“WHAT THE–”
♥
Nat
“Patricia”, her name tasted like venom in my mouth. She opened her mouth to speak, but I wouldn’t give the bitch the chance. “If you dare apologize, I’ll smash this bottle on your face.”
Of course I wouldn’t, no matter how much I wanted to. “Babe, she doesn’t mean anything to me. It was just sex. I love you, Nat.”
I laughed. Like a maniac about to commit maniac acts. Because, from all the things I could have told Patricia, from all accusations I could have made, nothing could have humiliated her like the jerk’s statement. It was so… Deliciously ironic.
“I never listened to people when they claimed you were a snake, Patricia. I had faith in you as a person and, mostly, as a friend. I gave you my loyalty, my friendship. I must have been the only true friend you had in a long time.”
A tear escaping her eye told me I was correct. At, least, she wasn’t completely cold-hearted.
“Babe, I–”
“Shut your fucking mouth, Doug. I’m not talking to you.” I turned back to Patricia, whose face was now wet with her tears. “You’ve just lost a friend who would be by your side for better or worse. And for what?” I glanced at the jerk with disdain. Funny how beautiful people faded and turned completely unattractive once one discovered their true colors.
“I’m so sor–”
“That was a rhetorical question, Patricia.” I couldn’t comprehend how, but I was no longer enraged. There was no hate within me, just a big, deep hole in my chest. Letting go of a cheating boyfriend was one thing; there were plenty of fish in the sea. Being betrayed by someone you loved as a friend? That hurt like hundreds of knives perforating me. “Just remember this moment: a precious, rare friend walks out of your life, and you’re left with a guy who thinks you’re nothing but a vagina and a pair of tits.”
She sobbed. His chin dropped. My inner voice sang “We are the champions”.
“Nat, I–” The jerk tried to speak again. Hadn’t he realized we were over? Nothing he could’ve said would’ve made a difference. He didn’t even deserve my words, my attention, or even my rage. He deserved only a lot of nothingness, which was what he was to me now.
“I never want to see your fucking faces again.” I interrupted him a second time, refusing to even look at him. “And don’t you dare follow me.”
I went down the stairs in a hurry, apprehensive that one of them would disregard my order and come after me, which would force me to resort to violence. A few seconds after I shut the jerk’s door behind me, I heard it open, followed by some woman’s shriek. She sounded like an elderly lady. “You’re naked! I’m calling the police, young man.”
Of course; the jerk thought he still might have a shot with me, since I hadn’t accused him or anything. That was where he was mistaken: I hadn’t spoken to him because he was dead to me, not because I’d ever forgive him. Actually, forgiveness was a non-existing word in my vocabulary at that moment.
As soon as I hit the street, I burst out crying. I was sobbing uncontrollably for minutes, and thought I was going crazy when I heard a baritone voice with a thick, British accent call my name.
♥
Mr. Darcy had woken up with endless hunger, even though he’d eaten like a pig the previous night. He replayed the few hours before sleeping in his mind; he’d watched the stars, then was in Robert’s company, with whom he’d shared a Marijuana cigar.
After that, facts turned a little foggy. It took him some effort, but he recalled having a snack as someone entered the kitchen.
Miss Nathalie.
His manners couldn’t have been more ungentlemanly. Hadn’t the lights returned (which had looked like witchcraft to him) he would have ruined her reputation and her engagement to Mr. Brooks by kissing her! On the lips, of all places!
How could have he been so reckless? How could have he been so rude to a member of the family who had saved him when he had needed the most? Truth be told, he wouldn’t be in that confusion if it weren’t for a member of that same family. Still, they could have turned their backs on him.
In Miss Nathalie’s case, matters were even more complex, since she was ignorant of the truth about him. Darcy wished she knew the truth every time he was forced to lie to her.
Had he been honest about his own feelings, perhaps he would have kept his heart well guarded. Now he was left with the embarrassing duty of begging for her forgiveness.
