Pride and Prejudice and Mistletoe Read online

  “Ditto.”

  “I guess we’re stuck with each other for the night, then.”

  “I could think of much worse fates!” she said, sipping from her glass of bourbon and savoring the burn on her lips.

  “Finish your drink so we can get eggnog,” he advised. “Then we can sit back and judge everybody in the room like we did in college.”

  “Yes! Oh my God, remember the dance party at that eighties-themed bar? What was it called again?”

  “Relax! With the exclamation point at the end and everything.”

  “That’s right! An eighties-themed bar in Ohio. That was bleak.”

  “To say the least.”

  “And we were the only people who showed up in eighties clothes, and everyone was like … looking at us like we were freaks. And we were like ‘Hel-lo-o, this is an eighties-themed bar.’” The bourbon was getting to her head, the buzz circulating like a loop of bees.

  “So we bought water balloons and climbed up onto the roof of the building … Weird, I wonder how we got up there.”

  “And we threw them at anyone who wasn’t wearing an eighties outfit!” Darcy laughed so hard at the memory that she snorted.

  “Did you just snort, you animal?” Bingley teased her.

  “Do you think it was mean of us to throw those balloons?” Darcy wondered out loud, still laughing, still trying to catch her breath.

  “No! After they made fun of us for having some eighties spirit, we should have done a lot worse. Wish we had some water balloons right now, I can tell you that much,” he joked.

  “I can always count on you to clear my conscience,” she said, downing the rest of her drink. “Now let’s get some eggnog, babe.”

  * * *

  They had only just ordered their eggnogs when Bingley tripped on a fallen Pottery Barn acorn.

  “What the—” he exclaimed, as the liquid in his glass swished over the edge and sprayed onto the jacket sleeve of the man standing in front of them.

  “Oops,” Bingley said, and they giggled, too amused to be apologetic. But when the man turned around, Bingley fell silent and tried very hard to compose himself. This only made Darcy giggle harder.

  “Jim!” Darcy laughed, realizing she knew this man. “I’m so sorry. Let’s get you a new jacket. I’m sure there are plenty in the spare closet upstairs.”

  “Oh.” The man named Jim looked down at his wet, milky sleeve and smiled. “Don’t worry about it at all.” He pulled a napkin off the nearest table and dabbed it on himself. “A little eggnog never hurt anyone. It’s just so great to see you!” He went in for a hug from Darcy.

  “It’s been way too long,” she said. “Jim, this is my friend Bingley Charles. Bingley, you remember our neighbor Jim Bennet, don’t you?”

  “I’m so sorry I got eggnog on you,” Bingley said, blushing. “I tripped on that stupid acorn.”

  “Well then,” Jim replied, looking Bingley straight in the eyes, “I don’t blame you. I blame the acorn.”

  “Well, good luck getting it to apologize,” Bingley said. “It’s pretty stubborn, as far as acorns go.”

  Jim laughed, not breaking eye contact. Bingley smiled, pleased with himself. If Darcy knew Bingley at all, she knew he had a crush. Darcy would probably have had a crush on Jim, too, if she hadn’t known that he was gay and would never go for a girl like Darcy anyway. Jim was grounded and centered; he valued service, education, and even a touch of spirituality. The last things he cared about were status, luxury, and vindication, the pillars on which Darcy thrived.

  “Jim is a schoolteacher,” Darcy said. “What grade do you teach, Jim, remind me?”

  “Eighth grade.”

  “Wow, a teacher,” said Bingley. “That’s admirable work. Must be rewarding.”

  “It definitely can be. Eighth graders are tough, what with the hormones and discovery of marijuana and whatnot.”

  “I was a nightmare in eighth grade,” Bingley admitted, summoning a look of mischief to his eyes, “for both those reasons.”

  Jim laughed again. Wow, thought Darcy, Jim’s into him, too. Visions of matchmaking danced in her head.

  “Will you excuse me?” She placed her hands on each of their shoulders. “I’m going to check on my mom, upstairs. Bingley, tell Jim about the screenplay you wanted to write. I’ll be back in a flash.”

