Chapter 22 #3
He’d come close to asking her to move in a few times, and deep inside, she knew he only held back because he was unsure of her response.
Maybe he was scared of her feelings for him and his feelings for her.
It had all been so fast, this overwhelming connection.
Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it was better if they kept some small piece of themselves apart.
He’d opened up to her, and she’d talked to him about her mother, her family, her anger.
But still, it was frightening, all this trust and faith and love.
It was too soon. It might always be too soon.
It had only been a month. Dammit, there were so many maybes.
But he was so sure of her in so many ways, in all ways.
Why was she letting him wonder and worry about her hesitancy in telling her family?
Why was she so doubtful and holding onto her tiny scrap of an apartment?
He’d done so much for her, and her gifts to him—of lightness, happiness, and joy—paled in comparison.
They’d begun their acquaintance with misunderstandings.
She’d even thought him rude for leaving that long-ago dinner at Marciano’s when it turned out he’d actually been racing home to care for his sister’s dying cat.
She couldn’t let him misunderstand her now.
She’d missed him desperately while he was gone and fought with herself not to sleep in his bed just to immerse herself in his smell.
She had to tell him that she, too, was all in.
No more maybes.
It was eight o’clock by the time she arrived home and carried the boxes up to her apartment.
Her head hurt from all the overthinking.
She yearned to hear Darcy’s voice but couldn’t even text him for fear of waking him from a deep sleep in his dreary bed.
He would be home Tuesday, and she’d already informed him that he was hers all day on Thursday to celebrate his birthday.
They’d kick off their private festivities at the Yankees’ game the night before.
But first, she had a project to finish. She opened the bigger of the two boxes and began pulling out picture frames.
The Yankees were losing badly, and the couple’s desire to be alone was so great that they abandoned their box to head home after the fifth inning.
Their ardor was somewhat cooled when a drunken fan of the Baltimore Orioles splashed beer on Elizabeth’s jeans and soaked Darcy’s favorite sweater.
After they left the stadium, he pulled it off and threw it in the back of the car; the smell of beer and cashmere was not an appealing mix.
Rudy, their driver, raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Darcy was annoyed; he’d never have it cleaned by Friday when he had to head off with Charles’s entourage to New Orleans.
Much to his relief, Charles had put his college buddies in charge of planning, so Darcy could just fly in and make a toast or two. And sleep.
He was doing a lot of thinking about sleep these days.
His trip overseas had been awful. He hadn’t wanted to be there; he never wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t with Elizabeth.
London was especially difficult. It always was, but having her there would have made it easier. She made everything easier.
He knew his wealth sometimes intimidated her.
Darcy had never imagined a woman who would find money off-putting, but Elizabeth seemed to be more comfortable with his weekend self—unshaven, in shirts with frayed collars, puttering around the kitchen, walking on the beach or in the park.
What he really wanted was for her to be comfortable with him 24/7, living in his home, sleeping in his bed, emptying his refrigerator.
They’d just spent far too many days and nights apart, separated by an ocean and thousands of miles.
He knew he’d have to travel again without her, but he wanted to come home to her, the only suitcase in the bedroom his.
Countless nights he’d asked her to stay, and it was high time to ask her never to leave.
Darcy adjusted his seat belt and glanced over at Elizabeth.
She was finishing up a text to Mary, asking her to keep Lydia in line for the weekend.
He reached for her hand. He’d missed her as much as she’d missed him this past week.
His back had a twinge in it from when she’d hurled herself into his arms yesterday.
After the fevered homecoming, it was rather amazing he’d managed to get out of bed this morning, put on clothes, and sit through two meetings. Thank God for a rigorous education.
“We have to get this geography issue sorted out,” he said thoughtfully. “You’re in New Jersey, I’m in Manhattan, and the Yankees are in the Bronx.”
“It’s a bit of a sprawling relationship, you mean? Me, you, and the boys in pinstripes?”
He shot her a meaningful look. “The boys stay in the dugout.”
She scrunched her nose and laughed. “Well, I’ve come to like your boys, my dear.”
His face would’ve turned red if all the blood hadn’t immediately rushed to his groin. “You’re going to be the death of me, Elizabeth Bennet.”
