I Lied My Face Off
(month's one and two)
If Sarah Harding had to describe herself in one word, that word would be: "giver". This particular character trait, naturally enabled her to relinquish her bus seat to little, old ladies, donate her ten percent to the church without complaint, and bring extra dishes to potluck gatherings, but unfortunately left her severely handicapped in other aspects of her life.
You see, when applied to relationships, be it romantic or not, the term "giver" became a thinly veiled shorthand for "emotional doormat". It left her stuck baking five batches of cookies for her sister's kindergarten spring carnival, it meant giving approval to her ex-boyfriend's porno obsession (because who was she to stifle certain aspects of his personality?), and it was responsible for the 'okay' on every, hideous, taffeta tower of ugliness she donned on each of her outings as a bridesmaid.
She couldn't help it; she loved to please people and genuinely feared the thought of disappointing others. So when Sarah met her current squeeze at Mr. Darcy's wedding reception, she gave into her nature and chatted up the lonely looking man who hung back in the corner of the ballroom. At one or two appletini's she discovered he was a former coworker of Lizzie's and the number of people he knew at the event were few and far in between. By five or six drinks, she was perfecting the art of drunken flattery, desperately attempting to be equal parts cute and interested, while remaining aloof. At number nine, he pried her head off the bar and spent the next part of the night working on the buttons to her shirt and pants.
Breakfast the following morning parlayed itself into lunch and then dinner plans for the next day, and before she knew it, they were spending every waking moment together. He wanted to know every last detail of her life, especially what it was like to work for Darcy Media as the secretary of the golden heir, and Sarah was all too happy to oblige,
"Oh, Mr. Darcy? He's a good guy – a little misguided, though. Poor dude's had such a hard time since his dad died and then having that heinous bitch cheat on him right after that…I seriously feared I'd walk into the office and find him hanging from the rafters one day."
the more he seemed to want to pry into her boss's intimate affairs, the more she talked:
"It got so bad, he was fucking anything with a pulse; I had to rescue him from a party at Lindsay Lohan's, once – drove him straight to the doctor's for a penicillin shot, I wasn't taking any chances. Anyway, he was doing a pretty good job of keeping his partying under the radar, but of course he got papped a couple of times and the investors had a fit."
until her babbles about her employer's personal life reached epic proportions.
"Lizzie was a one-night stand, you know? She showed up to the office and Mr. Darcy didn't even remember her! Turned out she's pregnant and they agreed to marry to keep the company scandal free; I've never had to sign so many confidentiality forms in my life! My hand nearly fell off!"
And it was when three whole weeks of pure bliss had passed, and plans began to be unexplainably cancelled, and her phone calls outright ignored, that Sarah wondered if perhaps she had gave too much. If she had said too much.
Another love and devastating loss was added to her tally, and it was a damn shame, too.
'Sarah Harding-Wickham' had had such a nice ring to it.
"This isn't going to work."
"You've only been married for three weeks; winners never quit and all that…"
"Yeah, three whole weeks in which Lizzie has virtually refused to leave her room! She's hardly eating, and thank god Georgie's gone back to Exeter because I was quickly running out of lame excuses. Charlie, it's like The Yellow Wallpaper up there, and if Lizzie's too unhappy to function, I don't want to keep her here with me and make it any worse on her and the baby!"
Switching the phone to the opposite ear, Charlie stifled a groan and rolled over on his side so that he was now facing Jane. They were practically mirror images of one another: half-lidded, sleep crusted eyes, unruly bed hair, and cell phones propped to their ears. Jane's eyes rolled heavenward and he instantly knew his poor girl was dealing with Lizzie's end in this ridiculous bit of fuckery.
"But, Lizard…you haven't even tried…"
"There is no trying, Jane! I can't even stand to look at him and I can't stay here anymore; please come and get me!"
Jane screwed her eyes shut and took more than a moment to steady herself; Charlie watched, utterly fascinated. He never believed it was possible for Janie – his Janie, who seemed to be fueled by nothing but happy things, to be on the verge of losing every ounce of patience she possessed, but it was happening right before him; serenity and good intentions were literally ebbing away from her body.
"No, Lizzie," she began with a heavy sigh, "I'm not coming to get you."
Charlie silently shook with laughter.
"Goddammit, Bingley are you listening to me?" Darcy snapped in his friend's ear.
"Unfortunately," was Charlie's sarcastic reply. "You haven't told her the truth about Danny, have you?"
There was a long pause followed by a hastily muttered "Err….no" on Darcy's end and it took all the strength he had for Charlie not to throw his phone against the wall. "Darce, you know what I feel like right now?"
