Note:
Two years ago, I published here a Pride and Prejudice story named "Games of Love and Cruelty." It was a modern story. Darcy declared his love/insulted Elizabeth in Hunsford Pub. She rejected him, but because they were both drunk, they began to sleep together, hating each other all the while.
Well, Elizabeth hated Darcy, or thought she did, Darcy just pretended to hate her and was brokenhearted. They only had sex, they didn't date or even kiss or touch each other in broad daylight.
Except... Around the middle of the story, there was a scene where Darcy almost kissed Elizabeth, in a supermarket...in broad daylight. He chickened out at the last second, and it took another ten chapters or so for these idiots to sort their feelings out. But at the time a commenter said that if Darcy had kissed Elizabeth at that moment, the happy ending would have happened right then and the story would be over.
At the time, I promised to write this alternative ending... So here it is at last!
Two things:
- Games of Love and Cruelty is not here anymore, I published it.
- I explain the context in the notes below so I *think* this story works well as a very sweet, fluffy, overly romantic standalone, even if you have not read the book.
Context:
Six months ago, Darcy declared his love/insulted Elizabeth in Hunsford Pub. She rejected him, but because they were both drunk, they began to sleep together, hating each other all the while. Well, Elizabeth hated Darcy, or thought she did, Darcy just pretended to hate her and was heartbroken. They only had sex, they didn't date or even kiss or touch each other in broad daylight.
It's Christmas. Elizabeth, Darcy, Jane, Caroline, Bingley, and Richard Fitzwilliam (Darcy's cousin) are staying in Bingley's mountain house for a few days, drinking hot chocolate and having fun. Richard noticed that something was going on between Darcy and Elizabeth. He's trying to help, so, when he and Darcy decide to go buy groceries in a supermarket in a nearby town, Richard manipulates things so that Elizabeth comes with them.
Now, Darcy, Elizabeth and Richard find themselves in the same car...
… So here Elizabeth is, in the backseat of the old Volkswagen. Darcy is driving—he looks embarrassed about something, Elizabeth is not sure why—but he seems happy, too. Richard is in the passenger seat, joking with her, being especially nice to her today. And speaking of happiness...it's sudden, this brief, incomprehensible feeling of joy, but the sky is bright, it smells like snow. Darcy is almost talkative; he seems relaxed, he laughs.
Nothing of note happens until they stop to install the snow tires. Richard deems himself incompetent and smokes while Darcy takes care of business. He's efficient, and Elizabeth is all admiration.
"I've been coming here for fifteen years," he explains. She helps him as much as she can. Darcy thanks her, then they both lecture Richard about his smoking. "Listen to a future doctor," Darcy says. "Elizabeth, convince him to stop."
Richard just jokes their admonitions away, and when they get back in the car the conversation has somehow turned to Darcy's many character flaws.
"You are a master manipulator, Richard," Elizabeth says, not blind to the astute way he changed the course of the discussion. Richard smiles, and then sort of praises his cousin, explaining how Darcy can seem cold and aloof and with a stick up his ass ("Thank you so much, Richard," Darcy comments), but he's really the best man in the world. Darcy turns a tad red.
Then they arrive at the supermarket and nothing more interesting happens than a lively discussion about the edibility of tofu sausages. No, nothing fascinating is said, but it's here again, joy in the air, an atmosphere of goodwill that Elizabeth doesn't remember ever feeling around Darcy. He's always close—gallantly pushing the cart, helping her grab produce on the higher shelf. Richard keeps wandering away, coming back every ten minutes with weirder and weirder treasures (Algae chips! Beet-flavoured crackers! A make-your-own-beer kit!) before leaving again.
Isn't it strange, Elizabeth thinks, she and Darcy, together, buying coffee and cereals and vegan nut spreads as if they were—you know. Together, or something. Instead of— But the moment is actually very pleasant, Darcy (Darcy!) is very pleasant. They are bantering near rows and rows of sophisticated green teas when suddenly Elizabeth has the feeling Darcy is going to kiss her.