“Yada, yada, yada. Can’t take me anywhere; I know.” She played with his fingers, anxious to get home and relieve him of his agony. “Look, Jane and Charles have already moved into their new place. My lease is up November 1, but I’m ready to bail on New Jersey and leave it to Sylvia and her beau.”
“Really?”
“I have an old roommate who can sublet me her place by Columbia. That would be a lot closer to you.”
“I suppose that’s true.” His voice was edged with disappointment.
“And as you know, I do have a car,” she said lightly.
“Ah, yes. The one you don’t drive so you can save the whales.”
“It’s my carbon footprint, mister. And actually, I don’t drive it because I need new tires.”
He smiled, but she saw it didn’t reach his eyes.
Enough teasing. She curled up in the seat and leaned into him.
The city lights blurred through the car’s tinted windows.
She loved these moments in the cocoon of his car, the fate of their trip in the driver’s steady hands.
It made for some intimate conversations, among other activities.
“Elizabeth?”
She looked at him, into those fathomless eyes that swallowed her up. After that starry night at Pemberley, she knew she’d never leave him, nor he, her. They were bound together. For good times and bad. In sickness and in health. No more doubts.
“Move in with me,” Darcy breathed. “I hate taking you home. I hate leaving you.” His voice was earnest and urgent. “I want to come home to you and talk about your day.”
She was falling into those eyes. He said it.
He asked. He’s ready. Except when one of them was traveling, she hadn’t slept alone since Pemberley.
She had a drawer and closet space at his apartment.
He had a place for his overnight bag at hers.
He was all in; he’d told her that weeks ago. And now he’d jumped ahead. Can I?
“Is this one of your birthday wishes?”
“Yes.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them, one by one.
“Are you sure? Really sure? What if—?”
“Lizzy,” he said, his voice unsteady. He looked out the window and then turned back to her.
He wanted more; he wanted a ring. He’d known that since she’d kissed him in the park, maybe earlier.
But he’d take what she’d give him for now.
He had to keep her, keep them, moving forward.
“I’m sure. Beyond certainty, I am sure of my feelings.
I live every day with regrets. I regret how things began with us, but I will never regret loving you.
I will never stop loving you.” He took a deep breath. “I want to live my life with you.”
Elizabeth’s face reddened. She felt stupid and thoughtless.
She loved him. His past, their future…neither was a teasing matter.
A shudder ran through her as his words, his vow, sank in.
Just as she had gathered her courage to speak, she felt his hand brushing a stray hair from her cheek. She looked up and met his worried eyes.
“Don’t be frightened, love. It’s all right if you’re not ready.”
His voice, so soft and patient, broke her heart. She wanted him. This.
“I’m not afraid, Will. I love you. I want to be with you too, all the time.”
“Is that a yes?”
“Most definitely. I’m ready to move in. I want to be with you.” She squeezed his arm and touched his face, made more handsome by a broad smile, before kissing him deeply. “No more wishes till we get home, okay, Birthday Boy?”
He pulled back and kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. “Home,” he repeated, “Our home.”
Then he just smiled at her. “Best birthday ever.”
“Even with the stinky beer?”
“Even with the stinky beer.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to lick it off of you.”
“Hey, handsome,” she whispered. Her freshly scrubbed, happily sated man rolled over and fixed his gaze on her. “Happy birthday.”
He gave her a bemused look. “My birthday isn’t for a few more hours.”
“What time is it in London?”
He glanced at the clock on his bedside table. “Um, around three in the morning.” He turned to look at Elizabeth. “Ohhh. How official you are. Did you learn this at Birthday Fairy College?”
Elizabeth leaned over the side of the bed and disappeared from view. When she sat up and turned around, naked but for a silver birthday hat on her head, Darcy burst into laughter.
“You already gave me the best gift ever a few hours ago, but I must say I’m quite keen on this new one…”
“Good. Now sit up and close your eyes.”
“Um, should I be wearing more than my birthday suit or is nudity part of the plan?”
Elizabeth stopped and gazed at him thoughtfully. “Good point, my man. You’re even more brilliant at twenty-nine than you were a few hours ago at twenty-eight. Let’s put on some clothes. It’s chilly in here.”