Chapter Twelve #3
“Norway.” What the fuck? Why had that been the first country to jump into my head?
“Norway’s not too far; Oslo’s only a couple of hours’ flight.”
“Yeah, but he lives in a really remote place that’s super hard to get to. In fact, I think the chances are that once he leaves London, I’ll never see him again.”
As I said the words, I felt a sharp ache in my chest. So maybe the Norway bit was a lie, but everything else was true.
Darcy came from somewhere very, very far away, and if I ever worked out how to get him back into the book, it was possible he’d never come out again.
Images from the past six days flashed through my mind: the two of us cooking and talking about our families, sitting on the sofa together while he watched TV and I wrote my diary, or laughing over something ridiculous Mrs. Atallah had said.
This week with Darcy had been magical in so many ways, and once he left, I’d be back on my own in the flat every night, with nothing but Mr. Wickham and my romance novels to keep me company.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Bianca asked.
I swallowed. “I’ve tried to make my peace with Will leaving, but I’ve been kidding myself. I really like him, B, and it breaks my heart that he’ll eventually have to go, and that will be the end of us forever.”
“Oh, sweetie, it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m sure you guys could make the long-distance thing work if you wanted to. It sounds like you and Will made an amazing connection this week, so perhaps you need to tell him how you feel and see what he says?”
“He’ll never want to stay here,” I said. “He has a sister he looks after and loads of other responsibilities at home. He can’t just drop it all for me.”
“Have you asked him? Because maybe he feels exactly the same way you do, but he just isn’t sure what you want.”
I remembered Darcy’s slight pause on Sunday when I’d suggested we go out on the bus to try to get him home.
Had he been considering whether he wanted to stay?
But then he’d told me he did want to return, and had given me a long list of all the reasons why.
And although he hadn’t specifically mentioned Elizabeth, I was pretty sure she was high on that list too.
“I think there’s another woman he’s keen to go back for,” I said. “Nothing’s happened between them yet, but I get the impression she’d make him much happier than I ever could.”
“Zoe Knight, stop it this instant!” Bianca was using her Big Barrister Voice, and I jumped. “You are not allowed to do this again.”
“Do what?”
“That thing we talked about last week, where you find problems with any man who shows an interest in you because they’re not as perfect as your book boyfriends.”
“I’m not doing that,” I mumbled.
“Yes, you are. And I know it’s just a defense mechanism because of Crispin and your dad, and I know that the idea of being abandoned again terrifies you, but at some point you’re going to have to accept that real-life relationships aren’t like fictional ones.
People aren’t perfect: They live too far away and have other lovers in their past and pick their toenails at the breakfast table.
And yeah, maybe this Will isn’t Atlas Corrigan or Fitzwilliam-bloody-Darcy, but he is real, and here, in twenty-first-century London, and making you so happy that you’re ignoring my messages and wearing your good bra that makes your boobs look amazing. ”
Bianca nodded at my top and I smiled, but my heart felt like it was cracking in two. She was right: Darcy was real. And although maybe he wasn’t 100 percent perfect, he did make me happy—perhaps the happiest I’d been since before Mum died.
“If he stayed here in London, do you think that this has the potential to be a serious relationship for you?” Bianca asked, watching me intently. “Do you think he could be your happy-ever-after?”
I paused, suddenly terrified of my own answer…
because of course I wanted a relationship with Darcy.
He’d given me such precious memories with my mum and stayed with me even when every other man had walked away.
And although he might be behaving a bit differently in twenty-first-century London than in nineteenth-century Meryton, he was still comforting and supportive and kind, just like he was in the book.
And didn’t I deserve to be with someone good for once?
Someone who I knew would never try to knock down my confidence or abandon me?
I looked back at B. “I think he could be, yes.”
“Then isn’t he worth fighting for?” Bianca reached across the table and squeezed my arm. “Tell him how you feel about him; tell him you want him to stay. The worst that can happen is he says he can’t, but at least then you’ll know two important things.”
“Which are?”
“You’ll know that you tried, which is better than spending your life wondering what if. And you’ll know that you actually dodged a bullet, because any man who isn’t willing to fight for you is clearly a massive cockwomble with terrible judgment skills, and you’re better off without him.”