What Happens in Vegas
8. Minute Crisis
and a whole lot of other things
It was mostly cloudy and gray above, but a thin stream of light filtered in from above, illuminating specks of pollen drifting in the air. Dust, however, was much less interesting than the woman whose arm was linked with his. They walked briskly – her strides were quick and decided, just as she herself was – except for the occasional wobble when she mis-stepped and her heels caught in a crack. She swayed a little when she moved. Whenever she did, a soft tendril of hair escaped from behind her ear and bobbed up and down over the sharp little blade of her nose, almost like a pendulum. The itch to tuck it back in place was strong.
He balled his fist and rammed it in his jacket pocket.
Her steps were light and graceful; he instinctively knew of the (terrifying) chance that she would float away. But when she tilted her head to face him with a challenge in dark eyes that could not quite conceal their playfulness, so much warmth enveloped him that he could be walking on clouds.
The thick aroma of hazelnut filled the air. He had never been fond of coffee – Charles often jokingly accused him of being a starchy highbrow due to his penchant for tea – yet it was there, a steaming cup within his grip. Stranger, it didn't even feel odd. Then he remembered why, and he wondered how he ever forgot.
"Here," he said, offering it to her.
He watched avidly for her reaction. Pictured what he expected. He was rarely graced with her smile, but it was carved in his memory far deeper than any law or statute. Ridiculously wide, yet also unpretentious and blissful, sparkling with a certain zest for life he'd rarely seen elsewhere.
Except her lips were not turning up at the corners. Instead, they quivered, and suddenly, she was crying, sobbing as if the world had ended, tears glistening at the end of long lashes. His heart clenched, and then pounded. He'd been so sure – it was her favorite, after all –
"What's wrong?" He reached helplessly towards her.
She flinched, and it was as if she'd slapped him. The tears kept coming. "You don't understand, do you? This is why we can never be together!"
-~o~-
He woke alone in the darkness.
Lizzie's hand slammed into the sleep button on her alarm with surprising vigor considering she was more asleep than not. Ten more minutes…
A sharp rap on the connecting door. She burrowed further under the comforter.
Impatiently, this time, Will's voice drifted into the room. "We need to be down in the lobby in three minutes."
What?
She flung off the covers and stared at the clock; the bright white letters read 10:27. Shit.
Lizzie darted to her bathroom and frantically brushed her teeth. She pulled on the first thing in her trunk, an unfortunately wrinkled green sundress, and slipped into a pair of flip-flops before wrenching the door open.
Turning to pick up her purse from the mahogany bureau, she felt, rather than saw, his eyes on her. She fought down her unreasonable embarrassment at the knowledge she looked a mess (she didn't want him to find her attractive) and snapped, "What?"
Annoyance rising at the ensuing silence, she was about to whirl around and demand an answer when she felt slightly callused fingers brush the exposed skin of her back. Tingles shot up and down her spine. Coherent thought dissipated like mist, and suddenly, it was that horrible (wonderful) night all over again, low laughter and heated skin and even a hint of desperation.
The fabric at her bust tightened as he zipped her dress. Lizzie wished she could fan herself; the air was hot and stifling even with half her back exposed. "Enjoying the view?"
Expecting his trademark starch, she was surprised by a dry chuckle. "It does put a silver lining on being late." Will's hands seemed to linger a moment longer than necessary before they reluctantly fell away. He straightened, expression blanking. "Unfortunately, Kate specified whatever she needed as 'urgent.'"
Lizzie resisted the urge to ask if the 'urgent' matter was the tablecloths being colored October Sky rather than Summer Peach and trailed after Will. He was as neatly dressed as ever, in contrast to her haphazard state; a flawless picture except for the dark shadows underneath his eyes. She frowned. "You didn't sleep well."
To her bemusement, his jaw squared and a hint of pink effused his skin. "No," he said curtly, stepping into the elevator, a massive construction of limestone framed with steel. "I was distracted by – by business."
"Oh," she murmured. She pressed the button for the ground floor. Remembering Marie's and her colleagues' multiple emails yesterday, she felt an unexpected surge of sympathy for Will. Especially since, as an equity partner, he was likely even more swamped than she. "The firm isn't giving you trouble for taking a week off, is it?"
He appeared taken aback. "Not really."
They lapsed back into determined efforts not to look at one another.
When the elevator completed its six-floor journey, Lizzie was all too happy to exit. Yet she couldn't help darting a glance at Will out of the corner of her eye. He stood straight and tall, slightly intimidating gaze firmly trained on the doors – until surreptitiously, he, too, peeked towards not her face or figure but her left hand.
The elevator doors pinged open. Lizzie nearly crashed into Kate upon exiting, ducking out of the way and catching a nearby table with her hip in the process.
"I can't believe this!" The older woman waved her arms frantically, thin fuchsia lips mouthing something indeterminable. Her enormous earrings – turnips, today – bobbed distractingly. "It's a mess! A huge mess!"
