Taming Mr. Darcy (The Taming Series Book 4)

by Nia Arthurs

  I felt extremely proud that Persia could say that without worrying about the financial strain.

  “Well,” I fist bumped with my favorite guy. Joshua’s promised that he’ll marry me when he grows up. I don’t mind waiting eleven years for him to make good on his promise. “I might come with you if you beg. I don’t have anything more interesting to do this summer.”

  “Please, please, please, please.” The rambunctious boy pleaded.

  “Let me talk to your mama and then iron this trip out. Okay?”

  “Awesome!” He pumped his fist in the air and then raced off to the nursery where many of his friends had already congregated.

  Persia shook her head. “I can’t believe he found out about that. I’ve been trying to keep it a secret.”

  I smiled, “He’s a sharp kid.”

  “Persia!” a voice shrieked in excitement.

  Everyone in the Gym craned their heads to locate the producer of such a sound and then shrugged. It was Susan.

  She’s just like that.

  “Hey!” Persia hopped up and wrapped the small woman in a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you. I’m sorry we couldn’t make it last night. We were in Orange Walk working on a case.”

  “That’s fine.” Susan grinned from ear to ear.

  Archie glanced at the pew stuffed with us twenty-somethings. Actually, Spencer and Peyton were thirty.

  I called them old hags.

  “Looks like we might need to find another bench.” Archie commented.

  “We can make room.” I smiled at the ex-love of my life, “But the aisle seat is mine.”

  Peyton leaned forward, his auburn hair brushing against the collar of his shirt, “It’s true. She stole it from me.” He shook his head and teased, “Kids these days.”

  I rolled my eyes but squeezed against the side of the pew so that everyone could fit comfortably.

  “Susan and Archie.” Pastor Stanley appeared before our crew and everyone stood to shake his hand. Belize isn’t necessarily into Santa Claus the way the States is. First of all, Santa is white and most of our population is black. Second of all, it doesn’t snow in Belize and our houses don’t have chimneys.

  But if I did believe a fat white man with a white beard and red suit existed, I would swear that he was actually black, thin, short and dressed in three piece suits instead of red gear. Pastor Stanley has not only been our teacher but our friend for quite a few years now. He has a little more wrinkles since the last time Susan and Archie had seen him, but in all the ways that counted he was the same.

  “Hey Pastor.” Archie and Susan shook Pastor Stanley’s hand and smiled.”It’s good to be back.”

  “I feel you.” he nodded, “Archie have you kept up with your guitar skills?”

  “Yes I have, Pas.”

  “Pull up then. You’re old guitar is still here.”

  Archie’s eyes brightened with excitement. Everyone clapped Archie on the back as he pushed forward, traveled with Pastor Stanley to the front, and hopped on the pulpit to set up his guitar. Archie beamed at us when the strap was around his shoulder and it felt like old times.

  Except the times were new.

  Persia’s sweet perfume wafted over me as she spoke to Mia about a particular case involving a girl who stole from a store.

  Alexis, now calm, cooed loudly from her place in her daddy’s lap.

  It was a good kind of new.

  “Excuse me.” A deep voice sounded overhead, “Is there room for me?”

  Sorry, there’s no room in this inn. I thought humorously.

  The shadow of a large man blocked the sunlight streaming from the windows overhead. I glanced up and choked on my spit.

  Andrew Darcy dressed in a white button-down shirt and pressed grey pants stood directly in front of me.

  I grasped my neck and tried to hack up my spit but the stubborn phlegm remained in the tube of my esophagus. Persia whacked me on the back. The sound of her flat palm against my skin coupled with my coughing created a kind of Scrillex song. If I had any presence of mind (and if I wasn’t dying on my own spit) I would totally be recording this right now.

  Finally, after what felt like hours of writhing and hacking and smacking, I returned to life. By that time, Drew probably thought I was possessed.

  “Are you okay, Lexi?” Mia asked with concern.

