by Cat Gardiner
Stan chuckled again. “Well, I’ll leave you two alone then.”
With arms still folded across her chest, Elizabeth looked away from Darcy’s penetrating gaze.
“Just one dance, Liz. That’s all I ask.”
“Fine.”
The song was slow, and Darcy wrapped his right arm around her waist, pulling her into him. She tensed, willing her body to be as unyielding as that first resentful kiss in the bowling alley. Yet, she couldn’t help noting how well they moved together on the dance floor. There were no dance steps, just swaying together and shuffling of feet.
Elizabeth’s body felt incredible next to him. His skin responded to the intimacy and memory of the feel of her. “I missed you this morning. We had pancakes planned.”
“I wasn’t hungry for your kind of pancakes. Apparently, you had your fill the night before.”
“If I recall, your appetite was quite insatiable as well. You weren’t complaining about either the quantity or the frequency from the time we entered my building until about four thirty this morning. Four incredible hours of the most delicious pancakes I have ever tasted.”
She snapped at him, “Only because you got me drunk.”
“We got drunk together if I remember correctly. Look, for me last night wasn’t some drunken one night stand. What we shared … the things we did … I have never experienced before.”
“I find that hard to believe. I saw the way that blonde clung to you just now. Don’t tell me her kiss meant nothing to you. I saw your reaction.”
Darcy couldn’t help but to smirk a bit. “Are you jealous of that blonde?”
“Why would I be jealous? You mean nothing to me.”
“Both you and I know that’s a lie, and that blonde is my cousin.”
“Hmmph. Don’t pretend you don’t know why I left or haven’t returned your calls, Caveman.”
“I know why you’re angry and how it appears, but I’d like to explain myself.”
“There’s nothing you can say, Darcy. What you and your sister did was underhanded in every way. I feel violated, betrayed, and deceived, and if you were a man of character, you would understand why I feel this way.” She looked away from him with tears in her eyes.
Darcy’s response was immediate. This time, she would hear him out. He tightened his hand around hers, pulling her through the crowded dance floor toward the exit door. At first, she resisted his entreaty, but his strength and determination won out. He led her through a door and down the stairs to the lower floor without saying a word.
She remained silent, resolving, Well if he wants to have this out, we will.
They entered a solemnly lit gallery, neither paying attention to the permanent exhibition. It was certainly not the appropriate place for their fueled tempers, but instead was far more fitting for Darcy’s earnest declarations and Elizabeth’s silently repressed feelings for him. One anxious, the other angry, they both failed to notice, standing in the center of the room, the black marble 9/11 memorial. It displayed photographs of the three hundred and forty-three firefighters and rescue workers killed during valiant acts of heroism on that dreadful day.
Elizabeth began her furious tirade of the man before him, employing no physical kicks or punches, but the brutality of her words were just as effective. Trying to keep her tone modulated, she failed time and again with each verbal blow. Pushing back the tears flooding her emerald eyes, she allowed The Black Widow inside her to lash out.
“How could you think you could read my personal musings, my dreams and my desires and make sport of them, using them to your selfish, egotistical purposes so you could woo me into bed? You’re a lying, deceitful bastard! I wish I never met you.”
“That’s not why I did it, Liz. I wanted to give you a memorable Christmas and share all the things you enjoy with you. Was it so wrong of me to want to make you happy?”
“I can’t believe I fell for every contrived coincidence and every perfectly delivered line. You’re to be commended, Mr. Caveman on your obvious practiced skills of wooing a woman into your bedroom. You’d do well in advertising – giving the perfect pitch to sell a product. As for a memorable Christmas, oh I’ll never forget it all right. You’ve managed to make a permanent mark.”
“Stop it! Why won’t you believe me? Why do you find it so hard to believe that I would go to such lengths to date you and try to make that date special, as special as you are? Someone sure did a number on you, convincing you that you’re bad luck and not worth the effort. Do you really believe you’re so inconsequential, so imperfect and unworthy that I couldn’t possibly fall for you unconditionally? Is that it?”
Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest, again and looked toward to the door, unable to answer Darcy's questions or meet his penetrating eyes.
“Dammit, Liz! I’ve been in love with you from the first moment I saw you! You’re a phenomenal woman. Whatever your past experience with Lucas, he clearly caused you to shut out the possibilities of you and me or you and anyone for that matter! You’re so petrified that you’ve done nothing but misinterpret and misconstrue everything about me, who I really am, what I represent, my true intentions, and my character altogether. Have you found nothing redeemable in me? Or is it that you have, yet you believe the crap you’ve been fed that you’re not good enough for a man who would worship and love you? What is it?”
Floored that he hit the proverbial nail on the head, she stammered, her heart clenching, “I … I … do find it hard to believe that you would waste your time and energy on dating someone like me for anything other than a quick lay.”
“There was nothing quick about it!” He moved closer to her, attempting to reach out for her, but she backed away.
“Liz, I’m in love with you, and last night was about showing you just how much. I love holding you in my arms and waking up to your scent still lingering on my skin and the bed linen. I love your silly lists, and your self-protecting, insane, thirty-six point criteria. I love your infectious smile and the fact that you can kick my butt in the ring. I love the way you crinkle your forehead and that little beauty mark along with it. Hell, I even love that stupid Santa head pencil sticking out of your uptight bun. I told you, baby, you have all my nights and every one of my days. You have my body and soul. You’re my bashert.”
“I don’t want that! I only wanted … I only wanted a Christmas date. Whatever you think you feel … whatever you’ve convinced yourself … doesn’t take away the betrayal and the deceit. It doesn’t take away your deception and contrivances or making notes about my sister’s past, and it doesn’t take away your spying on me through my blog and using my words and feelings to your advantage, no matter your purpose. That isn’t being a man of honor or character in the least bit. You manipulated me and took advantage of my situation, my wounds, and insecurities.”
“I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.” Darcy hung his head. “My intentions were good. You brought me to life again and gave me hope. You helped me feel and believe in the spirit of Christmas in my heart. Meeting you has been a breath of fresh air, a gift for my soul, and last night was the most incredible night of my life.”
Desolate, he implored, “You said you loved me when I held you in my arms and I believed you when you said it. If you truly don’t, then tell me and apart from these calendar events, I’ll never bother you again.”
Burning still with anger and unable to meet his emotion-filled gaze, her eyes regrettably turned toward the 9/11 memorial, settling on the lone battered helmet discovered in the horrific aftermath’s rubble. In that moment, she realized where they were, and her eyes filled anew with tears. In a room, which honored love and the gift of sacrifice, she couldn’t lie to Darcy, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the truth either, she was immobilized by fear. Her thoughts, born from the never-ending barrage of hurtful words and manipulative experiences in her life, caused her tears to stream unabashedly down her cheeks, Even if I do love him, I would only ruin it and end up making him miserable. He
shouldn’t be with someone who turns everything to crap.
Her lip trembled, unable to turn to look Darcy in the eyes. “You shouldn’t love me … I don’t … I can’t love you.”
Before she could gather herself to turn back to him, Darcy swiftly quit the room.
Her eyes remained locked on the photographs on the wall, displaying the reality of true tragedy. She realized, in that moment, that all her words, her anger, her defensiveness, and especially her fear were inconsequentially small, misguided and wrong. Even her own lack of self-worth from her mother’s twenty-six years of verbal abuse seemed meaningless in light of the significance of the room in which she now stood alone. If nothing else, Darcy’s chosen career - not for money, notoriety or thrill-seeking - spoke volumes to her heart of his true character, a character he had demonstrated in many other ways as well.