  She dipped away before either could protest. But when she turned back she saw that neither would have protested. In fact, neither seemed to notice that she had left.

  Watching the two hit it off, instead of watching her step, and being more than slightly tipsy by this point, Darcy tripped and stumbled. She would have hit the floor, had she not been caught.

  “Still klutzy as ever, I see,” said the man who caught her. She looked up and, through the blur of alcohol, saw Luke Bennet. Luke was the older brother of Jim Bennet and had been Darcy’s childhood archrival. Her cheeks burned when she realized it was his arms that were now cradling her close.

  5

  If Chris Mayfair was catalog handsome and Bingley was movie star handsome, then Luke was real-life-person handsome. He had dimples and dark brown eyes and his hair was never anything short of unruly. As a carpenter, he had strong arms that had always annoyed Darcy since they popped up in high school. They were what made him arrogant. He thought because he did work with his hands, which actually required real effort, that he was better than everyone else, and that was represented in his muscles. The problem was, she couldn’t help but find them incredibly, incomparably sexy. The men she knew could play golf or win a debate or recite a limerick, but none could build, none could create, the way Luke could. And she hated that. She hated that he had this power over her. She swore she’d never let him know. He couldn’t fully claim that power over her if he didn’t know it existed.

  “I am not a klutz,” she protested, brushing herself off and taking a step back. “I’m just buzzed. As any sane person would be at a party like this.” She was getting impatient with the night, the lengthening strand of awkward encounters.

  “Hey, you don’t have to tell me.” He held up his mug of eggnog. “I’m on my fourth.”

  “Yes, but you’ve always been a lush.” Why am I being like this? she scolded herself. You’re an adult. No need to push his buttons for absolutely no reason. She couldn’t explain it to herself or to anyone else, but something about him made her want to shake things up. Just him coming around had always made her feel as though she’d been startled awake out of a perfectly peaceful, oblivious sleep.

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “Well then, I see you’re just as delightful as ever,” she said sarcastically. “Have a great night.”

  “Oh, come on, Darcy,” he protested, “why do you have to take everything so seriously? I haven’t seen you in, what, eight years? Let’s catch up.”

  “Eight years, but not a minute too soon.”

  “Ouch. You’re just mad because I caught you, literally, in a vulnerable moment.”

  “I’m not vulnerable.” She stared in disbelief. How did such a holier-than-thou moron always know how to read her so well?

  “No? You’re home, where you hate to be, your mom is sick, and here you are at a party where everyone is happy with their lives, everyone is settled down. You stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Oh, and I suppose you’re so happy and settled?” Her heart began to race. It was that surge of adrenaline she always imagined she’d feel when in love but so far had only ever felt during competition.

  “Sure.” He shrugged. “Can’t complain.”

  “Hey, buddy,” she laughed bitterly. “I’m not complaining either. I like my life exactly how it is. Not my problem that everyone wants me to settle down and start a family and blah blah blah. They’re only jealous because I’m completely self-made, and a woman on top of that.”

  “They’re jealous? Wow, I really know how to press your buttons, don’t I?”

  “You wish.” She rolled her eyes, looking around fo
r a way out of this fresh hell.

  “I wish what, exactly?”

  “That a nobody like you could affect somebody like me in any way whatsoever.” She was drunk, she knew that now. She would never have said a thing like this sober. She might have thought it, but she wouldn’t have said it. Good thing Luke could take it just as well as he could dish it out.

  “A nobody like me!” He laughed. “And I suppose you think you’re … who, exactly? Kate Middleton?”

  “Kate Middleton is a social-climbing puppet if you ask me.” She crossed her arms. “Do you realize I’ve been building my life from scratch ever since my parents cut me off? And since then, I’ve been able to rise up to partner at—”

  “New York’s second-largest hedge fund. I know.”

  “Meanwhile, you’re stuck in your childhood town, building furniture for a living. You’re one to judge.”

  “Oh, I love our friendly banter.” Luke grinned, almost flirtatiously. “And I’ll have you know carpentry is a very respectable art form.” He smirked. “Too intricate for a snob like you to ever appreciate.”