  Spencer and Peyton regarded the newcomer with suspicion as though Drew had somehow forced me to make a fool of myself in front of them. Melody just looked amused.

  Why did God give us siblings again?

  “I’m, I’m fine.” I said in a hoarse voice.

  “Here baby,” Melody cooed, the mischievous light still in her eyes, “Drink some of this.”

  She handed a bottle down the line to me. I was too busy hiding my face from view behind my palms so when Persia nudged me in the side, I simply accepted the bottle of water and shoved it at my mouth.

  Except it wasn’t a plastic bottle of water.

  It was baby Ally’s bottle of water… in baby Ally’s bottle… with a nipple.

  I spit out the thing.

  “Melody!” I scolded.

  “Maybe I should just sit over there.” Drew quipped.

  “Nonsense!” Melody encouraged. “Persia could you scoot over so Drew can sit between you two?”

  “Sure.” Persia grinned and wriggled her bum down the bench so that Drew could fit.

  As I was too busy dying from embarrassment and my own spittle, I couldn’t protest.

  Mia stood up and pointed each person out to Drew.

  “This is Spencer,” She gestured to the tall, Asian man with the slanted eyes and handsome “ghost smile” as Melody would put it. “His wife, Melody.” She indicated my big sister. “And their baby Alexis.”

  Drew’s lips curved into a small smile and I prayed to the Lord above that he wouldn’t rat me out in front of everybody about the Vodka infused cheesecakes.

  “It’s nice to meet you. Susan and Archie have a lot of great things to say about you.”

  I blew out a sigh of relief.

  Mia pressed on, “My name is Mia, and this goofball is my husband Peyton.” She sent a loving smile toward the pale skinned American with light blue eyes and amazing auburn hair.

  “That’s Susan.”

  He nodded.

  “And that’s Persia.” She stretched her arm out to the medium sized Indian woman with bangles dancing over one arm.

  “The woman on the edge who is usually a lot more collected the rest of the week is Alexi. But we call her Lexi.”

  “We’ve met.” Drew arched an eyebrow and replied in a dry voice.

  “’Sup.” I tried to play it cool.

  That was probably a lost cause given my brief stint sucking on a baby bottle.

  “Good morning!” Pastor Stanley yelled through the microphone. Gratefully, I swung my attention to the front and listened to his brief welcome.

  Jermaine, the worship leader, bid everyone good morning to which he received a chorus of salutations. Jermaine sent me a subtle wave and I looked away. Last year, at the Gym’s Love’s Feast, Jermaine sat next to me and left tons of hints that he was interested. I started avoiding him more ardently after that. I hated hurting people’s feelings but I was just not into Jermaine in that way. He’d been persistent however, and I was wondering if I should address his unwanted attention.

  Jermaine invited us to stand and we all did. I observed Drew through the corner of my eyes. When the music pumped through the speakers and the worship band started to play hype punta rock, the man stood stiffly, his face an expressionless mask. “The pew” was rocking. Even the white dudes had loosened up since their first visit to the Gym and shake and wallah and wine along with the rest of us.

  I was not as demonstrative and loose as Persia, Mel, or Mia, but I could hold my own when the beat hit my system. After fifteen minutes of praise, Jermaine gestured to the musicians to slow down the music and enter a time of worship.

  In t
he Kingdom, worship is important because it is a naturally expected response to somebody greater than you, somebody with more authority than you. Worship exists where authority exists. It’s a manner submission. When you think of a kingdom where the King owns everything, worship keeps you in right standing with that person.

  Worship to me was more than singing a song. It was living a lifestyle of obedience that extended further than clapping lips and closed eyes and raised hands.

  I saw things in black and white. Emotional spiels were Melody and Eryn’s forte. I liked believing in things that I could see and understand. My approach to the Kingdom stemmed from an intellectual and instinctual need for answers.

  Not from a feeling.

  “And I worship you because of who you are!” I sang, swaying from side to side.

  I forgot who stood beside me and focused on letting the King know just how much I appreciated Him.

