17. Chapter 17
Chapter 17
“I so wish I could go, but I have a nightmare headache. I’m afraid I’m just going to stay here and lie in the dark,” said Liz.
“Are you sure?” Charlotte said, looking concerned. “I feel terrible—”
“You certainly must be very ill to want to stay home and miss dinner with the de Bourghs,” Collin interrupted. “You poor thing. We will send her your warmest regards, of course.”
Liz groaned inwardly. She had nothing like warm regards for the old snob and her equally snooty daughter, and she wasn’t above faking a headache to get out of a miserable evening with them. She tried to smile as she thanked Collin and Charlotte. “You go enjoy yourselves,” she said, waving them away.
Not a half hour later, the doorbell rang. She nearly jumped out of her seat, not having expected any visitors. Before she knew it, she was opening the door to a very agitated-looking Fitz.
“Uh, hi, I didn’t expect—”
“Elizabeth.”
He stared at her for what seemed an eternity. Then he strode into the sitting room to a chair, and then almost immediately rose to his feet. She stood looking on with wariness, crossing her arms over her chest.
“In vain I have struggled,” he said. He seemed about to say more, but in seconds he was before her, clasping her shoulders as his lips crushed hers. Shocked, she tried to pull back and speak, but his arms tightened around her as he deepened the kiss.
And then just as she began to respond, he abruptly pulled back. “My … my apologies.”
She stared at him, touching her fingers to her parted lips.
Before she could think of anything to say, he nodded to her (nodded!) and said firmly, “I must go.”
W ith mixed feelings, I closed my laptop to answer the ringing doorbell. I was reluctant to step away from my story, which had seen a great deal of progress and inspiration today, yet I was also excited to see Annie and prep for tonight’s event. When Ellen had texted me with an invite to yet another dinner party—who throws a party on a Tuesday with only a day’s notice?—I hadn’t even needed to be coerced into attending.
As Annie scoured my closet, her topic of conversation was the new love of her life, of course.
“I’m having a really hard time finding anything wrong with this one, Viviana,” Annie said, pausing to cough quietly. “He’s, he’s …”
“Your soulmate?” I asked with a teasing smile. I was lounging on the bed with my favorite kind of scone while Annie did all the hard work, the all-important (or so she said) task of finding the perfect outfit. I couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty at all for lazing about, as I’d eventually be the one to clean up the growing heap of clothes discarded by Annie on the floor. And the scone crumbs. “After all these years, you’ve found the one?”
Annie rolled her eyes. “That’s so cheesy, Viv, and it’s not like I’m so old. But I find that—” she paused, suddenly looking wistful in a way that I hadn’t often seen in my younger friend. The moment was gone in a flash though when she started to cough again. “I find him so—” she started again hoarsely.
“So perfect?” I cut in with a smile. I’d heard this speech from Annie more than once before, but because I was in a good mood, I wouldn’t remind her of that. “I’m actually finding it hard to spot anything wrong with him too, I’ll admit,” I confessed. I stopped short of telling Annie about their likeness to Jane and Bingley. Annie didn’t know very much about my novel yet, and I wanted to keep it that way. For now.
When she sneezed, I looked at her with friendly concern. “Hey, don’t cough all over my clothes now. Are you feeling OK?”
Annie waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, I’m fine. Don’t start your worrying thing. Just a tiny cough, probably just a touch of hay fever.”
I frowned, as Annie had never mentioned seasonal allergies in the years I’d known her. Besides, wasn’t hay fever a late summer or fall allergy? Not a spring one. Still, Annie was a grown woman who could take care of herself. I shook my head, mentally chiding myself for ruminating. I had enough to think about already. Like how should I act around Gregory after that insane kiss? My breath caught for a moment. Was he even attending tonight?
“Annie, is Gregory coming?”
My friend blew her nose, which sounded like more than a touch of allergies. After throwing her tissue away, she looked at me and grinned. “As if Brandon would go anywhere without him. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he’s just as keen on setting up you and Greg as I am. Brandon speaks well of you to Greg.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize … well, then.” I stared at a spot on the wall for a moment and then laughed nervously. “Annie, I hope we live up to your expectations.”