"Not exactly…"
"I feel, like a parrot. A mangy, seed eating bird that is doomed to a life of shitting on sawdust and repeating the same, cutesy phrases to please my douchebag owner; and do you know why I feel like a parrot?"
"No."
"Because every time I talk to you, I say 'Darcy, if you'd just tell Lizzie the truth about Danny, I'm sure she'd change her mind about you'. I've probably uttered around fifty thousand variations of the same damn phrase for over a month now and you still haven't listened to me!"
"I've told you, I can't talk to her about this," Darcy said, exasperated.
"If you two don't fix your issues, you're going to be responsible for Jane, and I running out into traffic!"
Covering the receiver with the palm of her hand, Jane grinned and whispered to Charlie, "The parrot analogy was kinda genius."
"Thank you ma'lady," a beat, "no, Darcy, I wasn't talking to you."
"Yes, Lizzie, I'm listening." Jane pinched the bridge of her nose, presumably to keep herself from screaming. "Honey, of course I'm on your side – I am your side, but I just want you to be reasonable here. Promise me that you'll stop making yourself miserable, okay? Okay?!"
"Okay," Lizzie mumbled like a put-out five-year-old.
"Now, I want you to get out of bed and walk around – explore Napa or something! I can't believe you've been in that huge house all this time and you haven't seen anything beyond your own bedroom."
"The bathroom's reasonably nice," Lizzie quipped.
"Get your ass out of bed, I mean it," Jane told her sternly.
"Promise me you'll tell Lizzie the truth," Charlie said as he restlessly flopped onto his back.
Darcy grunted. "Fine, fine I'll tell her."
"Oh, and Darce…"
"Lizzie…"
"One more thing…"
"Unless you've decided to break this vow to loathe Darcy for all eternity, or you've got something new to talk about…"
"Until you fix things with Lizzie…"
"Whatever you do…"
"For the love of all that is holy…"
"STOP CALLING!" The exhausted couple simultaneously shouted and slammed their cell phones closed, wasting no time in turning them off and chucking them onto the nightstand.
Jane collapsed against Charlie's side, throwing an arm around his stomach she mumbled into the cotton of his T-shirt, "I almost wish they'd kill each other."
Hugging her tightly, he planted a reassuring kiss on the top of her head. "Don't worry; I'm having every phone line we own disconnected tomorrow."
"I knew I loved you."
Usually, when she pushed her elder sister to the breaking point – when Jane's hands alternated between the bridge of her nose and her hips and she'd uttered a good swear or two – Elizabeth was quick to amend whatever childish bit of shit she was on at the moment and return to the land of semi-adulthood. This time, however, Jane could not reasonably take credit for steering Lizzie back in the direction of maturity; nor could Charlotte (poor, unfortunate Charlotte) who had become the new victim of several piss and moan fests after the great Jane and Charlie ban on all contact.
The bedroom door creaked open enough to allow the slightly graying dark, curly head of Emily Reyes to poke itself inside. "Good morning, Starshine."
When it came to ridiculously wealthy families and their hired help, Emily Reyes was quite the anomaly. Back when the previous Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were just starting out their lives together, she was hired on as the young couple's maid by the groom's parents – a bizarre housewarming gift if there ever was one. Just two short years after she'd left Cuba, Emily had worked for many of California's finest families; scrubbing many of their fine floors and running after many of their 'fine' rat-faced offspring, and took the crap wages and under appreciation in stride. Working for Emma and Marcus Darcy, however, was a wholly different experience.
She wasn't treated like hired help, but something more along the lines of a friend who happened to clean their house three days a week. When Fitzwilliam and Georgiana came into the picture, Emily's role shifted completely and she very much became a second mother to the children when business and societal duties called away their biological one. The passing of Emma and then Marc signaled yet another new era in her employment; with Fitzwilliam off in LA handling all of Darcy Media's dealings, and Georgie in boarding school on the other side of the country, someone had to remain in Napa to watch over Pemberly. Seamlessly, Emily slipped into the role of managing the estate and was responsible for all of its side business ventures that included a wine label, horse stables, and a line of salad dressings (if Paul Newman could slap his face on a bottle of vinaigrette, so could Marcus Darcy).
Mrs. Reyes was as much a part of the Darcy family as those who had its blood coursing through their veins, and was the closest thing Lizzie would get to a mother-in-law. So, when she learned of their arrangement, and the subsequent unhappiness of the newest missus, Emily immediately befriended Lizzie, making sure to spend enough time with her to keep the poor girl from going completely crazy.
At the sound of the overly cheery voice, Lizzie carefully lifted the covers off of her head. "The earth says hello," she replied and her crooked smile quickly faded. "Wait, is he here?"
Chuckling, Mrs. Reyes took a seat on the end of the bed. "Now, what kind of newlywed can't stand the sight of her husband?"