  When Jermaine stopped singing and the band hopped off the stage, a deacon gave announcements and then Pastor Stanley took the mike.

  “This month, we’re discussing the most Important Person on Earth.” He shuffled in his Manual. “If you turn to Book 1, Section 1, line 28, you will see the first command of the King to his citizens: have dominion.” Through the culture and lifestyle of his citizens, the king sought to impact his territory.” A picture of the earth popped up on the projector screen which hung suspended behind the man in the suit. “So though the citizens had dominion or authority, the main goal of any kingdom is to make its colony exactly like the home country. That’s why we have the Queen on our dollar coins and even why we speak English! Belize was a colony of Britain.”

  Actually, there was an argument about Belize’s territorial rights as a Spanish colony too, but that’s beside the point.

  My fingers flew over the pad of my phone as I took notes.

  “Now, this didn’t just happen automatically. A Kingdom didn’t just take over a colony and magically transform it into a replica of the home country.” Pastor Stanley laughed and shook his head. “And even in Belize, the Queen was too busy to actually come down here and rule us directly. What did she do?”

  He asked the congregation.

  A deep voice rumbled from beside me.

  “She sent a governor.”

  Whoa, Mr. Darcy was actually listening.

  My annoyance meter cooled with that admission.

  Pastor Stanley hopped a little off the floor and answered his own question, “She sent a governor, a direct representative of her Crown and tasked him with the job of changing our culture, our religion, our speech, our education until everything we were as Belizeans resembled the British system. Even our beautiful lawyers,” He winked at Susan and Persia, “can’t practice their American law here.”

  Susan cackled and we all laughed.

  The pastor continued, “Now with the governor in the colony, the king’s direct presence wasn’t necessary in order for the citizens to experience the home country’s culture or to be touched by the king or queen’s influence. How often did the Queen of England visit Belize?”

  The older people replied, shouting numbers no higher than five. I grinned as my father argued with my mother debating if the Lady set foot in Belize more than once or twice. My father’s one claim to fame is that he was alive when Queen Elizabeth visited Belize. Everyone had cleaned their shops and houses, even though the woman probably wasn’t even going into their tiny shacks. The school children lined the street and sang hymns and Belizean folk songs. My father was among the children that sang for the Queen.

  “Once. The Queen visited Belize once. And yet, we all learned to speak English, we all follow the Common Laws of Britain, and we print her face on our money year after year. The Governor General was directly responsible for that transformation, not the Queen. Therefore, the governor was the most important person in the colony.”

  Drew shifted uncomfortably and his knee brushed my leg. I narrowed my eyes.

  Did he do that on purpose?

  “In the Kingdom, we too have a King, a Prince and a Governor.”

  Pastor Stanley continued his message for a few more minutes and then ended the meeting. I stood up and stretched, turning around to greet the people behind me. As I was speaking to Mrs. Maisey who owned a chain of small grocery stores in every district of Belize, Joshua ran out of the basement where the younger people had their own lessons during the meetings and barreled into me. I was caught off-guard and whirled my hands to keep my balance as he hugged me around the waist.

  “Joshua!” Persia scolded.

  “Oh my!” Mrs. Maisey gasped.

  “Oof,” Drew protested as he caught me awkwardly by the crook of the armpits.

  “Gah!” I yelled.

  Together, we were a ramshackle version of The Wiggles.

  Joshua unwound his arms and pushed past both Drew and I to be thoroughly scolded by Persia who lambasted him in every way without physically laying a hand on him. I winced on behalf of the kid. Drew took away his hands from my pits and I straightened self-consciously, my eyes downcast as tingles ran up my spine.

  “Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Maisey questioned.

  “I’m fine, just a little shaken. I’m sure Josh didn’t mean to-” I replied quietly.

  “Actually, I was talking to the young man.” Mrs. Maisey corrected me.

