Bliss is a fickle thing. It rolls in on a tingly wave and then slowly ebbs back out again, only to be replaced by reality. And reality, that cruel mistress, loves to hold truth before her victim like a harbinger of doom, bleaching the rose from love's tinted glasses.
For Elizabeth Bennet, the thrill of new love was receiving the mother of all smack downs from the reality of distance. Though her cell phone's memory was practically full with pictures of him, it would not make an appreciable dent in the pillow next to her, and was a sorry substitute for the real thing. With a sigh, Elizabeth rolled over and turned off her alarm clock ten minutes before it was due to ring- a routine she had involuntarily fallen into over the past month. Grumpily she pulled back the less than 300 thread count non-Egyptian cotton sheets, put her feet on the "it sure ain't Brazilian cherry" laminate floor, and trudged to her small bathroom that did not boast a wealth of Tuscan marble.
"We aren't at Pemberley any more, Toto," she muttered to her reflection as she disrobed to step, regrettably alone, into the shower.
As the hot water poured over her, Elizabeth's mind wandered back to Jane's wedding and the wonderfully relaxing week that she had spent at Pemberley with Will. It was almost as if they had been on a honeymoon themselves. Pemberley was insanely gorgeous and ridiculously posh, and Will had been very, very attentive. Bliss had both of them in a chokehold those few glorious days. But, like all good things, it came to an end. Elizabeth's vacation time was up, and Will had meetings in Prague he could not delay. So here, a month later, she found herself in the shower replaying Pemberley in her mind and trying to be satisfied with a few phone calls on the weekends.
Dragging herself from the warmth of her shower, she trudged back into her bedroom, catching a whiff of blessedly hot caffeine upon the air signaling the always faithful performance of her automatic coffee pot. At least good old Juan Valdez would never leave her hanging.
Elizabeth stood, wrapped in a towel, before her lingerie drawer pensively studying her choices. For her, what she wore under her clothes was every bit as important as what she wore on her feet. It was like a super hero's hidden costume; it was the source of her hidden strength. Besides, one never knew when she would need to rip off her shirt and resuscitate some seriously hot guy.
The thought that her seriously hot guy was clear across the globe was disheartening and while Victoria's Secret did allow a girl to defy gravity, she had yet to find a set of bra and panties that would enable her to fly. On that depressing note, Elizabeth ran her fingers idly over the colorful silks and laces until a pair of thigh-high stockings caught her eye. She pulled them out and ran the delicate material through her fingers, smiling to herself.
If there was one thing that William Darcy loved, it was Elizabeth's stockings, and the delicious memory of his reaction every single time she wore these made her warm all over. Sitting back on the bed, she slid the diaphanous delicacies over her toes an heel, then slowly up her calf and knee until the elastic and lace tops gripped her mid-thigh. Repeating the action, she put on the other stocking and lay back upon the bed, lifting her legs one at a time, remembering the feel of Will's hands. She decided that she would wear them in hope that they would lift her spirits. And maybe she would even torture him when he called on Saturday afternoon by telling just what she had done!
The clock caught her attention, telling her she had not more time for dreaming; there was a subway to catch and work to attend to. The Exchange waited for no man- or woman for that matter. Attaching her mp3 player to its docking station, Elizabeth scrolled through her songlist, looking for something upbeat to get dressed to. She smiled as the title of the new Christina Aguilera song was highlighted. Will would die if he knew this song made her think of him. Selecting it, she adjusted the volume higher and began to bounce to the jived up forties beat as she returned her attention to her lingerie drawer.
A loud bang on her front door startled her. It hadn't come from the far bedroom wall, so she knew her music wasn't too loud for old Mrs. Carlson next door, but she turned it down anyway before swapping her towel for a robe. Again came the pounding on the door, so loud she began to think maybe she was receiving a visit from New York's Finest.
"Hang on, hang on. I'm coming," she called out as she tied the sash of her robe while rushing through the living room. Cautiously she peered through the spy hole, but couldn't make out anything more than a man's form with head bent forward and shoulders heaving. Elizabeth ensured that the safety chain was in place before she released the dead bolt and cracked the door open the scant inches that the chain allowed.
"Yes," she asked to the top of the man's head.
"Oh, good," the man gasped between breaths, "I'm not late."
