6. Lizzy
Lizzy
Back in the house, I ran into Darcy on the stairs. His eyes softened, which had the opposite effect on me, making me stiffen. This man didn’t do soft. He leaned forward, as though he wanted me to know something.
Then maybe thinking better of it, he jerked back suddenly. “Your mother got off okay?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
“Going home to rest for her ‘gig’?” And there it was. His voice was now riddled with disdain. He couldn’t help himself.
I nodded slightly, not rising to his obvious scorn. Mum was often mortifying and frequently misguided, but she was still my mother.
“Retiring?” he asked.
He wasn’t good at this small talk, but he seemed to want to delay me. Why?
“Going to my room to read,” I murmured.
He rocked on his heels. “More romance books?”
A twist of anger drove through my chest. I faced him full on. “Why do you have to say everything with that sneer in your voice?”
“I-I…” For once, he was speechless.
Firming my lips, I thumped up the stairs to my bedroom.
Closing the door, I raged into the room, which was empty except for Oodles.
“How am I going to put up with that man for a weekend?” I stormed aloud. Oodles whimpered from his donut under the window, his black, brown, and white face lifted in worry. “Sorry, nothing to do with you, Oodles. That man is insufferable.”
I needed a flash of cold air, and Oodles needed his evening walk, so I took him outside to the forest. I breathed in the chilly night air smell of wet moss and pine. Then it was back to my room again, where I changed for bed and settled down with a book, somewhat less angry. But I couldn’t focus.
Darcy was under my skin and not in a good way.
Thinking his name made me prickly and defensive.
In my every interaction with him, he’d been rude and humiliating, highlighting what I lacked and making me feel worse about the fact that I was single and I couldn’t write a romance, even though I believed in love.
I always aimed to be positive and light in the way I lived, and he’d rammed into my space with his heavy negativity, making me question myself and my life.
This was supposed to be a fun weekend, but I was dreading the next two days with him in the house. Did I even need to compete in the cooking show tomorrow? Maybe I could learn the details of the romantic afternoon secondhand.
Jane skipped in about an hour later and bounced on my single bed. “Oh, Lizzy, what a lovely evening.”
“Look at you, all moony.” I rested my open book on my chest. “I think my sister might be keen on someone.”
“William is the perfect man. Kind and sweet and funny,” she said as she changed for bed.
I giggled. “And incidentally, good-looking and rich. And he is already smitten by you, as any man with eyes and a brain in his head would be.”
She blushed. “I don’t know about that.”
“I do, and what’s more, he seems to be the real deal.”
“He really does.” She slipped under the covers.
“Pity about his dreadful brother, who’s the opposite of kind and funny.
Jane, I’m sorry, but I’ve decided to leave first thing tomorrow morning.
I’ll make an appropriate excuse. I can’t face that man again.
He is the most arrogant, snobbish, rude person I’ve ever met.
I don’t ever want to see or speak to Darcy Wainwright again in my life. ”
She turned her head to me on the pillow, her face fallen. “I’m sorry, Lizzy. He was rude. But maybe there’s some explanation for his behavior? William is so polite and considerate, it’s hard to believe he’d have a brother so mean.”
I gave a little laugh. “Oh, Jane. You always think the best of people, but even you can’t find an excuse for why he was so awful tonight.”
A ringtone sounded—my agent, who also happened to be my best friend, so it was hard to ignore her calls. Why did I complicate my life like this?
“You are my favorite author client, Ms. Bennet. A veritable genius,” Charlie said.
I drew back in surprise. I hadn’t handed her anything for six months or offered her any hope of making a commission out of me ever again. She must be joking.
“To what do I owe this accolade?” I asked. “What the hell has happened?” Maybe one of my previous books was surging slightly?
“Darling, you are relevant again.”
My shoulders jumped reflexively. “What? Why?”
“Did you know the production company with the matchmaking show put that dance scene on their socials?”
“The dance scene? You mean shots from us dancing here at the Amor Inn? Tonight?”
“The very one.”
“Already? That was only two hours ago.”
“That’s like a million years ago in IG time, darling.
Look at the comments on your socials. What that Darcy guy said about romance novels has bumped your sales.
Readers’ reaction was all, ‘I’m going to order her books right now and show that bloody man.
’ And they loved the way you reacted to him—likable and relatable and kind of boss, because you laughed at him instead of letting him crush you. Good woman.”
