What Happens in Vegas


7. A Little Bit Wicked
or possibly more Wickham

Tuesday, 12:18PM

Keeping sight of Will wasn't particularly hard. While his crisp white button-down and dark slacks were sinfully attractive, they also stuck out like a sore thumb amid the wave of t-shirts and jean shorts. Unfortunately, standing a head taller than Lizzie, he also walked with considerably longer strides. She rolled her eyes – exasperating man, why couldn't he have been short?

Nearly jogging to catch him, she gained quite a few glares as she pushed and shoved her way through pedestrians. She almost scoffed. There was a certain superciliousness intrinsic to any decent disapproving stare, and these had nothing on Will's.

"Darcy!" she shouted.

If he heard her, he gave no sign of it. Lizzie's eyes narrowed. Screw it. Clutching her purse strap tightly enough for the quilted pattern to scrunch into a single solid blue line, she took a deep breath and sprinted through the traffic.

It was a good thing that she grew up with four sisters, she thought a little ruefully as she caught sight of the looks people were giving her. Pretending ignorance proved a useful skill to have in times like these.

Closing in, she grabbed his arm. Will turned. The hard, glittering quality in his eyes did not bode well. Neither, for that matter, did the chill he managed to emanate – Lizzie wasn't quite sure why she wasn't frozen. Perhaps it was the sense of sinking combined with tingling nerves. She hugged herself a little, taking a second to ensure the glue, clearly strained, holding her composure together would not fail.

"We need to talk," she said quietly.

"No." His voice was brusque. "We don't."

"Don't be stubborn." Sensing a retort, she plunged forward before he could speak. "Jane and Charlie still have a wedding – we can't check the preparations if we're giving each other the silent treatment. And–" she hesitated, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear– "for what it's worth, I'm sorry."

His eyes softened. Lizzie pressed her advantage.

"Come on," she muttered, dragging him towards a nearby Italian restaurant. "I know you don't want to have this conversation out on the street."

Once inside the restaurant, they were greeted by a smiling waiter and ushered to a tiny table for two in a corner of the ivory-draped room. Lizzie ruefully wished the colors, combined with the romantic cloth flowers and golden gilt, weren't quite so reminiscent of wedded bliss.

The flipping of pages shifted her attention to the man sitting across from her pretending to peruse the menu.

Lizzie studiously examined the tablecloth (off-white, with a raised diamond pattern and lace trim).

Will flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt.

She straightened a wrinkle.

The silence was unbearably stifling. An anomaly, really. In all the time she'd known Will, they'd either bickered constantly or purposefully given each other contemptuous stares. They'd been antagonistic but comfortable, and, to Lizzie's astonishment, she found herself missing his biting remarks.

"So," she began awkwardly, "as I said – I'm sorry for what I said this morning."

The menu snapped shut. "You've changed your mind?"

Startled at the intensity in his gaze, she gave a shaky laugh that sounded too high even to her own ears. "I – Will, we barely know each other."

"Two years."

"Since that disastrous office meeting?"

The side of his mouth kicked up in a crooked smile. "No, since I stole your taxi."

She shook her head, grinning back in spite of herself. "The taxi thing came after. You wouldn't remember, but it was snowing in New York that afternoon, and I got drenched because you claimed the last empty cab that drove by for the next ten minutes."

"I would have stopped, you know."

"Sorry?"

"If I'd known, I would have waited for you."

It would have been a light remark but for its delivery. His purpose made her feel small and outclassed; he was so certain and she was teetering on the edge of a cliff she wasn't sure whether or not to jump from. Yet ridiculous warmth bubbled up within her, which only made Lizzie more confused than ever.

"I'm not going to change my mind." Lizzie wasn't sure whether her proclamation was for his benefit or her own. She took a deep breath, deep enough that the loose sweater felt tight across her chest. "But that doesn't matter. I think we need to focus on the wedding – I don't want to screw it up with this."

"Because it's so inconvenient all around?"

"That's not what I meant at all," she protested, flushing. "If you'd stop taking everything I say as an insult – "

"All things considered, I don't think I misinterpret," Will interrupted. He laughed sharply. "You're right, though, about Charles and Jane."

Uncomfortable and besieged by an odd sense of trepidation, she continued. "We'll work things out after, then. I also – I'd like it if we didn't say anything to my family. My mom, well," Lizzie rolled her eyes skyward, "she'd probably have an aneurysm if she found out."

"That you got married while drunk in Vegas?"

"No, it's the divorce part that would probably send her into palpitations."

