Chapter 4
DARCY
The historic Mattichogue Library has been transformed for tonight's auction.
Ancient oak shelves tower above strings of twinkling lights, their familiar musty warmth mingling with the smells of coffee and fresh flowers.
The leather chairs where I used to hide with my books during high school have been pushed back to make room for cocktail tables, already crowded with the town's eager bidders.
It's almost enough to make me forget I'm about to help bid on a Bardot.
"I can't believe you actually came." Annie bumps my shoulder, dark eyes sparkling. She's dressed to impress in a burgundy wrap dress that makes my conservative cream blouse and black pencil skirt feel like the reliable teaching uniform it is. "Thanks for contributing to the cause."
"The library needs a new roof." I take a sip of decidedly weak punch, eyeing the growing crowd of what appears to be every single woman in Mattichogue. "It has nothing to do with your crush on Evan Bardot."
"Come on, Darce." Jules appears at my other side, her long blonde hair swept up in an elegant twist. "At least admit this is more entertaining than grading papers on a Friday night."
"I'm here because Mom guilt-tripped me about community support." I straighten my shoulders, comfortable in the same professional attire I wore to teach AP English this morning. "Nothing more."
"Speaking of your mom..." Cathy nods toward the makeshift stage, where my mother, Clara, is conferring with the auctioneer, her librarian-chic outfit perfectly pressed despite hours of setup. "She's really outdone herself this year."
I have to agree. The annual Bachelor Auction for Literacy has grown from a modest fundraiser into the social event of the spring, thanks to Mom's tireless organizing.
Usually I just write a small check and avoid the spectacle entirely, preferring to spend my Friday nights with a stack of essays and a cup of tea.
But Annie's pleading eyes and Mom's gentle guilt trip about "supporting the community" proved a lethal combination.
"Five hundred dollars," Annie says, clutching our collective bidding paddle like it's a rare first edition. "That's our starting limit for Evan, right? Unless someone drives up the price... oh God, what if someone outbids us?"
"Then you'll have to find another eligible bachelor to pine over.
" I scan the crowd gathering around the makeshift stage.
Mrs. Peters, my old AP English teacher, catches my eye and waves.
I wave back, wondering if she remembers how I used to hide behind classic novels during lunch period.
"Though I'm not sure why you're so set on a Bardot. Their family drama is legendary."
"Says the woman who can quote entire passages of Wuthering Heights," Jules teases. "You'd think you'd appreciate a good dramatic family saga."
"I appreciate fiction." I watch Mom adjust the microphone stand, ever the perfectionist. "The real-life version tends to be messier. And harder to analyze through a literary lens."
"Oh my God, you really are Dictionary Darcy," Cathy laughs, then immediately covers her mouth. "Sorry! I didn't mean..."
"It's fine." I force a smile, though the old nickname still stings. "That was a long time ago. I've embraced my inner word nerd. Made a career of it, even."
Annie squeezes my arm. "And you're the best English teacher Mattichogue High has ever had."
A burst of feedback from the microphone cuts her off, making everyone wince. Mom taps the mic twice, then beams at the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen! If you'll all find your seats, we're about to begin our seventh annual Bachelor Auction for Literacy!"
The crowd surges forward. I nearly lose my footing as what seems like half the female population of Mattichogue jostles for position. Annie clutches the bidding paddle to her chest like a shield.
"Is it just me," I murmur to Jules as we claim spots near the back, "or are there more people than usual this year?"
"Definitely more." Jules stands on tiptoe to see over the crowd. "Word must’ve gotten out about one of the Bardot brothers being up for auction. Half these women probably drove in from Southold and Greenport."
Great. Not only am I participating in this circus, but it's apparently turned into a regional event.
I should be home reading submissions for tomorrow's creative writing workshop at the library.
Instead, I'm squeezed between my best friends and what appears to be the entire North Fork chapter of Bardot Brother Admirers Anonymous.
"And now," Mom continues, practically glowing, "I have a very special announcement about tonight's lineup..."
Her tone makes me pause with my punch halfway to my lips. I know that voice. It's the same one she used to announce she was dating Ted, back when I was in high school. The one that means change is coming, whether I'm ready or not.