Five minutes later, Darcy sat in a taxi headed up to Hi-Life Bar and Grill on 83rd Street. It was the bar closest to the West End Cave, and he was sure some of his buddies from the station would be there. As far as he was concerned, Christmas spirit and hope was a bunch of bullshit. For him, this day would always be associated with death.
Liz’s Blog Post Here
Chapter Twenty – Saturday, December 21
4 Days Until Christmas
Elizabeth lay on the sofa absently flicking the cable remote with lighting speed, looking for just the right sappy Christmas movie guaranteed to leave her a blubbering fool. She needed a damn good cry, but it just wouldn’t come. It was three in the afternoon on the Saturday following her nightmare fight with Darcy, and she lacked initiative even to consider appearing at the gym. The massive amounts of sugar cookie crumbs and sprinkles on her chest, sofa and floor were telltale evidence. Apart from her stomachache and the throbbing headache from too many glasses of wine she consumed throughout the night, she felt numb.
Moreover, her numbness wasn’t just from her own romantic quagmire. She was still deadened from the phone call she had received from Jane late last night or technically speaking, the wee early hours today.
Simply put, Charlie had called off the wedding and Jane was an emotional wreck. There was more – Jane found out she is pregnant and doesn’t have the guts to tell him now. More secrets, more than even Elizabeth had the strength to deal with. When she received her sister’s call, it took everything in her power to refrain from giving her a piece of her mind, but the pieces of her mind were muddled and spent and already put through the ringer. All Elizabeth could muster was compassion for her not-so-perfect sister whose world was unexpectedly crashing down upon her. Yeah, she knew what that felt like – her own carefully constructed walls were tumbling down, too.
Even as angry as she was with Jane for sleeping with John, sisterly love propelled her to rise above her own problems. At one in the morning, she had been willing to hop in a cab down to TriBeCa, but Jane insisted she could survive the pain alone. Whether it was martyrdom, wallowing or pure panic wasn’t clear. Whether or not it was a passive-aggressive page taken from their mother’s playbook also remained to be seen. When asked of Charlie’s reasoning for calling off the wedding, he cryptically told Jane that upon learning some things about her, he couldn’t live with them for the rest of his life. He stated he “… never expected such behavior from her.”
The proverbial shoe had dropped. Jane’s foray into the world of Playboy must have finally been outted. Of course, Elizabeth couldn’t help her knee-jerk reaction to place the blame at Darcy’s feet, assuming that in his vengeful anger toward her, and under the misguided responsibility of being ‘the best man’, he must have told Charlie of his fiancée’s dalliance with soft-core pornography.
With the consumption of her first glass of Riesling, that angry conclusion was dismissed as quickly as it came. During the second glass, she found herself softening her condemnation when she began to logically compile a sloppily written time line, which now sat, front and center, between her empty wine glass and cell phone.
Once the third glass was nearly finished, Darcy had been exonerated and the memories of that pleading look of love he had given her in the museum when he proclaimed, “I love you,” had burned into her mind’s eye. Therefore, it would appear here that the consumption of alcohol had actually benefitted Darcy in the long run.
For a good long commercial break, Elizabeth debated if yesterday had been the worst day of her life so far. It had been a Friday – that had to account for something, but it was Christmas for crying out loud. This sort of stuff wasn’t supposed to happen, dammit!
In the darkened room, where only the diffused changing color streams of light from the television illuminated the disheveled space, the unlit Christmas tree stared back at her. Those stupid little watercolor ornaments of Emma and Mr. Knightly were now demoted to the far backside of the tree where no one, most of all her, would see them. Love – what a pain in the arse.
All she initially wanted was a Christmas dinner date and a date for Jane’s wedding. Was that so much to ask? She wasn’t emotionally prepared for love, let alone true love – the forever kind of love, yet that was what Darcy was offering, wasn’t it? She knew that in her steadfast determination to find only a dinner date, her shortsightedness overlooked something so much more.
