“Ha. Ha,” she said.
“Don’t give me that look. There’s no one else, nor will there be. It would cost me too much money to fool around on you,” he said.
“You’re wrong, I’m not suspicious in the least. In fact, I’d be shocked if you ever cheated. You’re no longer wired like the ordinary male and—unfortunately for me—you stopped thinking with your equipment a long time ago. Since you’ve been sober, any passion you had for anything other than Pemberley’s next corporate kill died.”
What the hell did she know? She was entirely wrong about him—always had been. He never thought with his dick, only his heart, and there were only two people who truly knew how his mind and soul worked, one of whom had intimate knowledge of how his heartandhis dick worked in tandem. Everyone else’s pitiful attempt to sketch his character epically failed due to their expectations and pre-conceived notions based on faulty information, the Darcy name, and the mask he wore.
“Can we please move on from this subject? Your ravenous need for sex has already violated the terms of the agreement more times than I can count.”
She put the phone down and propped a hand on her hip.
“As I said, none of them were parasites, so stop being so judgy. We’re not married yet and any sexual activity I’ve engaged in has been thoroughly enjoyed out of the tri-state area.”
He laughed. “I’m not judging you, but it’s uncomfortable and supremely annoying that our disagreements always devolve to the topic of sex. As you said, it’s not like you’ve been abstinent so why act like it or pressure me for intimacy I’m reluctant to give before marriage?”
Looking him straight on she said with a curve to her lips, “Because I’m a woman with new boobs and a healthy sex drive and you, my friend, are the epitome of hotness, even if you’re uptight. You arenotall show and no go, and I would have a serious defect if I didn’t desire a piece ofthatagain. How is this wrong think?”
“Because I’ve known you since you were eight, that’s why. Maybe we could talk about other passions—books, physical training, stock fluctuations, your massive handbag collection. Hell, I’ll even discuss your wedding dress ... anything other than your irritating innuendo and bullying to grab my ‘equipment.’ Think on it. Our friendship has always been more than that one mistake we made six years ago. You need to forget about it and quit forcing me to remember it, let alone discuss it. It’s a clear violation—”
“I know ... of the contract, pages forty-two and one-hundred-nineteen.” She audibly sighed.
“There’s no talking to you.” He sighed, then ran his hand through his hair. “Look, I planned on taking you to lunch to celebrate the townhouse. Are you up for Bangkok Garden?”
Obviously peeved at being chastised, she said, “I’ll pass. I want to get the ball rolling here.”
“Then, I should get back to the kill. Call me after the bridal salon to tell me how much you’ll bleed me for.” Leaving the kitchen, he stopped at the far end of the living room, admiring the fireplace. He liked her suggestion. A Seurat original could be quite fitting over the mantle. The small expressive strokes and thousands of dots of color and light would make his soul very happy.
FOUR
Surrounded by an obnoxious amount of lace, satin, and pink tufted chairs and sofas, Elizabeth Bennet felt dizzy from the heady fragrance of stargazing lilies throughout the bridal salon. She stepped onto the modeling podium and looked at herself in the mirror, pleased with the 1950s-style lace and satin dress she wore.
“I still like the first one. This one doesn’t suit you at all,” her sister Jane stated regarding the sixth choice. Most brides-to-be couldn’t wait for this part of the process, but not her. Everyone in her circle insisted on something else and no one of consequence listened—as usual—to what she wanted to wear or eat on her wedding day.
“I think this is perfect! It’s not the usual bridal dress, but it’s me—classically vintage yet fashionably savvy in an Audrey Hepburn sorta look,” she smoothed her hand down the bodice, feeling empowered over her sister for a change, but Jane’s disapproving head shake and frown looked back at her in the mirror.
Turning around, she beamed, holding out her arms. “I am positive. This is the one. Let’s pay for it and get out of here. I have somewhere to be in an hour and a half.”
“Not so fast! It’s not every day we pick out your wedding ensemble. It’s bad enough we have to buy off the rack on such short notice, so we need to tryeverythingon. Old Hollywood glamour and a square neckline are so yesterday. We shouldn’t settle.”
There was that “we, we, we” again. It wasn’t like Jane was footing the bill for said wedding of “their” lifetime, but such was her sister’s influential manner. We, by Jane’s definition, meant, “I’ll advise you to do what I think is best for you, and you or your fiancé will pay for it now that you’re both filthy rich.”
“Paying for it,” by Lizzy’s definition, didn’t always equate to a monetary value. It usually meant enduring the disastrous consequences of taking Jane’s oftentimes uninformed, unsolicited, bad advice on any random thing: fashion, men, career choice, apartment location, you name it. Apart from Jane’s occasional sweetness, her best attribute was to bestow guidance with the most beautiful smile and absolute assurances of the best outcome. With that said and having learned the dangers of taking said advice, she still never had the heart to outright dismiss Jane’s solicitations because, on rare occasions, they were well-meaning.
Despite Lizzy’s education and business acumen, she became a little lost lamb when faced with her older sister’s guiding influence.
“The length and neckline of this dress are so wrong for you, Lizzy. The mermaid was perfect and doesn’t even need alteration.”
“Because it’s meant to be a skin on a salami! Trust me, I know a little about fashion faux pas and wardrobe malfunctions and that gown is a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Don’t you want my help?” Jane pouted.
“Of course, I do.”
“If you’d allow Mom to visit, she would guide you on the proper gown. It’s only fitting that I should take her place. You forget, this isn’t my first rodeo in advising a bride. I know what I’m doing. I’m very fashion savvy.”
Yes, and she remembered all too well the last wedding dress Jane chose. It was an abysmal train wreck! Poor Charlotte; she looked so uncomfortable, and then ... the rip!
Jane rose, taking number seven off the rolling rack. “Trust me. If not the first one, this will be the lucky one. Just look at the stunning satin halter and bias-cut silhouette. The train pools like liquid! It’s perfect for your skinny figure and big bosom. You can pin your hair up and easily afford stud earrings to match your huge engagement ring.”