"Due to an unfortunate accident, Evan Bardot won't be able to join us tonight." A collective groan rises from the crowd. Annie's grip on my arm tightens painfully. "However, we are absolutely thrilled to announce that his brother, Finn, has graciously agreed to take his place."
The punch glass nearly slips from my suddenly numb fingers. Because striding onto that makeshift stage, all confident grace and casual arrogance, is Finn Bardot.
And he looks even better than he did in high school, damn him.
Ten years have been unfairly kind to Finn Bardot.
He moves across the stage like he owns it, with the easy confidence of someone who regularly risks his life and limb for fun.
The lanky teenager who used to slouch in the back of English class has filled out into broad shoulders and lean muscle, obvious even under his casual blazer and designer jeans.
His sandy hair is artfully mussed, like he just finished some thrilling adventure, and that infamous smirk—the one that used to short out my concentration even while he was mocking my vocabulary—has only grown more devastating with age.
This is not happening.
"Oh my God," Annie breathes beside me. "What happened to Evan? He’s standing in the wings on crutches!"
"Darcy?" Jules touches my arm. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
More like the physical manifestation of every mortifying high school memory I've spent a decade trying to forget.
I can't seem to look away as Mom introduces him, not that she needs to.
Every woman in the room is already leaning forward, drawn to that magnetic combination of billion-dollar success and bad-boy charm.
"As I'm sure many of you know," Mom gushes into the microphone, "Finn Bardot is the founder and CEO of Bardot Adventure Enterprises. We're so fortunate that he's taken time from his busy schedule to help support our library."
"Busy schedule?" I mutter, finding my voice at last. "Since when does he care about anything in Mattichogue?"
But Finn just grins at the crowd, somehow managing to look both sheepish and entirely too pleased with himself.
"Happy to help," he says into the mic, and his voice, deeper now than I remember, lands somewhere below my collarbone. My body files the sensation under "unwelcome" and underlines it twice. "Though I should warn everyone, I'm not nearly as well-behaved as my little brother."
The resulting wave of feminine sighs makes me want to gag. Or possibly hide behind the nearest bookshelf with a copy of Jane Austen for protection.
"Bidding will start at five hundred dollars," the auctioneer announces, and Annie's paddle nearly smacks me in the face as her hand drops limply to her side.
"Well," Cathy says with forced brightness, "this is an unexpected turn of events."
That's when Finn's gaze finally sweeps the crowd, and locks directly onto mine. For a moment, surprise flashes across his features, quickly masked by that infuriating confidence. But there's more in his face than that, and whatever it is makes my chest go tight. Recognition. Interest.
Maybe even a hint of... regret?
No. I'm not doing this. I refuse to let Finn Bardot's return to Mattichogue affect me. I'm not that insecure girl anymore, the one who used to practice witty comebacks in the mirror just in case he called on me to demonstrate my "impressive vocabulary" in front of everyone.
"Do I hear five hundred?" The auctioneer's voice echoes through the room. "Ladies, this is a chance to have one of America's most eligible bachelors at your service for an entire weekend."
Before I can stop myself, I grab the paddle from Annie's slack grip. Her startled "What are you doing?" barely registers as I thrust it into the air.
"Five hundred dollars!" My voice rings out clear and strong, causing heads to turn. Including Finn's. His eyes widen slightly, that arrogant smile faltering for just a moment.
Good. Let him wonder. Let him worry about what Dictionary Darcy has planned for his weekend of service.
Because revenge, like vocabulary, is best served with precision.
"Six hundred!" calls a voice from the front. I recognize Sarah Whitaker from the insurance office.
"Seven hundred!" That's definitely Jessica Mills, who runs the wine shop downtown.
I hold the paddle higher. "Eight hundred."
The crowd mutters and shifts. On stage, Finn's expression has shifted from surprise to fascination, his eyes never leaving mine as the bids climb higher. He's enjoying this, damn him. Probably thinking this is just another amusing chapter in the Dictionary Darcy saga.
"One thousand dollars!" A woman I don't recognize practically bounces with excitement.
Annie tugs at my sleeve. "Darcy, what are you doing? That's way over our budget—"
"Twelve hundred." The words slip out before I can stop them. Jules makes a choking sound beside me.
Finn actually has the nerve to wink at me. Wink. Like we're sharing some private joke. Like he didn't spend years making sure I knew exactly how amusing he found my existence.