The dark eyes and dimpled smile that looked up at her startled her so much she slammed the door shut almost as if in reflex. Fingers numb with shock, she fumbled at the security chain as she tried to get her mind to actually control her errant digits. Finally, the darn thing slid free and she threw the door open to see none other than her Will leaning heavily against the door frame, grinning like a fool and breathing as if he had just run a mile.
"Hello, darling," he said as Elizabeth grabbed his arm and pulled him violently into the apartment, slamming and locking the door behind them quickly, lest this amazing surprise try to slip away.
"What are you doing here?" she squealed in delight as she guided him backwards toward the sofa, almost tripping over his shoulder bag as it slipped off and fell to the floor. Before he could answer, she had pushed him back onto the sofa and landed squarely on his lap. Grabbing his face in her hands, she kissed him senseless, which frankly didn't take long as he was pretty much out of breath to start with. Pushing her back a little, he took a restorative gulp of air.
"What did you do? Run here?" she asked in amazement.
"I ran up the stairs. The elevator was taking too long," he smiled.
"I cannot believe you are actually here."
"In the flesh," he growled as he slid his hands around her hips and pulled her roughly forward. "I was worried I was going to get here too late."
"I don't leave for work for another half hour," she whispered as she delightedly ran her hands through his hair.
"That's not what I meant," he smiled up at her rakishly.
"Oh?"
"No."
She wasn't sure where he was going with this, but as his hands wandered to the sash of her robe and began to loosen it, he enlightened her.
"I was worried you would be dressed before I could make it across town and up three damned flights of stairs. I'm glad to see that… oh my god," he stalled out, having opened the robe to see that instead of the lacy bits he had been expecting to see, she had on nothing underneath but, lord help him, thigh high stockings.
And there it was, the indescribable look on his face that made her melt and molten every time she saw it. Shock and surprise were replaced with hormones and lust as she lifted herself from his lap and dropped the robe to the floor. Naked, save for the stockings, she walked down the hall toward her bedroom, not looking back. Silently she counted in her head, waiting for the eruption of sound to break the stillness, the sound of him jumping up from the sofa and charging down the hall after her, a trail of his clothing settling in his wake.
Three was as far as she got.
It was their first time together in a month, and it was hurried, desperate and somewhat undignified but nonetheless satisfying. In the aftermath, with Will's head comfortably pillowed upon Elizabeth's heaving chest, it occurred to her that she might want to let her boss, Mr. Lucas, know that she was not going to make it in to work that day. Reaching for the phone, she dialed the number.
"Mr. Lucas, line one," Charlotte buzzed her father's office, cringing at addressing him so formally even after all the years she had worked for him.
"Who is it Charlotte," he buzzed back absently, a bit put out to be dealing with clients before official business hours and certainly before he had a chance to peruse his morning tabloid.
"Elizabeth," his daughter replied sadly. She had been worried about her friend since their return from England. She had never seen Elizabeth so tied in knots over a guy before, and Charlotte worried that the time and distance between her friend and her new beau was driving Elizabeth into an unhealthy state. That she was calling in sick this morning was a major warning signal to Charlotte. She made a note to herself to swing by Elizabeth's apartment after work, to check in and maybe lend a shoulder or give a pep talk as the situation may require.
A few moments later, Mr. Lucas emerged from his office with a look of confusion on his face.
"That was Elizabeth, calling in sick," he began.
"Yes," Charlotte urged, beginning to worry that something was seriously wrong.
"She told me her ailment, but I've never heard of it before. She said I should ask you because you would understand," he continued. "It must be some kind of woman trouble."
"Okay, Dad, what did she say," Charlotte responded without thinking as she began to gather her coat and purse in case she needed to make a mad dash for the hospital.
"She said that she thinks she pulled a muscle. I believe she said it was her darcius maximus, and that she felt as if she had a 200-pound weight on her chest right now. I offered to call an ambulance for her, but she insisted that she would put some heat and friction on it and should be better in a few hours. And then she went on to say that she should probably not attempt to come in today, and would in fact be out for the rest of the week because she expected that there would be several flare-ups. Should I call the doctor anyway? This sounds as if it could be serious. Why are you laughing?"
Charlotte fell back into her chair, tears of streaming down her face.
"Good lord, no Dad. She will be fine," she finally managed.
"Are you certain? Because I've never known Elizabeth to be ill, and if this is going to require a whole week of recuperation I feel I must insist that…"
"NO, Dad! Really. She will be fine, just give her the week. Trust me."