The air is filled with the sound of the store manager promoting something over the loudspeaker. Darcy's hand is on Elizabeth's shoulder, he is smiling at a joke she just made, when a tall man passes with a large cart, blocking much of the lane. Darcy's arm winds up around Elizabeth's waist when they back away and he turns to her. Elizabeth's heart misses a beat—Darcy is going to kiss her.
They've kissed, a lot, but always during their secret rendezvous, never outside, in real life, like this, as if they…
As if they were…
She leans in…
The kiss lasts for an eternity. The moment, suspended in time. The store manager is still talking, words are sipping through, words emerge, "Italian tomatoes" and something about lasagna, and –– the shelf on Elizabeth's back –– Darcy's hand on her waist –– holding her closer. The man with the cart is gone. They detach. Look at each other. Petrified.
On their left, ten different kinds of sencha.
"I-I…" Elizabeth doesn't know how to act, what to say. She's floating, her mind in a blur.
Darcy leans over and kisses her again.
This time they let go of the cart––of everything. The only thing that matters is the kiss. Elizabeth's hands, gripping Darcy's shoulders, his arms encircling her waist, maybe they're walking, or –– waltzing –– because when Elizabeth reopens her eyes, the green tea is somewhere on their right, abandoned behind, replaced by strawberry jam. If there is a metaphor there, Elizabeth will not find it today––because…that kiss.
Darcy still holds her tight; on their right, strawberry jam morphs into apricot. The look in Darcy's eyes Elizabeth can't decipher, she never saw this expression, but she doesn't want to think, to evaluate, she only wants to kiss him again. So she does, and they kiss in front of the coffee row and near the organic sugar and all the way along a thousand different kinds of flour –– then pasta –– reality slides away –– Elizabeth's entire existence is shifting ––
"Excuse me, Romeo."
Richard. Holding a pack of Farfalle. A smirk on his face. Darcy and Elizabeth detach; Richard's smirk grows wider; he waves the pack of pasta in their direction in a negligent gesture.
"Very touching. Totally inappropriate. Where is the cart?"
"The cart," Darcy repeats.
"The cart. I do understand that when a lady is in question, all practical matters are thrown out of the window," Richard says with a gallant nod in Elizabeth's direction, "but first, there is no window here, and second…food. Food is important. People die without it. Our friends, remember them? Up in the mountain house? They're waiting for food."
"We left the cart near the green tea section –– I think," Elizabeth answers, half amused, half in a haze, because… What the hell happened? She misses Darcy's hands on her –– his touch – his lips –– her heart, beating like hell.
And to reuse the word 'hell' a third time, or even a fourth… What the hell just happened?
Darcy's indecision vanishes. "Go get the cart, Richard." He grabs his wallet, flashes a very shiny card. "Here. Go pay for everything and we'll join you in the car."
"Oh, I am sorry, did you confuse me with James, your faithful butler? Get the cart yourself."
"Fuck, Richard," Darcy grabs his cousin by the shoulder and drags him toward the Back to school! row with its mountains of glittering stationeries. We'll discuss what shiny princesses and purple unicorn pens mean for feminism another time, dear reader, because this is a Cinderella variation I'm writing, so who am I to throw stones at misogynistic clichés?
"Elizabeth," Darcy adds. Turning to her. So tense. "Wait. Just wait. Wait for me here, I — I will be back," he stammers before dragging Richard even further.
"Listen, man," Richard starts as soon as the two men are out of hearing, "I am glad things are settled between you and Elizabeth, but…"
"Nothing is settled, I have to talk to her, I have to talk to her now, nothing is –– Just do it, ok? Please? Take care of the cart, of…the groceries, I will make it up to you later."
"Oh, for God's sake," Richard grumbles. Then: "Make it up to me how?"
"I will pay for our beer sessions. You know, after dinner. The Matlock dinners."