“We? You’re speaking in ‘we’ now? That has got to be a good sign,” Annie said with a sly grin as she sauntered over to the bed and sat down. “Tell me everything! I promise I won’t cough on you.”
I wasn’t ready to confide in anyone about the kiss yet, though I wasn’t exactly sure why. “There isn’t much to tell. It’s—” I stopped as Annie coughed again, this one sounding worse than the others. “Annie, are you sure you’re well enough to go out tonight? I’m sure Ellen would be fine with you sitting this one out.”
She scowled at me, her reddened nostrils flaring. “You’re changing the subject. You know, you’re not as good at that as you think you are.”
I had to laugh. “Well, maybe, but you really do seem ill. I am starting to worry about you.”
“I’ll be fine,” Annie said in a nasally voice as she walked back over to the closet, gracefully dodging the piles of clothes. “I would press you for more deets, but I need to focus on finding the right dress for you. I wish we had time to go shopping. You just don’t give me much to work with here, Viv. And I still have to do my hair, but we will continue this conversation later,” she warned.
Despite successfully dodging that conversation with Annie again, a nagging sense of worry lingered. Early in the evening, when we hadn’t yet eaten, she seemed to feel even worse, and even Brandon urged her to go home.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly just abandon you,” Annie exclaimed, or at least as much as anyone in her condition was capable of exclaiming. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not, love,” Brandon said as he massaged her shoulders. “Go home—I’ll bring you some chicken soup tonight after we’re done here.” His wink followed by a whisper in Annie’s ear seemed to change her mind.
“Oh, if you insist,” Annie said. She sighed and looked at me. “Be sure to keep Brandon company. Maybe if you’re sober, you can give him a ride to my place afterward?”
Suddenly, Gregory was standing next to Brandon, apparently having overheard. Since I arrived, he’d been talking with Ellen’s husband on the other side of the room. I had assumed he hadn’t noticed our arrival. “I will take care of it. Brandon will be fine without you. Go home before you infect the rest of us.”
I glared at him, ready with a retort, but when I looked over at Annie, she didn’t seem to care. She was too busy giving Brandon regretful looks and whispering in his ear.
Sighing, I mumbled, “Probably too late for that.”
An hour later, we were enjoying a decadent chocolate lasagna for dessert, and I found even more to like about Brandon, who insisted on sitting next to me at dinner. Interestingly, Gregory stayed pretty close all evening too, even though he didn’t offer more than a few polite statements about the weather. But any attempt at pleasantries coming from Gregory was progress, right?
As we all decided to head out to Ellen’s spacious, heated back patio, Brandon grabbed an extra glass of wine for each of us, ushering me outside ahead of the others. “We have to get the best seats,” he explained, a twinkle in his eye.
I had visited Ellen’s house many times and still had no idea what he’d meant by the “best seats,” but I nodded pleasantly.
As it turned out, the best seats were in a dimly lit corner, somewhat distant from the others. Nerves fluttered through my chest until I realized that Gregory meant to sit on the other side of me. For some reason, that eased the nerves.
How often do I get to sit between two gorgeous men outdoors on a starlit night?
I watched Brandon arrange his chair closer to mine. Did he want to discuss something important or delicate? Perhaps he wanted to talk about getting serious with Annie, maybe even to propose, with my blessing. Or he wanted to give his blessing for me and Gregory to date. I almost laughed out loud at the fanciful thoughts, no doubt prompted by all the wine I’d consumed. This wasn’t an Austen novel—not really.
When Brandon offered to pour more wine, I smiled at him encouragingly, even when he fumbled with the glass and accidentally brushed my hand. “So, Brandon, how is your visit so far? Have you found much to like about the Twin Cities?”
He grinned and leaned in. “Oh, you know I have. I can’t imagine a more … delightful place.”
I wanted to scream: Could you be any more like Charles Bingley? Instead, I said, “I’m glad to hear it. Your visit has certainly made some people very … delighted.”
