“Do what you want. Personally, I’d use her, then discard her. She’s familiar with that M.O.,” he coldly offered.
As the song continued to play, he made sure he laid it on thick: kissing, laughing, touching, doing everything a brokenhearted, emotionally arrested drunk would do to spite an ex, but somewhere deep down it crushed him to hurt her so cruelly. He wasn’t that far-gone to see it in her eyes every time they drew to the other’s: she was in pain and that, too, broke his heart. Hurting her, hurt him.
The night wore on, and the drinks flowed. Out of respect for the Bingley family, namely Charlie, Darcy took his seat at the table—an untenable prospect, but he did it anyway. He said little, ate, listened, observed, and plotted everyone’s (even Caroline’s) death by a thousand torturous cuts. He thought of his motherlaughing at the situation, attempting to make sweet lemonade from sour lemons. She always found humor in the strangest things, but this was no laughing matter—worse than posing for art class, worse than his fourth-grade soccer screw-up, and worse than his drunken hook up with Beanz.
“At my guidance, Lizzy purchased an art gallery in Tribeca, catering to many of the people in this room, and Ryan Seacrest came in last week,” Jane boasted. “She’s too humble to brag, but she and George will be getting married on August sixteenth and honeymooning in Hawaii! I introduced them!”
Elizabeth fidgeted and gently shook her head, staring down at her hands. It was clear to him that she was embarrassed by her crazy sister’s grandiosity.
“What a coincidence! We’re getting married on the sixteenth, too, and honeymooning inBalifor an entire month. Isn’t that right, honey bunny?” Caroline cooed.
“Yes, sweetums,” He bent and kissed her neck, slobbering on her because he couldn’t feel his lips. At this point, the room spun, which was fine by him. Wickham’s triple sneer was pissing him off, and if able to see straight, he might attempt to knock it off his face—for Gigi, of course, certainly not because he was marrying Lizzy, so he told himself.
“And what you probably don’t know is that George is aworld-renowned abstract photographer,” Jane went on.
Elizabeth toyed with an earring and looked up at him with doe eyes.
“Together, they’re going to take Manhattan’s art circuit by storm. Millionaires in the making, to which I had a hand in!” Jane bragged.
Blah, blah, blah.He snorted, then took a swig of whiskey.A million?“Pfft.”Chump change.
“Did you say something,Fitzwilliam?” Wickham asked.
“Nope.” He flashed an insincere grin.
“While I’ve been making a name for myself, what’ve you been up to? Still trying to suck up to your rich daddy or still sucking on your mommy’s teat?”
Caroline gasped.
He fisted his right hand under the table.
Lizzy laid a cautioning hand on Wickham’s forearm, furrowed her brow, and publicly admonished him. “George, that’s terribly unkind, and quite ... despicable of you. Both of William’s parents have passed away.” He wasn’t that far gone to miss how Wickham rudely jerked his arm away, then narrowed his eyes at her. That took him aback for a second, and he silently fumed that the jerk treated her like he’d treated all the others who came before her.
Not to be outshone by Lizzy’s thoughtfulness, Caroline blurted. “Darcy’s been killing it! He’s worth over abilliondollars!That’swhat he’s been doing!”
“Holy shit ...he’syour billionaire?” George laughed.
“Yes, he is.” Holding out her left hand, she wiggled her fingers. “Six and a half flawless, natural carats set in platinum fromCartier,” she bragged, chin raised.
Which could have been yours had you not dumped me.William reveled in how Lizzy’s eyes widened.Take that!
He didn’t need defending, but both women succeeded in shutting down the inebriated douchebag. To his left, Charlie wore his standard dopey drunken expression. Perhaps he was finally seeing the dysfunctional dynamics of these women. Out of nowhere, the guy cackled like a maniac, then tried to stick a spoon to his nose. Nope. He wasn’t seeing it at all, just having a good time.
Scanning the table, he considered what a ridiculous cast of characters they all were: his nymphomaniac fiancée, his lawyer and childhood friend the court jester, the uptight bat-shit crazy bitch, and Lizzy’s perverted fiancé, which called to questionhis ex’s normalcy. Marrying such a guy mystified him! He, of course, was the only sane one at the table, but the tension, back-biting, and powerplays were so entertaining it felt more like an MMA smackdown, not a hokey romance movie. A perfect society wedding! The only thing missing was some TV judge or referee. But it was the drunken bride and her big—really big—wedding gown who acted as comic relief when she stopped by the table during dessert. In fact, she looked like a dessert covered in layers of poofy meringue.
“Why (hiccup,) if it wasn’t for Elizabeth, we wouldn’t have a Gregory Pillson hanging over our fireplace. Good Lord, there was absolutely no persuading her to sell Hurst your mother’s painting, William. I mean, he offered her forty grand, and she still wouldn’t sell. It’s not like we can buy an Anne Darcy anywhere!”
Again, Caroline gasped.
“Come again?” He stared Lizzy down and, again, she fidgeted, looking down at her hands.
“Oh yes! The dear girl said it was too precious to part with. Surely you visited Elizabeth’s gallery, La Tempera, with Carrie and saw it hanging by the door.”
“La Tempera. Stupid name,” Wickham groaned, rolling his eyes.
“Hardly! I think it’s sweet that she named the salon in honor of her art professor,” Louisa countered.
With tears in her eyes, Lizzy looked up at him, her gaze locking onto his shocked expression.