“Believe me, it wasn’t that thought through. I was actually quite upset by him. And Mum was embarrassing as well. I really don’t want to stay for the weekend.”
“Sorry, but you have to. I’ve got a note from your publisher. Look how many downloads your books have this evening. It has to be linked to the footage. Sending you the stats now.”
My jaw locked with worry at how this might lead to more time with Darcy Wainwright. The last thing I wanted was to go viral for something related to him.
I waited for her text and did a double take. “Oh. Oh, that’s good.”
“Yes, I may be able to eat this week.”
“Oh, come on, Charlie, enough of the guilt trip. It hasn’t been that bad.”
“Lizzy, we’ve both got mortgages and lives.
And you know Mary and I want to start trying for a baby.
I want to say no presh, darling. Honestly, I do.
But…presh. Truckloads of presh. Gobs of presh.
The publisher wants to rush your deadline to capitalize on the momentum of this show.
You must get those first pages to them in two weeks. Three chapters or fifty pages.”
My heart stopped. Two weeks? No, no, no. I had a month.
“Otherwise…you know what happens when you miss that deadline and break the chain.”
“Will it break the chain, though?” Why was I hoping to find fault in her logic? This was Charlie; she was seldom wrong.
“This book is going to be pushed back, and another book will capture their marketing budget. I won’t mention you know who.”
Olivia Darling. The hot, up-and-coming Regency author who was fast and prolific.
“And you will not make the deadline for London HeartCon. Which means, after all their patience, your readers will be devastated not to see and talk to you at the signings…and they may move on to someone else.”
She was right. My readers would quite rightly not be understanding about my missing the UK’s biggest romance writers’ and readers’ conference.
Going without a new book released and facing all their questions would no doubt disrupt my ability to draft a novel.
Not going would signal I’d forgotten them.
The thought of how I would lose their faith made my stomach twist in slow, anxious knots.
“Now. For this weekend, let’s start with something concrete—this renewed interest in your backlist. Keep building the buzz for the next two days.”
But something else worried me. “I’m worried this show is making me seem silly, which will undermine my career anyway.”
We’d talked about this a lot. Romance was already seen as somewhat frivolous, and authors had that against us, as well as objectification for writing sex scenes.
“Steer clear of that man, then. Don’t let yourself get drawn into the drama.”
I breathed in, searching for an argument to counter with. I couldn’t. “I will only speak to that man this weekend to be polite. After this weekend, I never, ever want anything to do with him.”
“Fair enough. It’s only two days. What a waste,” she said. “That guy is so hot—and this is coming from someone who’s usually immune.”
I snorted.
“He’s the kind of mean that is hot in a book but dreadful in real life,” she said. “Hey, that might be an idea. Maybe your heroine finds out he’s actually shy, even socially awkward, and kind of wonderful.”
“Maybe. In a book. Believe me, this guy is none of those things.”
She hummed with a smile in her voice. “People surprise you.”
No wonder she was smug. My best friend had found her happily ever after…in my sister Mary, who used to be terribly serious and studious but had considerably lightened up since they’d gotten together.
We said goodnight, and I plugged my phone into the wall with a jab where I might have imagined it connecting with that man’s head.
“Yay, you’re staying,” Jane said. “I do think you’ll find out he’s a good guy after all, despite that scowling and grunting.”
“Not holding my breath,” I said. Now I was the grumpy one, and I hated he brought that out in me.
I pulled up my covers and turned to my sister, lying in her own single bed, and smiled. She reached across the space between us. I joined hands with her, and we swung them back and forth and giggled about how clearly light-headed she was feeling over meeting Wills.
It was like when we were little and we’d shared a bedroom.
I felt a tug of love toward her so fierce tears pricked behind my eyes.
She was kind and good and deserved a happy and peaceful life.
She’d been through hell with that awful boyfriend of hers and a modeling career Mum had pushed her into only because she was beautiful.
The posing and go-sees and constant scrutiny and eventually public recognition had been complete anathema to her quiet, private nature.
But she’d returned home, finished her teacher training, and was settled into her first job at a primary school, which she loved.
And tonight, she might have found her soul mate.
A flood of happiness poured over me. Yes, Wills lived and worked in London, and she lived and worked in the Cotswolds two hours away, but that distance wouldn’t stand in their way if they truly fell in love.
At least this weekend might produce one love match. Two, counting the snogging couple.