “Ms. Fitzwilliam, it’s fine. They don’t seem mad at all.”

  “Well, obviously! They’re not going to be mad at you! Do you know who told them I was here?”

  “I don’t … but they’re with a good-looking man who may or may not be Darren Criss.”

  “That’s Bingley. And trust me, as handsome as he is, you do not want to date him. He looks sweet, but apparently he’s a backstabber. Send him in. Please.”

  “And your parents too?”

  “Dear Lord, no. Just the handsome backstabber.”

  “Right.” The nurse gave an exasperated sigh and left the room. Soon after, Bingley stepped in and closed the door quietly behind him.

  “You look better,” he said, clearly bracing himself.

  “What the hell, Bingley?”

  “What? What did I do?” he demanded defensively. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Not take you to the hospital after you collapsed and hit your head on my coffee table? Not call your parents to let them know what had happened?”

  “Correct. You could have taken me here without telling them. You know I can’t handle seeing them now, especially in such a vulnerable condition.”

  “I was scared, Darcy. Put yourself in my shoes. You hit your head and weren’t responsive. I couldn’t, in good conscience, not tell your parents.”

  “Oh,” said Darcy, reeling herself back in. “I wasn’t responsive?”

  “No, you weren’t. It was really scary. I called nine-one-one and everything. They sent an ambulance. I had to let your parents know what had happened. I just kept thinking ‘What if she dies and I’m the one who didn’t tell the Fitzwilliams she hit her head?,’ and I kept worrying that this whole thing was somehow my fault, maybe I shouldn’t have—”

  “No, no, no, Bingley, it’s okay,” Darcy interrupted. “I’m not mad. And I’m sorry I yelled at you; that was wrong of me. I didn’t realize the extent of what had happened. And even if I hadn’t hit my head and an ambulance hadn’t come, you were just trying to do what you thought was right. It’s not your fault I’m avoiding my parents anyway.”

  “Apology accepted. But Darcy, just so you know, they really don’t seem mad. They’re relieved that you’re okay, and they really want to see you.”

  “Then they don’t know about Carl yet. If they’re not mad, they don’t know.”

  “Well then, maybe now is the right time to tell them.”

  “Now?” The shrilln
ess in Darcy’s voice came barreling back. “So that I can have another heart attack?”

  “Darcy,” he laughed, “you didn’t have a heart attack.”

  “No, but I will if I have to tell them what happened with Carl and see the look on my dad’s face. Look, just send them in. I don’t want to keep them worrying.”

  “You’ll be fine,” said Bingley, squeezing her foot affectionately. He stepped out into the hall and was quickly replaced by Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam, who rushed in practically gasping for breath. In all the time she’d known her parents, she had never seen them move so quickly.

  “Thank God you’re all right!” said Mrs. Fitzwilliam, hurrying to her daughter’s side.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Mr. Fitzwilliam, sighing with relief. “Will you two please stop getting yourselves into hospitals? I’m too old for this stress.”

  “I’m fine, Dad.” Darcy smiled sweetly up at him. “It was just a little dehydration.”

  “But you might have a concussion too,” her mom reminded her. “They’re still doing tests.”

  “Okay, but still, I’m going to survive. Nothing serious. I’ll be good as new in no time. Mom survived a heart attack, so I’m sure this won’t set me back much.”

  “Sweetheart,” Mr. Fitzwilliam said gently, taking a seat at the foot of the bed. “We know about what happened.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “We know that you broke things off with Carl,” explained Mrs. Fitzwilliam.

  “You do?” Darcy couldn’t understand. If they knew about Carl, why weren’t they furious? Why weren’t they yelling?

  “Yes,” said Mrs. Fitzwilliam. “And we aren’t mad.”

  “Well,” Mr. Fitzwilliam chuckled, “we were confused. But when Bingley called to tell us that you had hit your head and weren’t responsive, well, that put things in perspective.”

  “Oh.” Darcy spoke slowly, as if walking through a minefield, afraid she might accidentally set off a bomb at any moment. “Well, I—”

  “Listen, Darcy,” Mr. Fitzwilliam interrupted. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I think I’m the one who needs to explain.” He pulled up a chair and sat down so that he and Darcy were eye to eye. “And maybe to apologize.”