  Why was this happening? she wondered. Why did every word he spoke fluster her more and more, while nothing she said seemed to affect him whatsoever?

  “My God, are we finished here?” She groaned, finishing off the last of her bourbon.

  “You really are in such a hurry to get away from me.”

  “Yes. I am. I want to go see my mom and, as you already know, I don’t like you.”

  She let her head fall back in frustration. Instantly, she wished she hadn’t. There, on the ceiling above them, was a sprig of mistletoe. She snapped her head back to face him, hoping he hadn’t noticed what she had seen. But it was too late; he had seen it too.

  “Well, would you look at that?” He shoved his one free hand into the pocket of his jeans and tried to avoid eye contact.

  “I uh…” she stammered. “I should go upstairs. I think I’ve done all the socializing I need to do for the night. Or my whole lifetime.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “Sounds like a plan.”

  The two stood there for a moment, eyeing each other somewhat suspiciously.

  “Okay then.” She shrugged. “See ya around.” She wanted to walk away but felt glued to the spot. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to move.

  “Maybe just for the sake of tradition?” he blurted, gesturing at the mistletoe.

  “I mean…” She blushed a little. “It is tradition.”

  Did I really just say that? She couldn’t believe it. Am I honestly going to let Luke Bennet kiss me? Wait. Do I actually want him to kiss me? In that moment, she couldn’t deny it. In the middle of this mess of a party, all she wanted was for the adrenaline to keep rushing.

  He nodded with pursed lips. Then leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips. Darcy felt a surge of tingles race down from her head to her toes. From the look in his eyes, he felt it too.

  “Wha—” he began.

  “Don’t say anything,” she whispered, setting her glass down on the nearest ledge and taking his face in her hands. Before she knew it, they were kissing passionately, the sound of her heartbeat so loud in her own ears that it blocked out the music and the mindless chatter. What are you doing, what are you doing? her thoughts demanded of her. But she had no answer, and even though she tried, she couldn’t stop kissing him. Why, after all, would she voluntarily break away from the best kiss she’d ever had?

  “Ahem?” They were interrupted by the sound of somebody clearing his throat. Darcy peeled her face away from Luke’s, snapping back to reality as if waking from a deep trance, humiliated to find that it was Carl Donovan standing before them now, one eyebrow raised and a smug smirk plastered across his face as if he were owed an explanation.

  Carl Donovan was Darcy’s on-again-off-again boyfriend who her father had wanted so badly for her to marry, all those years ago. Refusing to marry him was the reason she’d become more or less estranged from her dad since then.

  What her dad didn’t know—nor did anybody else, for that matter—was that ever since Carl had moved to New York City to practice law, he and Darcy had carried on with their on-and-off-again ways. Just because she didn’t want to marry the guy didn’t mean she didn’t like him. What was so wrong about casually dating him when she felt like it, then taking her space when she felt like being alone? Wasn’t that what every man wanted in a girl—someone independent, with no strings attached? The problem was that Carl wasn’t like every man. He wanted something serious. He always had. This was his one major flaw, which sent Darcy running for the hills time and time again.

  “Hey, Darce, whatcha doing?” he asked bitterly, but with a dose of optimism, as if she might jump in and say, “Wait! It’s not what you think!”

  “What does it look like I’m doing?” she replied.

  “Uh…” This had him stumped.

  “We’re not together, Carl. I can do whatever I want.”

  “And this is what you want?” He gestured incredulously to Luke.

  “Oh boy.” Luke combed his hair back with one hand, then gave Darcy an awkward salute. “Have a good night, you two.”

  “Well, that was rude,” she said to Carl, who himself was red with embarrassment and anger.

  “Me? I was rude? You were making out with Luke Bennet in the middle of your family’s Christmas party, for Christ’s sake!”

  “So?”

  “So? It’s been two whole months since you said you needed a week to think about us.”

  “What about us, Carl? There is no us.”

  “Oh really.” He cocked his head dramatically to the left. “So you mean to tell me I could walk out of here right now and you’d never see me again and that would be just fine with you? This is really it for us, huh? You’re really okay with closing that door forever?”