"The contracted kind."
Shaking her head, the older woman said, "The sun is shining, birds are singing, and Fitzwilliam will be away all morning on business."
"Sweet!" Lizzie bolted upright at the news and tossed the blankets aside. "How about some Gears of War, today; Halo 3's getting kinda tired and those little kids can be really mean."
"I've got a better idea," she grinned.
That got her a wary look. "I don't think I trust you."
A hand flew to her chest and Mrs. Reyes gasped with mock dramatics. "How could you say such a thing, Lizzie?"
Brow arching, she said, "And how could the only forty-five year old woman I've ever known to use the phrase 'pwning noobs' pass on playing video games for an entire morning?"
Climbing to her feet, Mrs. Reyes grabbed Lizzie by the hands and attempted to yank her out of bed. "Humor me, yeah? Just this once?" At the sound of Lizzie's resolute sigh, she rolled her eyes and headed for the door. "I expect you downstairs in five minutes fully clothed, those ratty pajama bottoms do not count as pants and a bra is not optional." Her face broke out in a grin, "Comfortable shoes would also be in your best interest."
What began was a daily ritual; every morning Darcy would be mysteriously missing and Mrs. Reyes would appear in her room without the slightest intention of wasting time on Xbox Live. Instead, she would find some new area of Pemberly to drag Lizzie to, expounding on its history or purpose, and by the end of the second week of this tour, it was safe to say Lizzie had seen every inch of space the estate had to offer and met every last person it employed (effectively squashing those crazy hermit rumors the staff had been passing around). She found, that despite the smell, she loved the stables the most. Her affinity for it while possibly having to do with a deep, residual eight year-old desire to be a part of The Saddle Club, mostly it came from the beauty and serenity of the area. It was quiet for the most part, but she was okay with watching the busloads of inner city students come in for riding lessons, or listening in on the buyers and their high-priced haggling. So when she no longer needed Mrs. Reyes to show her around, Lizzie began venturing out on her own – iPod and a book in hand, nine times out of ten ending up propped against the outside of the stable's entrance.
And then, slowly and rather oddly, Darcy – he who had been so conveniently absent for so long, began to turn up more and more around Lizzie's favorite stomping ground. He spent time chatting up the stable hand, aiding in lessons, and seeming genuinely pleasant to everyone who wasn't her. He never acknowledged her presence or gave the slightest indication that he was aware they were existing in the same space until one particular day when the sky decided to open up and dump buckets on Napa Valley.
"Aw, crap," Lizzie muttered when the first rain drop hit her square on the head. Thunder and lightening rolled in seconds later and by the time she made it to her feet the rain was already coming down in droves. Sighing heavily she began the long walk back to the main house, with only a paperback to keep her 'dry'.
"Here!" Darcy had seemingly appeared out of nowhere at her side, his button up shirt in his outstretched hand.
Lizzie blinked. "Are you stalking me?!" she shouted over the rain.
Rolling his eyes, Darcy snatched the book out of her grasp and replaced it with his Polo. "You're welcome."
Not another word was spoken between the two until they reached the kitchen's back door; once inside, Lizzie quickly pulled the shirt from over her head. "Thanks, or whatever…" the garbled, half-hearted 'thank you' that spilled out of her mouth totally paled in comparison to the insult she'd originally planned on flinging his way, but the affront swiftly died a fiery death upon the sight of Darcy in a soaking wet T-shirt.
His dark hair curled slightly from the water while that plain, white shirt criminally clung to every muscle he possessed. In the back of her mind, Lizzie hoped Darcy would have acquired some sort of glaring physical flaw since their night together – a slightly doughy middle, maybe man boobs if God were smiling down on her, but no, he was cut long and lean, practically fucking perfect in every way and she was drooling in spite of herself.
Still standing near the door, Darcy kicked off his shoes and said over his shoulder, "You should go and get out of those wet clothes; wouldn't want you getting sick."
"Sure thing, Daddy," off of Darcy's look, Lizzie blushed before adding, "that was supposed to come out a lot more sarcastic and less sexual than it did…I'm just gonna go change now."
He smiled. "There's, some old shirts of mine in dryer, if you wouldn't mind bringing me one. I think there might be a pair of shorts in there, too if you don't want to go all the way upstairs."
"No problem," she mumbled.
"Laundry room's right through there…"
"Yeah, I know."
"I'm never gonna let you live down calling me, 'Daddy'."
A sigh, "I know that, too."