It wasn’t relevant if her circumstances in life were inferior to his; he was the kind of man who could be proud, yet he would always respect the other sex, regardless of their poor social situation or their inadequate bath clothing.
The sound of footsteps dragged him back to reality. Still not ready to face whomever was approaching, Darcy pretended to be fast asleep. As the person came closer to the couch he had been lying on, Darcy identified her by her scent. Miss Nathalie smelt of roses and soap, a fragrance he’d learnt to recognize and enjoy every morning before he went to the restaurant or the bookstore to perform his duties.
She walked past him and left the apartment swiftly. For a few seconds, he intended to wait for her return to talk to her and apologize for his preposterous behavior.
However, that decision was overcome by his concern of her leaving at such an early hour without a chaperone. By now, he was aware women were quite independent these days, refusing to need anyone to accompany them. Yet, he felt a most profound need to protect Miss Nathalie. He would make sure she wasn’t aware of his presence, but he would be there for her just in case.
So he followed her.
♥
Mr. Darcy’s conscience did not tolerate leaving without making sure Miss Nathalie was free from harm. Even though she had safely entered an edifice about half an hour away from the Brown’s residence, his intuition insisted he should remain where he was.
The little – and insistent – voice in his mind proved to be accurate when she left the building a few minutes later in tears. Oh, dear.
He crossed 106th Street without checking out the traffic first (luckily, no car was passing by at that precise moment), and came near her without being noticed by the lady. “Miss Nathalie?”
She turned abruptly to face him, tears rolling freely down her handsome face. The sight of her in that state broke his heart. Why was she weeping? Had it been in any way related to his unforgiving behavior the night before? He dearly wished to apologize, but instead he said, “Oh, my Nat!”
She held him then, her fingernails so deep in his back they almost cut his skin. She gripped his waist hard, using his strong body for support, her face buried in his chest, her tears wetting the Harry Potter T-shirt he borrowed from Ethan’s closet.
Who is this Mr. Potter, anyhow?, he wished to know, but the question was lost in his mind the moment he saw her weeping.
The shock of being touched in such intimate way by a lady came and vanished quickly, and he hugged her back. His arms encircled her shoulders, and his cheek was touching the top of her head.
Neither of them said anything for a while, her sobs being the only sounds exchanged between them. Then she began, “Hecheatedonme! He’shorrible! Ihatehim!”
Darcy couldn’t make out a single word. However, he knew how to respond under such circumstances. His mother hadn’t only raised a gentleman, after all. She’d raised a considerate gentleman. “I understand.”
“Noyoudon’t! HecheatedonmewithPatty!” Darcy might have misunderstood, since his shirt muffled her words, and she was mumbling instead of speaking, because of the weeping. Still, he was under the impression the trouble involved Miss Patricia somehow. Perhaps the other lady had been hurt?
“I understand”, he replied softly, deciding not to ask about it for now. Miss Nathalie was too shaken up.
“Shewasmyfriend! Itrustedher! Itrustedthatjerktoo! Ihatethem!”, her complaint
s turned into tears and sobs again.
A light rain came down on them. He sweetly took her to a nearby, mediocre-but-good-enough establishment with a green and black sign that said Starbucks, helped her sit in a wooden chair, and went to the counter to buy them some breakfast.
When it was his turn to order, he remembered he had no modern money. Actually, he had no money at all. He had, however, a smooth, gray and rectangular object Mr. Carlos Estevez had instructed him to use in case of an emergency. He looked back at Miss Nathalie; eyes swollen, red nose, sad look.
That definitely qualified as an emergency.
He selected what he wanted (he ended up choosing black coffee to drink, since they were too many choices and he got lost) and offered the woman taking his order the object.
“So you’ll be paying with a credit card?”, a non-smiling attended asked him. He nodded, not sure if she was correct, but left with no other option. “Please sign here.” She told him, not bothering to look into his eyes. “Thank you. Next!”
He waited for a while in the line and picked their breakfast when they called his name, his eyes not leaving Nathalie for even a second. The crying was over, and now he observed her pulling herself together. She was a strong woman, probably as strong as his aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.