"Fifteen hundred!" The bouncing woman again.
I grit my teeth. "Two thousand."
"Darcy!" Three voices hiss in unison from beside me.
The room has gone quiet except for the auctioneer's rapid-fire calls.
Everyone is watching this tennis match of bidding, heads swiveling between me and my competition.
Even Mom looks concerned, probably wondering if her daughter has finally cracked under the pressure of teaching Romeo and Juliet to freshmen.
"Twenty-five hundred!" The other woman's voice wavers slightly.
I straighten my spine, channeling every literary heroine who ever stood up to an arrogant man. Elizabeth Bennet facing down Mr. Darcy. Jane Eyre confronting Mr. Rochester.
"Three thousand dollars."
The silence is deafening. Finn's casual pose has vanished. He's leaning forward now, intense focus replacing that practiced charm. The auctioneer looks between me and the other woman, who's frantically whispering with her friends.
"Three thousand going once..."
I lift my chin, meeting Finn's stare across the crowd, and every word I know briefly files for leave.
"Going twice..."
The other woman shakes her head, defeated.
"Sold! To Ms. Darcy Gable for three thousand dollars!"
The room erupts in excited chatter. My friends are staring at me like I've lost my mind. Maybe I have. But the look on Finn's face, that perfect mixture of intrigue and unease, makes it worth every penny.
Mom hurries over, clearly concerned. "Darcy, sweetheart, are you sure..."
"Perfectly sure." I hand the paddle back to a shell-shocked Annie. "If you'll excuse me, I need to go settle up with the treasurer. And have a word with my... purchase."
I move toward the stage, where Finn is already making his way down to meet me. The crowd parts like the Red Sea, everyone eager to witness this confrontation. Ten years of carefully maintained dignity at war with the urge to show him exactly how much I've changed.
He reaches me first, that devastating smile back in place. "Dictionary Darcy. I have to say, I didn't expect—"
"Outside." I cut him off, pleased to see the surprise flash across his face. "Now."
To his credit, he follows me without another word, though I can feel his amused curiosity like a physical presence at my back.
I lead us through the library's front doors into the cool spring evening, where string lights illuminate the historic building's brick facade.
The murmur of the auction continues inside, but out here it's just us, and a decade of unfinished business.
"You know," Finn says as I turn to face him, "most women I date would've at least let me buy them dinner first."
In the gentle glow of the porch lights, he looks even more devastating up close. The photos I've seen in business magazines didn't do justice to the way his features have sharpened with age, or how his eyes seem to hold fragments of both sea and sky. Not that I'm noticing.
"I'd sooner have dinner with Lady Macbeth. At least she's honest about the knives." I'm proud of how steady my voice sounds. "And this isn't a date."
"No?" He takes a step closer, and suddenly the porch feels much smaller. "Because spending three thousand dollars to get me alone seems pretty date-like to me."
"Think of it as an investment." I resist the urge to step back. "In karma."
His laugh is rich and genuine, startling us both. "You always did have a way with words."
"And you always did have a way of turning them into weapons." The words slip out before I can stop them, sharper than intended.
His expression dips, there and gone too fast to parse, before the easy smile returns. "Come on, Darce. We were kids."
"Don't." Heat rises in my cheeks. "Don't call me that. And don't pretend you don't remember exactly what you did."
He studies me for a long moment, head tilted slightly. The gesture is so familiar it makes my chest ache. "You've changed."
"That tends to happen in ten years." I straighten my shoulders. "Though I see your talent for stating the obvious remains intact."
"Ouch." He presses a hand to his chest in mock pain. "Is this what I have to look forward to all weekend? Because I have to say, I'm intrigued."
"Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock sharp. Meet me outside the bookshop on Main." I turn to leave, then pause. "And Finn? Leave the thousand-dollar jeans at home. You're not in Manhattan anymore."
"Right. Got it. Any other orders, boss?"
"Just be there. And don’t expect me to go easy on you."
"Is that a threat or a promise?"
I glance back over my shoulder, letting him see my smile. The one I rehearsed in the mirror all those years ago and never got to use. Sharp as a paper cut. "I guess you'll find out."
His low chuckle follows me back inside, but I don't look back again. I have plans to make. Because Finn Bardot is about to learn that Dictionary Darcy has a favorite new word.
Revenge.