Lizzie emerged from the laundry room swimming in a Slayer T-shirt and gym shorts to find him shirtless and barefoot bent over, rummaging inside of the refrigerator. Taking a deep breath, she silently struggled to push any and all dirty thoughts about Fitzwilliam Darcy out of her mind; okay, so the man was good-looking, if he wasn't anything other than beastly she wouldn't be knocked up – so there was no reason for her to ogle and stare at him as if she were Lydia, for Christ sake. Then again, it had been so very long…and she remembered that night so very well…
"Can I show you something?" he asked, peeking up over the door.
Startled by the sound of his voice, Lizzie nearly jumped out of her skin. "What?" she asked, her cheeks coloring with embarrassment.
Finally surfacing from the depths of the fridge with an apple in hand, Darcy grinned. "Wait, here," he said grabbing the T-shirt from her waiting mitts.
Moments later Darcy reappeared in the kitchen, this time fully dressed and with a photo album tucked under his arm. He slid onto a chair at the bar, motioning for Lizzie to do the same. "I think I've seen practically all of your baby pictures…"
Lizzie frowned. "My mom waited until I passed out, didn't she?"
"Pretty much, yeah," he chuckled. "You liked to be naked a lot, huh?"
"Hey," she began with a crooked smile and a shrug, "when you've got an ass that won't quit you can't help but show it off."
"Anyway, Mrs. Reyes brought some of this stuff down out of the attic the other day and I thought it was only fair that you get to see all of my awkward pictures."
Awkward didn't even begin to describe the photographs of Darcy throughout the various stages of his childhood; tall and lanky didn't go so well with a bowl cut, and knobby knees constantly on display in ill-fitting shorts. He never really smiled, more like painfully smirked, and his hair was always seemed to be in his eyes.
Lizzie snickered as she flipped the album's page. "You really loved those shorts…and Hypercolor T-shirts..."
Darcy narrowed his eyes. "Hey, did I say one word about your tendency to rock a side pony-tail; the 80's were cruel to us all."
"I don't think they were crueler to anyone more than you," she laughed.
Young, Fitzwilliam whom had clearly seen his fair share of playground ass beatings, was a stark contrast to the other two boys he was consistently pictured with. Richard's smile and overall gingerness was a dead giveaway, but the other kid…his features were too dark to be Bingley, and as far as Lizzie knew, Darcy had never really been capable of making any other friends.
As if reading her mind, Darcy put his finger on the boy with his arm slung around his shoulder. "That would be your good friend, Danny," he said flatly. "We grew up together."
She stiffened and the atmosphere in the room turned blisteringly cold. "Wow, that's quite ballsy of you. What, did my mom show you pictures of me and Amanda Becker?"
"Who the hell is Amanda Becker?" Darcy asked, puzzled.
"My bff up until the 7th grade when I made the major mistake of holding hands with her boyfriend," Lizzie said rather matter-of-factly, her eyes narrowing into slits, "I mean, I know my little indiscretion pales in comparison to starting a rumor about a friend and your own mother because of your insane insecurity and jealousy, but since you're breaking out pictures of people you stabbed in the back, I was simply curious."
"My, mother?" Darcy blinked and made a noise somewhere in the back of his throat that was an unsettling cross between a scoff and a snarl. "Oh, that's real creative."
"It is, isn't it," she shot back. "Kudos to you."
Suddenly snatching up the album, he furiously flipped through to the back and practically shoved the book back at Lizzie. "Hypercolor and Max Headroom are suspiciously missing from this picture, so tell me, Lizzie how old do you think Danny and I are here?"
For quite possibly the first time in her life, Lizzie Bennet found herself totally speechless. The picture before her was clearly recent – Danny, beer in hand, once again had his arm slung around Darcy's shoulders. The casual, friendly demeanor of the two certainly didn't reek of two men who had fallen out years before over extremely nasty accusations.
"I…" she started but was brutally cut off by Darcy,
"This was taken last July at my bachelor party – that would make us both twenty four. Isn't it funny how Danny told you we never really got along and yet I made him my best man?" He sighed heavily, running a hand through his dampened hair. "Daniel Wickham was like a brother to me… fuck he was my brother in every conceivable way, blood relation or not, so imagine my surprise when I come home and find him on top of my fiancée. Ask Charles or Richard, they'll be more than happy to give you more details if my word isn't good enough."
Lizzie swallowed the hard lump that had painfully formed in her throat and hoped that somehow she could slide off of the chair and slither out of the room unnoticed. Darcy sat before her, literally shaking with anger and all she could do was put her head in her hands and feel like the world's biggest tool. She believed him, every single word and even more strangely, she felt compelled to find a way to make it all up to him.
"Wickham played you to get at me." And with a scoff as he stood, Darcy said, "He's the bestest friend you could ever hope for," before leaving a mute Lizzie behind to stew in her own thoughts.
Author's Note: This was the chapter that did not want to end itself and unfortunately made me want to end myself. :(