Chapter 9

Matt was never real.

Darcy couldn’t help laughing. Not at Elizabeth, but with relief. She hadn’t been hot and heavy with anyone. She’d been using a make-believe boyfriend to escape pressure from her family. Pressure that likely intensified when Charlie and Jane reunited.

What a thing for us to have in common.

While Elizabeth hid behind a fake boyfriend to focus on work, he’d channeled heartache into work or late nights at the gym. At least it had been constructive; in the past few months, he’d gotten ahead on every project and, according to his sister, he was ‘impressively ripped’.

Unconsciously, he rubbed his stomach. It no longer rumbled with hunger, but his nerves were on edge.

Twenty minutes later, empty takeout cartons in the garbage and the dishwasher humming, he’d made his decision. He had to take this ‘relationship consultant’ business as seriously as Elizabeth had. I owe her a real date, a real chance with the one guy I know who she might like: Tilney.

The fear that the two might hit it off was never far from his thoughts, but Elizabeth had made a genuine effort to find women who seemed to be his ‘type’. Surely he owed her the same—even if it killed him.

Over the next week, his hopes warred with his concerns; he would turn one outcome over in his mind until another would set in. Truly, there were only a few likelihoods. She and Tilney would instantly click, get matching ‘soulmates’ tattoos, and be engaged within three months—all of which would clarify his own permanent place in the friend zone. Or she’d find Tilney amusing but shallow and laugh with him about it. Maybe then she’d be open to his overtures—that is, unless she called him a hopeless stalker and vowed never to speak to him again. A million variables floated around each probable outcome—she could smile or scowl, be amused or disgusted.

Stop overthinking it, he told himself. Tilney is not her dream guy; she’ll see him as a friend. Gut instinct served him well in every area of his life: academics, sports, and business. His gut instinct, from the moment he had met Elizabeth Bennet, was that she was meant for him and he for her. He’d fought the idea—appalled that he could be so ridiculous as to fall in love at first sight, let alone with a girl who seemed distinctly unimpressed with him. It was lust, not love.

Until she had made it scathingly clear she would never feel either for him.

But it was different now. They were friendly. Friends. Elizabeth liked him and teased him. She offered him a taste of her warmth and generosity, shared her inner thoughts and listened to his—including some he’d never considered revealing to anyone else.

The heart emoji she sent might have been a mistake, but she was honest. If I ever get the chance to express my feelings properly and she doesn’t return them, she’ll tell me. And then I’ll figure out the rest of my life.

On Thursday afternoon, confident in his intent if a little less certain in her response, Darcy texted Elizabeth to request she schedule his coffee date an hour later than the usual ten a.m. meeting time. She replied quickly, with her own question.

Polo match at dawn?

Pony’s sick. Please?

I’m so glad I know you’re kidding. I’ll change the time, but remember you owe me a decent, normal guy.

Did my best, but you’ll be the judge.

He waited for her reply, watching little bubbles dancing on his screen. Then they disappeared, and he assumed the conversation was over. Disappointed, he put down the phone and turned back to his computer. His phone chimed a minute later.

Btw, would you happen to know anything about this freelancing offer from Pemberley Ink?

??

The greeting card subsidiary of Darcy Enterprises?

You’re doing a project?

Someone there saw my work on Etsy and reached out about freelance work. I suspect you might have put in a word for me.

A word is nothing if you don’t have talent, and you have plenty of that.

Darcy could almost see Elizabeth rolling her eyes. And indeed, her reply made clear she wasn’t satisfied.

So did you, oh great and powerful Oz?

How was it that the same fierce intelligence and independence he so admired could be so equally frustrating? He sighed.

Charlie told Georgiana about this matchmaking deal. She’s stalked your store for a while and she’s pretty dramatic, ignoring that you have a real job in tech and imagining you’re a starving artist shivering in a dank garret, and suggested we rescue you from consumption and certain death by mentioning you to the ‘cool guy with braids and purple sneakers’ at Pemberley Ink.

LOL. Has she seen La Boheme?

Twice. Perverse girl likes opera. Nothing she or I said takes anything away from you and your talents.

She sounds awesome. And thank you bunches for putting in a word for me.

He smiled, and his thumb hovered over the heart emoji, but he sent her a thumbs-up instead.