He gazed at me for a long time, as if trying to decide whether to say more. I smiled again to reassure him that he could confide in me.
Before Brandon could reply though, Gregory spoke up while staring out at the night sky, “Delightful is one word for it. Tedious is another.”
I gasped, looking over at him. “You do know that I live here, right? And that I can hear you blatantly insulting where I live?”
He studied me for a long moment. “I do not naturally assume that people enjoy the places where they live. Where I live has rarely, if ever, been dictated by whether I liked the place.”
“Business, right.” I shook my head. “Well, whatever works for you.”
“Indeed,” he responded and then returned to his customary silence.
From there, the evening began to take a different turn.
Brandon’s tone began to change in ways that were subtle at first and hard to pin down. Was he nervous about talking to his lover’s best friend and perhaps uncertain about whether he should talk about Annie?
But he never brought up her name.
Even worse, he began to sound openly flirtatious. And not just in a general “I’m so friendly that I come across as a flirt to all women” kind of way, a la Charles Bingley. No, if I didn’t know better, I’d think … he was coming on to me.
I must be misinterpreting the situation. Surely he meant well. Right?
Everyone knew he was a flirt, but in a harmless way.
But when he asked me—whispering, for my ears alone—if I wanted to join him for a walk on a nearby path along the darkened lake below, I began to feel distinctly uncomfortable. The alarm bells went off in my head as my body stiffened.
Maybe he just wants some privacy to talk about Annie, I tried to reason with myself while attempting to dismiss the growing knot in my stomach.
But I knew flirting when I saw it; I knew lust. Brandon was propositioning me. Brandon!
So much for finding a Bingley for our Jane.
Shaking my head in disgust, I wished I’d asked Jack to come along. Surely Ellen had invited him, but he must have declined on account of his workload. I frowned.
Or on account of me .
I politely declined Brandon’s offer, but his heavy-lidded eyes shone with determination. He leaned in and put his arm around my shaky shoulders, his breath hot on my cheeks. Flustered, I rose abruptly before he could whisper something I didn’t want to hear.
Gregory rose as well. “Are you leaving, Viviana?”
Dismayed, I studied him and then Brandon, whose brows were furrowed. Had Gregory heard everything? He didn’t seem upset, yet how else would he know I wanted to leave? “I … I think I am, yes.”
“I’ll escort you out,” Gregory said. Was he being gallant for once?
I searched his face, but it was unreadable as usual. Apparently he, unlike the rest of the party, had been unaffected by the copious amounts of wine. “No, you stay. You are bringing Brandon home.” My eyes darted to Brandon, whose face showed a sneer I’d never seen before. I shivered, eager to escape.
“Yes, I am. But I will walk you outside,” Gregory said.
I bit my lower lip as I nodded and then gave Brandon one last look, intending a curt goodbye. Until I saw what he was doing. The man had picked up his phone and started swiping through photos of women. Was he on Tinder? My jaw dropped.
First hitting on me and then, as soon as that falls flat, looking for a new hookup before the last attempt has even left the room. Who the hell is this guy?
I shook my head, full of confusion and tipsiness as I let Gregory lead me back through the house and out the front door. Fortunately, I didn’t encounter Ellen, who would have tried to persuade me to stay. Once outside, I rummaged in my purse for my phone and arranged an Uber.
“My ride should be here soon,” I said, shivering. Emboldened by drink and by darkness, I placed my hand on his arm. “Gregory, thank you.”
His eyes slowly traveled down to where my gloved hand rested on his forearm, and I felt his warm muscles tense even through his expensive, well-lined jacket. He remained still, not moving away but also not coming closer. “For what am I owed thanks?”
“I think you know.” I looked at him pointedly before letting my arm drop to my side. “Things were becoming rather uncomfortable in there. And it’s cold. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, I …” His brows lowered, appearing to think carefully about his next words. “I am pleased that I could be of service.”
I smiled at him tentatively.
