Darcy played the last half of the video again, a sensation of déjà vu taunting him. He had done this before, had watched as Lizzie described their relationship in terms bewilderingly, painfully different from his own perceptions. In the early videos, Jane had frequently spoken for him, insisting that he genuinely liked her and wanted to dance with her, but Lizzie had believed he wished only to mock her. Charlotte too had tried to alert her to his interest and his admiration for her "fine eyes," only to be ignored in Lizzie's certainty that he didn't like her. Now, Charlotte asked the questions he wished he could ask himself—"You're not friends? You really believe that?"—and again Lizzie's replies ripped him and his hopes into shreds.
They were not friends. He was a force of nature, a guy she used to complain about in her videos. There was nothing more to say about him.
"Nothing more to say." She hadn't mentioned him during the crisis involving Lydia's tape, nor had he expected her to, knowing how all-consuming a sister's heartbreak could be. Even after taking the website down, he had restrained himself from calling her. Lydia had asked to spend more time with her sister as she healed, and given that her situation was partly his fault, not distracting Lizzie was the least he could do. He had continued as always to watch her videos, hoping for some sign that she thought of him and wanted to hear from him.
Then Lizzie had started mentioning him again, and he had become more impatient than ever for the arrival of each Monday and Thursday. She had first referred to him obliquely, describing her time at Pemberley Digital as "nice," her tone and deliberate look at the camera giving the word meaning. Last week, he had spent a rare meeting-free afternoon analyzing whether she had reverted to subtext when speculating about Bing's regrets about Jane.
"What if things had been different? What if the timing hadn't been so bad? What if they moved on? What if we missed our chance?" He had pondered the first question himself for too many disheartening hours, but it was so vague it could apply to anyone. The second seemed to apply less to Bing and Jane, who had rather suffered from mistaken interference, and more to himself and Lizzie. He had, after all, asked her on a date mere seconds before she learned of Lydia's tape. The fourth question…well, if he could have persuaded himself that she referred to them, he would have been on her doorstep that very day, eager to remove all doubt from her mind.
It was the third question that had finally convinced him she hadn't been speaking of her own feelings, for it was clearly something Bing could have feared—had feared, in fact, given how tentatively he'd asked Lizzie all those weeks ago whether Jane was seeing anyone. Lizzie, on the other hand, could not possibly think he'd moved on. Not when he had risked everything the last time they met and asked her on a date, not when he'd slipped a business card with his personal number penned neatly on the back into her hand as she left and told her to call if she needed to reach him. He had made his intentions clear, and although patience had never been a strength of his, he could practice little else until she indicated what (if anything, insisted a voice he tried not to heed) she wanted from him.
Yet she did think he'd moved on. "You both got a chance to get to know each other," Charlotte had said in today's video, and Lizzie's reply had been a pensive, "Yes, and his feelings have almost certainly changed." Incredulity and frustration roiled within him at this proof that she doubted him, but those emotions could be easily overcome if he had reason to believe she regretted him. There was something in her tone and in the way she hesitated when asked whether her own feelings had changed that made him wonder, made his heart seize with yearning…but no, he knew full well the disaster and heartache that resulted from assuming her words meant more than they did.
"We're not friends." The words were stark, allowing no misinterpretation or rationalization. They were also utterly confusing, coming as they did only a minute before she agreed with Charlotte that they'd had a chance to get to know each other. Somehow, Lizzie had come away from their time together with an impression of their relationship markedly different from his, believing the opposite of everything he'd tried to convey regarding his feelings and desires toward her.
Darcy kneaded the back of his neck with his hand and glanced at the clock. Thirty minutes remained before he needed to leave for his appointment. He paced the length of his office a few times before stopping to rest his shoulder against the frame of the full-length window that overlooked San Francisco Bay.
What had happened between them while Lizzie was at Pemberley Digital?
"Chemistry. Heat. Tension." Before today, caution had limited him to words like warmth, rapport, and, in especially optimistic moments, flirtation. He could be bolder now that she had tacitly agreed with Charlotte's assessment. The attraction that he had thought existed between them at Netherfield and at Collins & Collins had truly been there at Pemberley Digital. The altered dynamic had been welcome and startling and wonderful…and yet not enough. Not enough to turn Lizzie's heart toward him or convince her of the strength and permanence of his love for her and, he was beginning to realize, not enough to satisfy him.
In the first wretched days after her rejection, the illumination had been nearly blinding, her words and her videos acting as a searchlight to reveal how far he fell short of the man he had expected and believed himself to be. Since that time, he had continued to watch her videos, both new and old, and further illumination had come to him gradually, as if a smudged and distorted glass set between himself and Lizzie was being cleaned inch by inch. He had known for many months that his ardor for her could not be sated by a mere fling, but watching her videos had revealed to him a woman who was entrancing and lovable for reasons beyond her spirited intelligence, a woman with whom he longed to share both heat and friendship. Today's video had given words to his desires while simultaneously denying them.
Being relegated to friendship without heat—"just friends"—was a plight both mocked and pitied by society. It was a cliché with painful truth behind it, for he had seen Bing suffer briefly but acutely through two such episodes in college, and something within him would surely die if Lizzie asked of him a purely platonic friendship.
The pain was no less, however, when she stated the opposite, that heat but not friendship had existed between them. He had tried, during the four weeks she spent in San Francisco, to rein in the hopes that were for him an inevitable response to her presence, only to find that each encounter far surpassed his hopes. There had been the thrill of mutual attraction, yes, but she had also allowed him into her life, revealing her insecurities about her videos and confiding in him regarding her sisters' troubles. She had even coaxed him out of himself to join her in costume theater. What was that, if not friendship?
His phone beeped, reminding him of his appointment with Edward Hurst. He considered calling to postpone, for his turmoil was such that he wished for solitude above anything. A few moments' thought sent him downstairs to his waiting car after all. Hurst was the first new investor Darcy had secured after taking over Pemberley Digital, and he was a CEO's dream, loyal to the companies he funded, knowledgeable, and dependably enthused about any new project pitched to him. He had been quite gracious when Darcy canceled their previous appointment in order to track down Wickham, and Darcy could not in good conscience miss today's meeting too.
Three hours later, he was glad he hadn't given in to the temptation to postpone. A friend of Hurst's, Charles Goulding, had unexpectedly dropped in as their meeting began, and both men had been intrigued by the possibilities of the Domino application. Darcy left with the promise of generous funding and an invitation to contact them with additional investment opportunities. He called Reynolds to relay the news as his driver returned him across town, then settled back in his seat.
Their route lay along San Francisco Bay, bringing memories of exploring the waterfront with Lizzie and Gigi. If asked, prior to today, he would have said he and Lizzie became friends that day. He had stuttered mid-greeting when she smiled at him, not the tight or, of late, uncertain smile he normally received, but a genuine, happy smile. That smile, and others even warmer, had reappeared throughout the day as they wandered and shared their memories, she of a school trip to the Pampanito submarine and he of family outings to Alcatraz and the Legion of Honor. Gigi had delighted in tormenting them with sly references to lobsters, unforgiving hills, and something involving shipping that Darcy didn't understand but that made Lizzie blush, but despite that occasional awkwardness the day had been…well, "awesome," as Lizzie's thank-you tweet had put it.
And yet they were not friends. He couldn't argue against it, for an unshared friendship was as much an impossibility as an unshared relationship. He couldn't dismiss her words as intentional misunderstanding as he had in the past. Coyness was not Lizzie's way, at least not in serious matters. He could only accept and try to understand it—try, once again, to understand her.