At his probing look, she smiled ruefully. "Mom thinks I'm hopeless – with good cause – but it would make her day that I managed to catch a man, any man."

His cold expression, while remaining tight, dissolved into an adorable furrow etched between strong brows. "You're not hopeless."

"Thank you."

Will ignored her sarcasm. He leaned in, shifting his weight to bare forearms dusted with hair, more than a little distracting when Lizzie recalled the night before. "You know, you're only giving me more incentive by assuring me your family approves."

So close. Warm, soothing, a hint of deliciously crisp mint. It took her a moment to gather her bearings. Seconds longer to arch a brow in amusement, as if she wasn't affected at all.

"Now you're misinterpreting. What my mom approves of, my dad definitely won't, especially when it comes to relationships."

"I sense a story."

Lizzie bit her lip, caught between laughing at the memory and acute embarrassment. "This one's a little out there."

"Remember, you're still convincing me to keep quiet. I have collateral," he reminded her, a hint of teasing in his voice. She relaxed a little; it was as if something within her chest unclenched. Can't let him think that, though.

"Fine!" Lizzie threw up her hands in exasperation. "The fall after I graduated from college, a man proposed to me. He was incredibly obnoxious, and we weren't even dating at the time. He cornered me at a huge dinner party in full view of most of my friends and family and asked me to marry him."

"You refused."

"I guess you could call it that. He had this huge bouquet of the most hideous purple flowers I'd ever seen – except he was allergic to pollen, and when he got on one knee, they got in his face. He sneezed so hard he fell over. I couldn't stop laughing long enough to get a word out. Now that I think of it, I almost feel bad, except he's my cousin and that's just gross."

Will's eyes widened. A strangled sort of noise that might have been repressed laughter erupted from his throat. "Your cousin?"

"It's legal in Massachusetts," Lizzie asserted rather defensively, unable to help turning pink. "My mother told me that she'd never speak to me again if I didn't go back and agree to marry Collins. My father, on the other hand, told me that he'd never see me again if I did."

"His opposition could have been more a result of your suitor's, uh, relation to you than your mother's endorsement," Will pointed out.

"Probably both. My parents don't quite see eye to eye. Or at least, they don't once Mom's nerves get involved – which they always do. But in all seriousness – Will, I would really appreciate it if they don't find out."

His knuckles whitened as he gripped his drink. For a second, Lizzie almost thought he looked pained. But his face smoothed over so quickly that she must have imagined it.

"Why?"

Because I'm not the type of person to get married in Vegas while drunk to a man I barely know. Because she'd be labeled irresponsible and reckless at work. Because her mom would give her hell for it. Because her dad might not ever look at her the same way again. And most of all, because she wished that things hadn't gotten complicated, and all she wanted to do was to go back to Chicago and pretend this had never happened.

"Guess," she said with a tight little smile that, for once, didn't reach her eyes.


He'd agreed. In retrospect, she didn't know if there was a way for him not to; she wasn't even sure she'd ever really thought he wouldn't. For all his faults, Will was not a gossip, or a braggart.

Lunch had been uncomfortable after he'd acquiesced, though. Cold. Awkward. Formal. All things that her interactions with Will had never been until now. They'd argued constantly, but – oddly enough, now that she thought of it, they'd bickered almost like friends. She hadn't realized how empty she felt without it.

She wanted it back.

Her Blackberry vibrated against the cotton of her purse. Marie wanted another document and the completed case files Lizzie had looked over the night before. Lizzie tossed the phone back in her bag without replying.

The street was crowded, unusually so for cloudy March day; she had to jostle her way through towards the Bellagio. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do for the two hours until her appointment with Kate. Drowsiness sank upon her, more out of a desire to escape than actual weariness.

The stupid device rang again.

Lizzie gritted her teeth. She was on vacation, for God's sake, taking days off for the first time in two years. Perhaps the one time she didn't need to be at the partners' beck and call. Then again, she reminded herself, if she played her cards right, she'd be one of those delegators in six or seven years. She picked up.

"Hi, Lizzie, it's George."

"Hey." Surprised, the ire drained out of her.

"What do you say to coffee, right now?"

She paused. A call so soon had been unexpected. "Where to?"

"Starbucks at the corner of Luxe?"

"Okay, I'll see you there."

She hit the end button before he could say anything else. No, Lizzie didn't want to take coffee at Starbucks, where everything was overpriced and hazelnut coffee didn't exist. (Hazelnut was the only type of big chain coffee she could stand. Then again, being a former barista gave her some excuse for being a coffee snob.) But George seemed pleasant and, being a somewhat social person, she was starved for company that wasn't named Fitzwilliam Darcy.