“I actually wanted a moment of privacy to ask you a question,” he said, clearing his throat and sounding almost nervous. Or perhaps just awkward. “I know this is short notice, but if you are available this weekend, I wondered if you might like to attend the literary convention in Duluth as my guest.”
I stilled, certain I’d misheard. I was aware of this convention, of course, as my father attended every year, as did the Bolder management team, including Ellen in some years. But I myself hadn’t ever attended or been invited to attend. “You—you want me to go with you?”
“Yes.” He gazed into my eyes with an expression that could only be called … serious. Not lustful, not dismissing. Serious. I had no idea how to interpret that, except to conclude that he wasn’t joking. As if he ever did.
“I, um …” Realizing I was nodding vigorously, I felt my cheeks redden as I dropped my phone in my purse.
“I am aware that it is probably outside of your normal weekend pursuits, but I would be pleased if you would attend as my guest.”
I stiffened. Was he being condescending again? Maybe. But this was just Gregory’s way. It was Darcy’s way too. I paused to think it over.
But what is there to think over? This insanely attractive and successful man is inviting me to spend a weekend with him. Does it matter where or why?
I was grateful he couldn’t read my thoughts at that moment.
“Yes, that sounds lovely,” I heard myself saying.
“Good. Thank you.” His eyes shifted to a car passing through the night and then returned to me. “Viviana.”
“Yes?” I gazed up at him, my eyes shining.
“May I kiss you?” he asked. “I confess I find myself attracted to you, though my tastes usually run toward more sophisticated women.”
My face fell as I returned his stare. This, more than his other comments recently, couldn’t be interpreted as anything but a slight. Yet … I couldn’t bring myself to truly feel anger as I remembered the famous speech of Darcy’s, in which he proposed to Lizzie while thoroughly insulting her and my family. That terrible speech certainly led to a happily ever after … eventually. Besides, kissing Gregory seemed like the best antidote for any hurt feelings. “You may,” I said, as calmly as I could.
He stepped forward and placed one hand behind my head, drawing me closer and kissing me gently but firmly.
When he pulled away after just a few seconds, I lightly touched my lips with my gloved fingertips. “Well, it wasn’t quite like our first kiss.”
I winced. Why on earth had I spoken those words aloud?
“Indeed, no. This was a more proper kiss. I apologize for the previous one,” he said, still looking into my eyes as he stepped back to arm’s length.
“Well, I … I quite liked the first one. It was passionate, intense, spontaneous—” I clamped my mouth shut, again wondering why I was speaking any of this aloud. Perhaps I’d drunk more than I realized.
“Spontaneous? You prefer spontaneous?” he asked, furrowing his brow.
“Well, not always. A well-planned romantic scene, and the effort that goes into it, does not go amiss,” I explained. “But don’t we all need some spontaneity in our lives sometimes?”
My next move was one that, when reflected upon later, I could scarcely believe I’d made. Punctuating my explanation about spontaneity with a spontaneous kiss of my own, I leaned forward to place my lips on his while grasping his shoulders to steady myself.
The kiss was, well, lovely, and I was relieved when he returned my bold move with some enthusiasm. But he broke it off shortly as headlights came into sight, a car slowing in front of us.
“I see what you mean,” he said, with a rare lightness in his eyes. “I will concede that was more enjoyable than the prior one.”
I had to laugh at his formal tone, still , after an evening spent together and not one but two kisses. There was no cause for doubt now: my Mr. Darcy was warming to me. Indeed, most of the evening, he’d appeared to be enjoying himself—or at least he hadn’t been obviously miserable or bored, as in the past gatherings we’d both attended.
He handed me into the waiting car, and I wanted to swoon. “Goodnight, Viviana. We will meet Friday at the convention, as agreed. I shall have my assistant send you the details. Thank you for a pleasant evening.”
“Thank you , Gregory,” I all but gushed, smiling from ear to ear, though I couldn’t feel my ears in the biting cold. “Truly, this was … really nice. I look forward to this weekend!”
Really nice? That’s all you could come up with?
I was still smiling like a fool as the car drove away.