  Darcy was on the verge of confidently telling him that yes, it was over for good, but something held her back. Something in the familiar way his hands trembled when he was angry. She bit her lip, the memory of Luke’s kiss still lingering.

  “No,” she gave in, feeling worn down. “No, fine. Can we get coffee tomorrow and talk? I’m really tired and, to be honest, I’ve had a lot to drink. I need to sleep.”

  “Oh.” He face softened and relaxed. “Yes, yes, of course. Do you need help getting upstairs?”

  “You wish,” she said with a playful, lazy smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m staying at the Glidden House.” His smile was a hopeful one. “Coffee in the lounge at noon?”

  “Sure. You got it,” she said, and drifted up the stairs, delighted to be closing the door on this stranger-than-fiction night.

  6

  Darcy sat in the Glidden House lounge watching the winter daylight filter in through paned glass windows. She squinted against the light, resentful of its brightness. Why had she had to drink quite so much? She was not a big girl, and the truth was that three strong drinks acted on her system like seven.

  But of course you overdid it, she reminded herself. The night was just one long strand of bizarre encounters, each one more uncomfortable than the one that came before it. She wondered what had become of Bingley and Jim Bennet. And what about Luke? Oh God, Luke. What had happened there? Alcohol, she told herself. It had to be the alcohol.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting,” Carl apologized, sliding into the chair across from her at exactly 12:03 p.m., just three minutes after their planned meeting time. In no way had he kept her waiting. In fact, she could have used a few more minutes to sit alone, gathering up her shattered memories from the night before.

  “Not at all,” she said feebly.

  If Chris Mayfair was catalog handsome and Bingley Charles was movie star handsome and Luke Bennet was real-life-person handsome, then Carl Donovan was simply nice-looking. He had dark brown hair and neutrally gray eyes, a crooked nose that he got from a wayward golf ball at the age of nine, and a jaw that didn’t do a good enough job accentuating itself
, in Darcy’s opinion. Today he was wearing a Burberry coat and red cashmere scarf, which he unwound from his neck and draped over the back of his chair as he sat.

  “You look tired,” he said.

  “I am. I’m exhausted.”

  “So. What did you want to talk about?”

  “Me? It seemed like you were the one with a lot on your mind, Carl.”

  “Fine, then I’ll just jump right into it.” He paused, folding his hands on the white tablecloth.

  “You know what?” she interrupted, gesturing toward the nearest waiter. “We should get coffee. Excuse me!”

  “How can I help you, miss?” the waiter asked.

  “I’d like a double espresso, please,” she said. “Carl?”

  “I’ll have a latte.”

  “Perfect.” The waiter jotted down the orders. “Anything to eat?”

  “Just the drinks for now, thanks.” Darcy gave him her sweetest, kindest, most polite now leave us alone, please smile.

  “So, like I was saying,” Carl continued, “I’m tired of this back-and-forth thing we’ve been doing. We get together, have an amazing month, and then you cut it off, for no other reason than that you’re scared.”

  Scared? Ouch. He knew which words to choose to get her attention. Darcy Fitzwilliam wasn’t scared of anything, and even though she knew he said it to be provocative, she resented the accusation.

  “Scared? What am I scared of, exactly?”

  “I don’t know … love? Marriage? Commitment?”

  “What are you talking about?” she joked. “Those are my three favorite words.”

  “I’m serious, Darcy. I want a change.”

  “So find someone new. Someone who wants all those things.”

  “But I don’t want somebody new.” His voice got serious and breathy. She hated when it did that. “I want you. And you want to be with me, too—at least some part of you must, otherwise you wouldn’t keep coming back to me time and time again.”

  He did sort of have a point. She didn’t not want to be with him. When they’d first met, during sophomore year of high school, he stood out as one of the most intelligent and driven people she’d ever met. He had read all the books she loved, and they would stay up late in the attic of his parents’ house (when each of them was supposedly studying at the library) reading favorite lines to each other and arguing over the author’s intended symbolism, and in time the arguing would turn to kissing, and before she knew it she’d be at her parents’ breakfast table trying to explain how she could have possibly fallen asleep at the library again.