He placed a cup of coffee and a doughnut in front of her. He sat on an uncomfortable wooden chair that matched hers. “Thank you”, she told him, taking a sip of her hot beverage. His response was a that-was-nothing nod and a sympathetic smile. She didn’t need his consoling words now, just his silent support. “They don’t deserve my tears. Those cheaters.”
He still had not fully comprehended the reason for her distress, so he carefully calculated his words as he said, “Maybe those tears were for you, not them.”
She agreed with him with a headshake. “I should kiss you.” She blurted out.
“I beg your pardon?” Had he taken a nip of his coffee at that moment, he would surely have spat it out. Had he heard her correctly?
“Don’t you I-beg-your-pardon me! If Doug can sleep with Patricia, then I can kiss you!”, she stated it as if it were obvious, yet Darcy failed to come to that same conclusion from the facts she had just shared with him.
He hoped he had been misinterpreting the meaning of what she had just revealed, but it was not his priority to clarify that. Far from it. Instead of asking her about what had happened or complying with her request, he held both her hands and looked into her mesmerizing, green eyes.
“I shall not deny I have desired to kiss you since I beheld you as we danced. No, that is a lie.” He took a deep breath before continuing. If he was doing it, he was doing it right. “I have desired to kiss you since the moment I first saw you. And, as I became more acquainted with you and learned that, not only you are the handsomest woman I have ever met, but also the brightest and one of the kindest, that desire became so strong to the point of physically hurting me. Still, I refuse to do the dishonor of kissing you when you are in such a vulnerable state. If I am to kiss you – and I believe that moment is becoming inevitable – it will be in the way a lady such as yourself deserve: after a marriage proposal is dutifully accepted.”
♥
Chapter 15
After their filled-with-revelations talk at Starbucks, Nat and Darcy agreed they should forget about it. The agreement had been mutual and implicit, of course, since he had regretted his words the moment they had escaped his mouth, while she considered them nothing but a joke to improve her mood, even though a part of her wished it had not been the case.
The following couple of weeks hadn’t allowed them to spend time alone, the work at the restaurant and the bookstore being very demanding for both.
“Dear”, Julia called Darcy when he was having breakfast with Bobby one morning. They liked eating together; the two men had similar rhythms eating. For very different reasons. “I have a surprise for you! There’s an exhibition of your Queen Victoria at the Met, and my daughter got you tickets!”, she finished excitedly.
“I thank you and Ms. Estevez Brown, Madam. However, I am expected at the restaurant in an hour and I believe there will be not enough time to–”
“No worries, Honey Bunny!”, Julia interrupted with a radiant smile. “Or should I say ‘Honey Brit’?”, she giggled with her own little joke. Her grandson and the houseguest simply glanced at one another suspiciously. Even the naïve Darcy knew she was up to something. “I’ve got you replacements!”, she finished triumphantly.
“Oh, Grandma! That’s incredible!”, Bobby was immediately eager about the much needed day-off. Obviously, he wouldn’t waste it on a museum trip. Perhaps he would take Fitz there then go to Central Park or something.
“Have you suddenly become British, Robert?”, his grandmother’s tone indicated she didn’t expect – or wished – to be answered. “This invitation is for our Fitz here, who is British, has been in New York for almost a month and hasn’t visited the Met yet.”
“I much appreciate your kindness, Madam”, Darcy intervened. He noticed how disappointed his friend looked. He certainly had no inclination to be the cause of disagreement between grandmother and grandson.
“If you call me Madam, ma’am or Ms. Brown again, you’ll get no pancakes with Nutella, Fitz”, Julia threatened.
“I beg your pardon. Julia”, he replied with a grin. There was no way he’d do anything to compromise his pancakes. Ms. Brown’s pancakes were almost as delicious as Miss Nathalie’s.