  My head shot up and I recognized that besotted look on her face. Ever since Melody’s relationship with Spencer, the Gym had become a lot more… adventurous with their mixes and matches. Of course we still had Hispanics with Hispanics and Creoles with Creoles. More and more, however, the less ‘normal’ pairings became your average every day couples.

  And the older generation was catching on.

  Mrs. Maisey, a widow of eight years, was twirling her purple hair and smiling guilelessly with candy red shaded lips at Drew.

  “Young man, are you alright?”

  Yeah, like I’m some kind of flu that he caught?

  I narrowed my eyes at the traitorous Mrs. Maisey. What happened to the bonds of girl power?

  Drew sent the older woman a charming smile and grasped her hand from where it rested on the ridge of the brown bench.

  “I’m much better now.” He said with a wink.

  He was laying it on so thick I could ice skate on his lyrics.

  Josh stole my attention,

  “I’m sorry, Lexi. I didn’t mean to knock you over.”

  “It’s okay, little man.” I hugged him to my side.

  I already had my number one guy. Mrs. Maisey could take Darcy .

  CHAPTER FOUR

  My work day usually consisted of a routine of movements that I did without fail every morning. I liked things a certain way and I had a wheel of tasks that I needed done before I could delve into my assignments for the day.

  I got up at seven, hit the snooze button, and then slept until seven thirty.

  I showered (this step was optional. If it was a cold morning, there was no way I’d get naked and spray cold water all over myself).

  Next, I made a breakfast of either Pop tarts or toast and eggs.

  And then I fiddled around on my Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.

  Finally, at around eight thirty, I’d check my work email and get into the meat of my networking or programming duties, depending on the job with the most imminent deadline.

  At first, my parents hadn’t understood my choice of career path. To them, it made more sense for me to work inhouse at one specific corporation, gain some experience, and then branch off on my own. I felt differently. I wasn’t a business mogul like Spencer and Peyton, but I could handle my own when it came to advertising my brand as a dependable, consistent and honest programming and network service. I was proud of how far I had come in just a few months.

  My home phone rang and I answered in my calm, professional voice. The only people that would be calling my telephone number at this hour would be clients.

  “Good morning. This is Think Script. H
ow can I help you?”

  Sometimes, being your own secretary is kind of fun.

  “Good morning. Ms. Reyes?”

  “Yes that’s me.”

  “Are you Mrs. Braden’s younger sister.”

  I wondered where she was going with this.

  “I am…” I said slowly.

  “Wonderful,” The woman’s exuberance could not be contained, “My name is Sharon Freemont. I’m the head creative director at Channel Six news.”

  I gasped. Why would the creative director of one of the four main local television channels in Belize be calling me?

  “Uh, okay.” I said, hoping that she’d get to the point quickly.

  “I met Melody in the grocery store. I know her from a few business deals our husbands have made. Anyway, she couldn’t stop talking about her talented younger sister.”

  Aww, go Melody. Talk about grassroots advertising.

  “Mm-hm,” I said, still wondering what this conversation was about.

  “When she mentioned your animation skills, I perked up immediately. For a long time, I’ve longed to create our very own Belizean cartoons. It’s been heavy on my mind lately. The first cartoon in the world to ever be created came out in 1908. That’s over a century ago, and Belize still hasn’t produced its own cartoon about our people and our life.”

  “Mm-hm,” I repeated.

  I could tell that Mrs. Freemont was climbing on her soap box and I couldn’t quite figure out what the spiel had to do with me.

  “We don’t even have one movie! Not one!” She shrieked and then composed herself, “Anyway, it has recently come to my attention that a renowned video game designer is here for the summer. I’ve convinced him to lend his skills to a project for a children’s cartoon exclusively on Channel Six. The only thing he’s asked for is a professional animator.”

  “Oh,”

  “Yes!” Mrs. Freemont yelled, “When Melody informed me that you had actually gone to school for a degree in programming and you dabbled in animation, I knew it was fate! Would you consider coming in to co-lead this project? We can discuss payments and work schedules tomorrow afternoon at the station if you’re interested.”