I laughed and gave Nick a sharp elbow in the ribs, and he laughed too.
“Look, it sounds like you already managed to get Darcy back on track,” Nick said. “Hopefully, he’ll now go to London with the Bingleys like he’s supposed to, andPride and Prejudicewill be safe.”
“But what if it’s too late and Elizabeth and Darcy don’t develop feelings for each other?”
“There’s still time for them to fall in love,” Nick said. “As long as nothing else changes from now on, then they’ll still get to see each other again at Rosings Park before he proposes for the first time, and then the Gardiners and Elizabeth go to Lambton and she sees him at Pemberley before the whole Lydia debacle. You just have to trust in Jane Austen; that woman knew what she was doing when it came to plotting a love story.”
I raised my head to look at his face. “Hang on, I thought you hatedPride and Prejudice, so how come you know it so well?”
Nick smiled. “I’ll let you in on a secret. Before Mum disappeared, I was a big fan of romance novels. Contemporaries, in particular, but I’d read all the classics too. Plus, Mum and I must have watched the film about a dozen times.”
“Oh my God! So when we first met and you said you’d never heard of Emily Henry or Beth O’Leary, you were lying?”
“Of course I’ve heard of them! I’m a bookseller.”
“Then why did you pretend you hadn’t?”
Nick paused, the smile vanishing. “I told you that after Mum disappeared, I was really angry. Angry at her for seemingly abandoning me for a better life in a novel. Angry at myself for not being there to stop her, and angry at all the women who kept turning up at the shop, in need and looking for help I couldn’t give them. But most of all, I was furious at romance novels, because if it hadn’t been for the power of their stories, then my mum would never have got herself stuck. And so I got rid of every romance book we had in stock, tried to make the front window look as uninviting as possible to their readers, and vowed I was never going to read or sell a love story again.”
He stopped talking, his eyes dark with pain, and I lifted my hand to stroke his face. “And now you’re trapped in one yourself, and it’s all my fault. I’m so sorry, Nick.”
“Hey, it’s not your fault, I chose to come here. And we’re not trapped, because you’re going to get us out.”
My hand dropped from his cheek, and I burrowed my face in his chest again. “I’m not sure I am. Even if I do have the book magic abilities, my writing isn’t good enough.”
“Hey, stop saying that.” Nick reached down and cupped my chin, tilting it up so he could look me in the eyes. “You’ve got to get that scumbag Crispin Carter out of your head. You’re not trying to write a Booker Prize–winning novel here, so just relax and let your own voice come through. Write what you know and love, Zoe.”
“You make it sound so easy, but what if I can’t do it?”
Nick smiled at me, his eyes warm as he traced a finger along my jaw. “I know you can. You just have to believe in yourself.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
I chucked Nick out of the room, although not before we’d had another long, dreamy kiss. The dressing table was as I’d left it earlier, balls of screwed-up paper scattered everywhere. I pushed them aside as I sat down and grabbed a fresh piece.
Write what you know and love.
I closed my eyes and took a long, deep breath. As I did, I thought about Mrs. Atallah, with her big voice and even bigger heart, and Mr. Wickham’s stubborn refusal to abandon me, even when I did everything in my power to push him away. I thought about the way Bianca laughed with her whole body and the wonderful Sunday lunches with her loud, boisterous family. I thought about Darcy and the extraordinary time we’d had together, and the fact that even though he might not be my perfect man, I would forever be grateful for all the things he’d given me: the amazing memories with my mum, the pep talks about writing and grief, and most of all, the belief that I deserved to live a life as happy as his and Elizabeth’s. And finally, I thought about Nick Baskerville, the sweetest, sexiest, most loyal person I had evermet. The unfinished chapter in my story, and the man I was fast falling in love with.
And then I opened my eyes, picked up a pen, and started to write.
I don’t know how long I wrote for, only that when I heard a knock on the door, jolting me out of my trance, I looked out the window and realized the pale sun was already low in the sky. I sank back in my chair, exhausted but exhilarated.
“Sorry, we gave you as long as we could,” Maggie said as she entered. Nick came in after her, now changed back into his own jeans and sweatshirt.
“What time is it?” I asked them.
“It’s three thirty,” Maggie said.
Bloody hell, it had only felt like a few minutes, but I’d been writing for almost two hours. I couldn’t help but smile. “How’s it going out there in the novel?”
“Well, the good news is that Elizabeth has refused Mr. Collins’s proposal. It turns out that even without Darcy in the picture, my girl still knows better than to marry a man who could never make her happy.” Maggie smiled affectionately. “And Nick tells me your chat with Darcy went OK?”
“I think so. He seemed a lot calmer once he knew he hadn’t been imagining things, and I told him he can’t give up on Elizabeth. With any luck, he and the Bingleys should be heading to London soon.”
“Well, in that case, I don’t think there’s anything else we can do within the novel, so it’s time we got out of here too,” Maggie said. “Did you manage to find some inspiration?”
“I think so.” I glanced at Nick as I said this, and he gave me a smile that made my insides twist deliciously.