"Absolutely," Lizzie placated as she ushered Kate towards the couch to the side of the lobby. "What's wrong?"
"It's just – oh, he's gone!"
"Who's gone?" Will inquired calmly.
Lizzie snuck a look at him over Kate's shaking shoulders. Although he wore a coolly polite mask, the tightness around his eyes trumpeted his impatience to those familiar with it. (And she had definitely been on the receiving end of that expression enough to recognize it.)
"The irresponsible idiot!"
She smothered her amusement at the growing tic in Will's jaw. "I'm sorry, I don't recognize whoever that is."
"Mr. Chernoff!"
"The photographer?"
"Yes, the photographer! They've never done this before – I could have sworn by their reliability – the wedding guests arrive tomorrow – "
Gently taking Kate's hand, Lizzie winced faintly as the particular sharp ridges of one oversized turquoise ring dug into her skin. She knew it didn't speak well for her character that she had to hide a smile in the face of such distress – but really, Kate's gasps were so dramatic and Will was trying so hard to hide his discomfort with wailing women.
"When was the last time you tried to contact the company?" she asked.
"Two days ago," Kate replied. Judging by her steadying breaths, the woman was beginning to compose herself. Still, Lizzie wondered why someone of Kate's profession would react so intensely to crises – it wasn't as if every wedding ran smoothly, at least according to her friends' constant stream of rom-coms. "But I've been trying to get in touch with them all week, and they still haven't responded."
Will's fingers stopped their silent drumming. His eyebrows rose. "They haven't notified you of their absence?" Of all the stupid incompetents, Lizzie could imagine him adding in snobby, clipped British accents, like those of swashbuckling dukes from Regency romances. (Yes, she'd been spending too much time with Charlotte lately.)
"No, they have not! They're usually quite reliable – I'm at an absolute loss – "
About to interject with some soothing pleasantry, Will beat her to the punch. "Swanson Photography?"
"Yes," said Kate. The name Swanson did ring a bell in her mind, now that he'd said it, but how had he remembered the tidbit when it couldn't have been mentioned to the two of them more than once?
"A moment." He stood, phone in hand, and walked away.
Kate's eyes followed his retreating form. "Well," she said, with a fair amount of astonishment.
"Sorry about that," Lizzie felt compelled to offer with an apologetic smile. She absently twisted a thick brunette lock around her finger. Presumptuous man, she thought, but it was an almost fond sort of annoyance. "He can be a little abrupt at times."
Kate's cornflower blue eyes widened, deepening the creases that copious use of concealer couldn't quite hide. "No, that's not what I meant at all! He's so very – capable," she sighed, clasping bejeweled hands together. "And handsome, too." She giggled in a way that might have been flirtatious had she been twenty years younger. "If I'd only met him before Marcus…well, too late for regrets now, isn't it? You caught a good one there. Hang on to him."
"Oh." The sound escaped Lizzie's lips with a puff of cold air. Each one of the requisite twelve muscles to smile strained upwards. The room suddenly felt chilly. "I'm not – we're not together."
It was the other woman's turn to fidget. "Right," she said awkwardly. "That's a beautiful ring anyway – can I hope to see the lucky man during the wedding?"
Dread rising, Lizzie realized the diamond studded band still hadn't come off her left hand. It sparkled under the bright hotel lights, taunting her, and somehow, her mother's ring – a gaudy, four-carat monstrosity – came to mind. The connection didn't quite make sense: the ring Will had chosen for her was tasteful if extravagant, ensuring the two appeared nothing alike. Still, she couldn't shake the image of her mother's wedding ring on her own finger.
The soft click of polished oxfords contacting the ground snapped her out of her fanciful daze. Cool grey eyes narrowed in on Kate, purposefully avoiding Lizzie. "I called Swanson's Chicago office," Will informed them, words clipped and businesslike. "They're apparently overbooked – they referred us to this address."
Metal grazed Lizzie's right index finger. Upon the realization that she'd been absently stroking the ring, Lizzie jerked her hand away. Will's gaze flickered towards the movement and shuttered over.
"A response! That's wonderful!" Kate beamed. "But I have a lunch date with my husband right about now, actually – would you mind terribly if I left this to you?"
Lizzie glared incredulously at the wedding planner. "Wouldn't you know Mr. Chernoff much better than Will and I?"
"Well, yes," Kate conceded, "but I really can't miss this, you see – Marcus does the most amazing things with his tongue – "
"That's fine," Will interrupted, faintly green. "We'll go."
They hailed a cab at the corner of the street. When it rolled to a gradual stop in front of them, Lizzie reached for the front door – and found her hand right on top of Will's. Goosebumps flared along her arm. They both froze.
"Sorry." Her weak chuckle was at least an octave too high. "I'm just used to sitting shotgun." She made for the back seat.
