On Thursday, Elizabeth tells Jane everything. Really everything. Including her evil thoughts, about having power over Darcy's heart.

-xx-

It's so cold. Every morning, winter's white mist hanging above the river, brushing the concrete, the subway steps, the moving cars.

Every morning Elizabeth wakes up with a strange warmth in her belly.

** Maybe I'm shy, ** Darcy wrote.

He wrote it to her, just for her. Like a gift. Like a secret.

-xx-

Thursday.

"… Oh but Jane, see, it was so awful, that night - in Hunsford pub. The things he said – the things I said, " Elizabeth explains. Tries to explains. The whole situation. It's such a mess.

(Their favorite cafe. Hot tea. The town beige and brown and cold around the Bennet sisters.)

"I told him – I told him that even if he was the last man in the world, I wouldn't – you know."

"Lizzie!" Jane cries, horrified.

"Well, I was pretty drunk!" Elizabeth protests. "Maybe he was too."

Oh. Oh.

Maybe Darcy was drunk, too.

Elizabeth remembers now. That night, Bingley, Darcy and Richard (Darcy's cousin) doing shots at the bar. Richard's idea, of course. Darcy looking in Elizabeth's direction. Hesitating. Then asking for another shot. Pounding it. Glancing at her again. Another hesitation. Another shot.

And then...

He was drunk. Which is not an excuse, of course. Except Elizabeth is using that same excuse for her behavior, so.

-xx-

This warmth in her belly, Elizabeth carries it everywhere. To school. To work. In the subway. She smiles at people. Well, she always did, but - you know - more. Christmas draws near. In the park, near her work, one of those huge inflatable castles for children. These things are often ugly, but not this one, this one is an elaborate work of art, with a Russian feel, bright, deep, rich colors, the house of Baba Yaga. A place of secrets and wonders. Something that doesn't fit but is beautiful anyway.

(This is how Darcy makes Elizabeth feel. Ok, maybe not Darcy per se, but his presence in her life. His texts, once a day, every day.)

You know – the strangeness, the improbability, the potential of it all.

-xx-

Saturday.

The Philips' apartment: a mess by day, a palace by night. All lights switched off, candles everywhere. Elizabeth and Jane have thrown their parties there for years - when the Philips go to the country to visit family, they rent the place to the Bennet girls, off the books, for the evening. Sixty a night. Jane, Elizabeth and Charlotte used to split the cost; now Charlotte is gone, and of course Lydia and Kitty invite all their friends and do not pay a dime. But hey, still a pretty good deal.

Saturday, new party.

Thrown by Jane. Because she is happy.

Darcy and Elizabeth will meet there, of course. For the first time since they began texting – if you don't count that short, cold café encounter.

-xx-

"I should not be surprised, really," Jane says, on Thursday. With a beautiful, tender smile. "You are so witty – so wonderful, Lizzie. Of course Darcy would fall for you."

"It's not possible," Elizabeth blurts. (See, that is the fear. At the bottom of it all.)

Jane, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Elizabeth has always put Darcy's "love" between quotation marks. "Jane, come on. How can he 'love' me – like he said he did – after what, a few weeks' acquaintance? We met less than a dozen times!" Elizabeth shakes her head. "'Love.' That is ridiculous."

-xx-

Saturday. The party. Very dark (candles only), very loud. Music screaming. A lot of alcohol. People dancing in the living room, quite drunk already. Near the red sofa, Caroline, smoking and sneering. Jane smiling and talking to Bingley's friends. People flooding the stairwell, sitting on the steps, drinking beer and smoking pot. Richard mixing cocktails in the kitchen.

They said hello. Darcy and Elizabeth. When Darcy entered with the Bingley group. Just hello. It was polite.

Then, Elizabeth dancing and laughing (with other people.) Darcy, near the sofa, talking to Caroline. Or to Jane. Or to Bingley. Only to people he knows. Purposely not watching Elizabeth. Well, Elizabeth thinks he is purposely not watching her. (Maybe she's making it all up.)

Richard comes from the kitchen carrying tequila-champagne concoctions. Then he dances and flirts with Elizabeth - just a little. Elizabeth laughs again. Thinking Darcy's eyes are on her. (Maybe she's imagining things.)

Another guy, flirting. Is Darcy still watching her? Elizabeth flees (the guy, Darcy, the world.) She goes as deep as she can in the semi darkness. The main bedroom, full of coats, bags, women redoing their make-up, kids playing video-games. Now Elizabeth could not be farther from Darcy if she tried. The whole apartment between them.

She sits on the bed. Women chatting around her. The warmth in her stomach has turned to acid.

-xx-

Thursday.

"I was sending him texts. Leading him on – just to refuse him again. Well, not on purpose, I mean, mostly, it just happened, but still - I am - I am a monster."

"That is not true," Jane says. "Lizzie, you are one of the best persons I know."

Taking Jane's hand. An affectionate squeeze. "Except I cannot believe you, dearest. It is your duty to say so. You're my eldest sister. You're, like, paid to be on my side."

"What? Where is my money?" Jane says. "I never got any money. Is there a lot of money?"

"And then, I insulted Darcy – all night – before I fell down the stairs…"

"I think we should get back to the money issue. How much money are we really talking about ?"

"Hey! I am supposed to be the funny one!" Elizabeth protests. "You got the beauty and the brains, and Bingley - you got all the Bs, Jane. You have to leave me something."

Jane smiles happily - like she does when anyone mentions her boyfriend. Then she gets serious again. "Very well. You led Darcy on a few weeks ago, and it was very wrong of you, Lizzie. But what about now?"

"What?"

Jane takes a new sip of tea. "Are you still leading him on?"

-xx-

Saturday. The party. Elizabeth, in the bedroom. Sitting on coats. Two women, chatting about lipstick. She takes her phone.

** The rules say one text a day, ** she writes. ** But we can have a conversation of more than one sentence. **

Send.

Her hands shake a little. She walks out of the bedroom and leans against the wall of the narrow, dark corridor. Times like these, she wishes she smoked.

And suddenly Darcy is right here.

(Like he teleported or something.) He leans against the wall too, not too far from her. There's like, three feet between them.

The place is very dark.

"So what shall we talk about?" he asks.

Elizabeth gives him her biggest smile – really, it's been a long, long time since she felt like this. Happy. Butterflies. A little light headed.

Darcy becomes very still.

"You choose the topic," she says.