Talking about her… “So, Fitz, my granddaughter will be going with you today”, Julia mentioned it as if it were a small, unimportant detail. But it had been the whole point of the museum day trip all along. Nat had been sad ever since that awful, cheating episode.
Besides, Julia had noticed how they looked at each other. Whenever Nat walked into a room, Fitz’ eyes would lighten up. Whenever Fitz did something adorable, Nat would stare at him with admiring eyes. Their spark was so bright it was almost blinding.
“Yeah, sure, ‘cause Nat is a Brit”, Bobby complained, not caring if he sounded like a seven-year-old.
“She’s a British descendent, may I remind you”, Julia countered, throwing him her don’t-you-dare-ruin-my-brilliant-plan look.
“So am I!”, Bobby decided to ignore the look.
“Are the young men in your country insolent with their grandmothers as well, Fitz?”, she asked Darcy, who was on the verge of chuckling. Before he could offer a response, she placed the pancakes on their plates and continued, “Get ready, Fitz! I’m going downstairs to tell Nat the news! She’ll be thrilled!”
Darcy waited until Ms. Julia Brown had left the apartment before saying, “I am sorry, my friend”, Bobby’s answer was a sad sigh, which made the other man smile. Then, Darcy swallowed a few times, cleared his throat, and asked, “Do you think your sister will be glad with the arrangement?”
“Well, she doesn’t approve when grandma plays the cupid.” When he saw Darcy’s quizzical brow go up, he continued, “Trust me, that’s grandma’s plan; throwing you two in each other’s arms so she can have some little Darcy dudes running around her. But, luckily for you, Nat loves the Met. So I guess she’ll be fine.” Even though the answer hadn’t been enough to calm Darcy’s nerves, Bobby was finished with that subject, so he moved on to the next, “This is so insane, Fitz. You’re gonna see old stuff about a queen who hadn’t been born yet in your time! So wicked, bro!”
“Bro? Robert, I was just beginning to get accustomed with the ‘doode’ expression, and now you decide to apply yet another term as you refer to me?” With that, Bobby laughed and they didn’t exchange words for a while. Darcy wasn’t able to hold his insecurities back for long, though. “What do you mean your grandmother wishes to be surrounded by ‘little Darcy doodes’? Do you believe your sister wishes the same?”
“Seriously dude, what’s going on between Nat and you?”, Bobby h
ad expected to catch them in the act by now, but it hadn’t happened yet. He wasn’t sure he was relieved or frustrated. There was a lot of sexual tension between his sister and his time-travelling friend, which would explode if they didn’t do anything about it.
“Nothing!,” Darcy replied quickly.
Even Bobby knew that was far from the truth.
♥
What a lovely morning it was. For the first time since the day Nat had discovered her boyfriend and her friend together in bed, she’d woken up with a feeling it would be a great day.
There were three regulars waiting expectantly for her when she opened the bookstore. She understood why some people visited the establishment on a weekly basis; it was a preciosity in the middle of Manhattan.
Her mother had started her collection of rare books when she was seventeen. By the time she was twenty, she had so many books Nat’s grandparents didn’t have more space in their apartment to build new bookshelves. When she started to work at the Met, and after Julia’s husband had passed away, Julia suggested they opened a bookstore, so she could sell some of the rare books she found during her travels.
“You should share at least some of your findings, honey”, Julia encouraged her daughter, “Otherwise this entire building will become a library.”
That was how Brown’s Preciosities was created. Half of its bookshelves was filled with rare books for sale. The other half was filled with the rare books Ms. Elizabeth Brown refused to let go, but wanted to share with the world.
Some of the books, for being too old or too valuable, were only on display, protected by glass and a security system. Others were available for reading, but only inside the store.
Just by the store entrance, there was the counter where Nat or her grandmother generally stood, which they shared with a coffee maker and some pastries Carlos Estevez prepared every morning. Positioned in strategic places in the space were armchairs and ottomans so people could read comfortably for as long as they wanted. And, if they got hungry, Carlos’ restaurant was literally a mere door away.
From Pemberley to Manhattan Page 11