He shook his head. "No, feel free."
"I really insist – "
"No, it's yours –"
The driver poked his head out the window. His ginger beard quivered with impatience. "Are the two of you coming or not?"
"Yeah, we are," Lizzie answered, reddening. They both slid into the back. Her shoulder brushed the door when she slammed it shut.
They left as much space as possible between them. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. His very presence disoriented her; the awareness between them was electric. As raindrops began to gather on the windshield, she stole a glance at him; his strong profile was austere and impassive as ever. She shuddered slightly and wrapped her arms around her chest.
He turned towards her immediately, those piercing eyes full of concern. "Is it too cold?"
"No, I'm fine."
"You're shivering." His tone brooked no protest. He draped his jacket around her shoulders; this time, his hands didn't linger. She tried not to feel disappointed.
(But she was.)
Minutes passed.
"Hey, Will?"
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, drawing the jacket tightly over her shoulders and inhaling the faint scent of mint.
He shook his head. "You've already apologized for that morning. We both weren't at our best – "
"No." She met his eyes, then, chocolate on steel. "Not just for that."
For the most infinitesimal of seconds, she thought she saw pain in the depths of those perennially veiled grey eyes. And then his lips were on hers, his hands cradling her face, and she didn't push him away. Rather, her arms moved of their own volition to draw him closer.
When they came up for air after what felt like a full minute later, Will didn't move from his hold circling her waist.
"I think I owe you a belated apology, too," he murmured hesitantly.
A crease showed on Lizzie's forehead. "For what?"
"When I first met you." She opened her mouth to stop him. (She didn't want to fight, not now.) Will held up a hand. "Just hear me out, please."
She shouldn't. This was a last moment of weakness. A bittersweet goodbye. Her lips and tongue formed a denial.
"Okay," she said instead, voice small.
"I came up with a thousand reasons to justify what I said about you the following week. Charles broke protocol interviewing you. Associates are forbidden from involving themselves in the hiring of a relative. All the opening in the firm were already filled. The team didn't want another member." Lizzie stiffened, and felt his grip tighten in response. "Regardless, there's no excuse. I was an ass."
She must have misheard.
"What?"
"I'm an ass."
Her vision blurred. She had to swallow the insane urge to laugh. It was like an implosion of warmth and fuzziness had invaded her bloodstream.
"You know," she whispered in complete, utter shock, "that might just be the sweetest thing a guy's ever said to me."
A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he became serious again. "As far as the Jane fiasco goes, I was fully convinced I was doing right at the time. Charles was impossibly committed to a relationship. He would write three pages worth of emails to her nightly and constantly wait for her to respond. Her correspondence was much more limited than his. I thought the relationship one-sided and unhealthy and did my best to convince Charles to break it off. When it became obvious how unhappy Charles was without Jane, though, I also gave my full support to their reconciliation."
Lizzie's mind reeled. He was not lying. Will was blunt to the point of rudeness and always honest (literally to a fault). Still, if what he said was true, she'd misjudged him enormously. And what she'd said to him –
As far as 'getting along well enough' goes, I was so buzzed that I could have married anyone who was there.
You're rude, arrogant and completely oblivious to the feelings of anyone who's not the Great Fitzwilliam Darcy!
Her cheeks flooded with color. How could he still care for her? Considering how she'd acted towards him, there was no way he could love her. Her stomach dropped; she felt strangely ill. Momentary infatuation is not love. Her father had made the same mistake and fallen for a pretty face, so many years ago; that marriage ended in disaster.
"Lizzie?" For the first time, she found he sounded uncertain.
She took a deep breath to stave off the approaching panic attack. "Will, I need time," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. "It's so much – "
He released her.
"I understand," he said.
But she knew he didn't.
A/N: It's been a while. I'm hugely grateful to reviews, favorites, and alerts, and all the support in general, and I'll definitely be answer questions / replying to constructive criticism :) I was slightly disappointed by the response for the last chapter, and combined with other things going on in real life, my writing speed definitely slowed. Sorry for the delay, and please review! It motivates me to keep writing :)
-Saelia
Update on locations:
I realized that locations were confusing thanks to a very helpful review. To clarify:
Living in Boston: The Bennets' home is in Boston, MA. Lizzie grew up there, as did the Lucases, the Bingleys and the Hursts. Basically, everyone except Lizzie, the Darcies, Bingley, Jane, Wickham, and Charlotte live in Boston at the time of Jane's wedding.
Living in Chicago: Jane, Bingley, Lizzie, Will, Charlotte. Jane went to Northwestern for college and stayed in the area. Charlie joined her and found a job at the same Chicago law firm as Darcy. Lizzie went to UChicago for law school and found a job there as well. Charlotte lives in the same apartment building as Lizzie - they're still best friends. [The week before Jane's wedding, Caroline Bingley and the Hursts were visiting their brother in Chicago.]
In Vegas: Wickham.