During their argument, he had echoed all the things Charlotte previously said to her - things Elizabeth never wanted to face. John had hurt her so badly those many years ago that the thought of putting her heart, mind and soul out there for one man, ever again, was not a welcome prospect. Sure, she had often said she had wanted unconditional love but, in truth, she was too afraid to either offer it or open herself up to accepting it. Mr. December and his self-assured manner, not to mention his persistent pursuit of her, was unexpected. Her attraction to him was even more so. What he did in regard to the blog and Georgiana’s deceit was wrong though certainly didn’t warrant her overreaction. The three glasses of wine helped her to admit that Charlotte was right - it was a ‘public’ blog – and she put it out there for all to read.
Laying there in the near dark, she closed her eyes briefly, breathing deeply. The damage was done and there was no going backward; she could only go forward.
The weight of her actions, and now realizations, was sobering. It’s not luck, or lack of. It’s of my own creation.
What a mess she created, and she couldn’t, rightly, place the blame on any other players in this game of love. The ownership of this sad debacle was all hers, willfully blinding herself to all of Darcy’s fine attributes, and deliberately holding him at arm’s length from the very beginning. Unwilling to view the news segment, unwilling to redeem the auction date, unwilling to delve more deeply into who he was – his likes, dislikes, and family life was her purposeful attempt to avoid her fears.
She turned off the TV and laid there in the dark, listening to the freezing rain pummel the window while she stared blankly up at the ceiling. A mental checklist of all the thoughtful and romantic things Darcy had said or done that had nothing to do with the things she mentioned in her blog, caused her to smile. Sending the jacket at the hockey game, protecting her from Preston, not pulling many punches when kickboxing against her, volunteering at the ASPCA, the flowers for Jane, what he did with his firefighter salary, and a myriad of other uncataloged acts spoke of his caring, loving nature and his fine character.
Reaching over for her cell phone, she pressed Charlotte’s speed dial.
“It’s a good thing I love you,” she answered.
“Yeah, I love you too. Sorry to bother you. It was either that or o.d. on angel-shaped sugar cookies. I need an intervention. Listen, I’m sorry I was such a bitch last night. Sorry I took it out on you; blaming you was wrong.”
“Christmas cookies with sprinkles? The ones from your neighbor in 6D?”
“Those are the ones. Only the best cookies for the stuck up, ruthless, evil Black Widow, who seems hell bent on kicking every man and friend’s backside down into the bowels of hell.”
“
I see you’re in a fine mood and regretting that razor sharp tongue of yours. If it helps any, I forgive you.”
“Thanks.” She audibly sighed. “I don’t want to take John to the gala tomorrow night.”
Charlotte rolled onto her side, admiring the Swarez enamel painting on the far wall.
“Excellent decision … but made too late. Apparently, Rick’s aunt has expressed her approval of BADCo’s brilliant idea of Mr. Pulitzer’s attendance. John’s tuxedo is hanging from my bedroom door – well as of yesterday afternoon it was. I’m at Preppy’s place.”
“Oh. Sorry to bother you.”
“No bother. I love talking to you even if I’m curled naked beside the man who just told me I’m a sex goddess.”
“I better go.”
“Sorry, that was insensitive of me. But let’s face facts here, you too could be snuggled beside your boo. It’s not like I didn’t warn you about your being overly obstinate when it came to Darcy.”
“I know, I know – you told me so. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I overreacted. And please stop using the word ‘boo’.”
“We’ll make this right, Lizzy. You’ll make this right when you see Darcy tomorrow at the gala. Wear Jane’s gown and do your hair like I taught you and you’ll be making up with him in the first hour. Try to ignore the fact that John is your escort. It can be a night that will change your future. If you want him and if you want to make amends for that lethal bite of yours, then you have to pull out all the stops. If John even attempts to control you, well grab the opportunity to say all the things you haven’t said to him for seven years. It’s time you set that f’in baggage aflame and finally open the door to your heart. Sorry for the fire reference and the pathetic metaphors.”