The attorney proved easy to spot; he waved with the full length of his arms in a parody of a windmill, leaving a wide space around him (and gathering more than a few censorious stares). Easygoing and fun. Lizzie grinned.

"You're good at getting attention," she remarked casually, sliding into the seat across from him. She sipped her coffee; too much sugar and roasted too mild for Sumatra.

"Only yours, I hope," George said, flashing her a wide smile. "So, what can I do for you?"

"Actually, I'm mostly interested in legal representation." His face visibly fell; Lizzie felt rather like she'd kicked a puppy. "You mentioned earlier today that your firm specializes in quick, painless divorces?"

"Yes, we do."

Breathe in, breathe out. "I need one."

"Why?"

"As I said earlier, it's a long story," Lizzie hedged. "I guess the short version is, well, there's this guy I know, and last night we both had a few shots too many, and voila." She gestured self-deprecatingly. "Hitched."

"Wow, that's pretty impressive vagueness right there."

"Yeah. Look, George, I just need to fix this."

His laughing brown eyes became serious as he nodded. "And how does the guy feel about the situation?"

"He doesn't know what he wants."

"He's indecisive?"

"No," she said with a short laugh, "the opposite, in fact. He thinks he wants to stay married. I have no doubt that, given time, he'll grow to resent it."

"Well, who wouldn't want to stay married to you?" her companion quipped. Catching sight of her arch look, he raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, purely business, I get it."

She smiled, dark eyes twinkling; her new acquaintance was too charming by half. "Good. So, tell me about your firm."

The sales pitch launched with enthusiasm. He was good, Lizzy noted, examining him with a fellow attorney's eye. Friendlier than was the norm than at her firm, but that wasn't entirely unexpected; her meetings with clients tended to take place amid champagne glasses and a constant, pervasive fear of spilling something on someone's polished black suit. There was something about the way he spoke that made him easy to talk to.

"What's your case record?"

"I've taken about ten, give or take. Only five went to court, and we've won four of those. The first of those was…messy." George grimaced. "The brother of our client interfered and damaged the case irreparably. We – that is, the brother and I – knew each other well – and while I can say I never wished him anything but the best, the same can't be said for his intentions towards me."

Shocked, Lizzie's fingers curled tightly around her macchiato. "He threw the trial for a grudge?"

"Wouldn't necessarily say he threw the trial on purpose. He lost it for a grudge. We grew up together; his dad adopted me in all but name after mine died. My client's brother never did get over sharing a parent. He'd also done pretty well for himself in corporate law – arrogant S.O.B. thought he could win the trial and show me up at the same time."

"You're still angry at him."

George looked away at Lizzie's surprised observation, but she didn't miss the way his shoulders tensed. "I knew his sister well, even before she got herself into trouble with the law. While I might have forgiven him for the way he treated me, I never forgave him for ignoring my advice out of spite and getting her sentenced to a six months. She was released early, but…it wasn't good for her."

"I'm sorry." Lizzie gently placed her hand on his arm. "That's horrible."

"Worst of it is that he made it out without a scratch. Never visited and went to the big city to become a hotshot lawyer. 'Course he would, with those fancy connections," George said bitterly. The depth of the hatred in those usually mild brown eyes startled her, as well as making her squirm. It was perfectly understandable that he felt so strongly. But the vicious quality to his expression caused her to pull away nonetheless.

"Oh," she murmured, unsure of what to say.

He relaxed into affability again, so instant and complete a change that not a trace of his prior vitriol showed. For some reason, albeit relieved the anger was gone, the rapidity of the transformation made Lizzie uneasy. "I'm boring you with morose stories, aren't I?"

"No, I'm not bored. Just – horrified that someone be so despicable to his own sister in pride and jealousy. What were you saying about your client development program before?"

"Oh, that. It's a custom to welcome our clients by inviting them to a show or two. Have you ever seen an illusionist before?"

"No," she admitted, "my parents were always more of the Nutcracker type."

"Then consider yourself invited."

"I couldn't – "

"I have spare tickets anyway. You'd be doing me a favor by making sure I don't waste tickets."

Lizzie mock-sighed. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

"Well – "

"I'll be there."


A/N: Hit a bit of writer's block on this one. Also, expect a Darcy POV of some sort for real next chapter.

Thanks to neska-polita for betaing!

Reviews are greatly appreciated and, as always, make me writer faster ;)

-Saelia