"You already are," Richard protests, and dear reader, I will spare you the bargaining, but know that the negotiating ends in Darcy agreeing to buy a table tennis table in Pemberley so that Georgiana and Richard can play.
All the while, Elizabeth, alone. Near colorful tables covered with children's books. Trying to gather her wits.
She strolls along, hoping to look like a young mom or a fun aunt, and not like someone who has just been fervently kissed by the insufferable man she's having great sex with, a man that she can't stand. In theory. Because now her heart is all aflutter, oh no no, no, NO –– it's a trap, she is falling into a trap, don't be one of those women who falls for a guy because of endorphins or serotonin or whatever, it's not real, it's…after-sex chemistry, Darcy is still awful, he is still––
He is back. Elizabeth jumps in surprise.
"You are thinking," Darcy says. "I can see you thinking." He grabs her hands. Holds tight. "Please stop thinking."
"I do not believe I can. See, the way our neurons work…"
"Elizabeth, please. Do not… Do not think until we've talked."
His voice. Passion. Elizabeth is so surprised that all jokes fly right out of her head. Her treacherous heart is beating fast again. Darcy is still holding her hands, still watching her, and –– is it possible for a stupid, neon-lit supermarket to be the most romantic place in the world?
No, NO. It's a trap, A TRAP.
"We have to talk," Darcy repeats. He looks around, then strides towards the supermarket exit. Elizabeth follows.
In the hall, small businesses have sprouted: a photo booth, printing services, a shop selling expensive watches, yes, expensive watches in Hello We're Nowhere Town in the middle of the mountains, what can I say, the world is an absurd place. Darcy is walking fast, gripping Elizabeth's fingers; they stop in what cannot really be called a café, it's more of a tiny space with a high table, four high stools, a coffee machine accepting credit cards, and another machine where parents can purchase tickets for a small merry-go-round a few steps from there, where a bunch of excited kids is at that very moment shrieking while riding plastic green donkeys.
Darcy buys two coffees. Puts milk and sugar in each of them. Neither he nor Elizabeth takes sugar, but he's not thinking, his mind running amok. And one minute later, they're both on the high stools, facing each other. Holding steaming cups of undrinkable coffee.
Silence.
"I apologize for those things I said in the pub. In Hunsford Pub," Darcy starts. No transition, no warning. "I was — crazy. It was crazy."
It smells strange. Metal, plastic, and cheap caffeine. Elizabeth gathers her wits.
"You were drunk, and so was I." She touches her temples, feeling a headache coming. "The things I said, they were also unfair..."
"I love you."
Kids' cries of joy in the distance. The overwhelming buzz of the supermarket. "I never stopped," Darcy continues, his voice hoarse. "I pretended, while — while we slept together. I pretended to — but — I. I still love you."
Elizabeth, stunned. Kidnapped by a strange vessel and thrown naked into an alien town. Lost in the streets, looking for light.
"Really?"
Darcy gives a dry laugh. "Yes, really."
"You hate me."
"I don't."
Elizabeth massages her temples again. "Then…I hate you?"
"Do you?"
"I…don't know."
The world stays on pause. Elizabeth finally raises her eyes. "The way our relationship is, right now," she whispers. "I hate it. Our casual arrangement. We fight, then we have sex, then we fight again… It's self-destructive. It's mean," she whispers, the word sounds childish, but it's all she's got.
"I agree."
"Not that the sex isn't great. Because it is."
"I also agree."
"But…" Elizabeth breathes, trying to find her way, to understand the alien signs, the language. "What do you propose?"
Darcy grabs her hand again and kisses it. Elizabeth's eyes go wide. Despite all the sex they had for the last two months, it's their first tender gesture.
"We could just pretend to have a real relationship," he explains. "I mean, we could — turn it into a real relationship. I want…I want us to get to know each other, without all the anger, without the bitterness. Just be together… Talk. We could be…" A little color on Darcy's face. "We could be kind to each other."
"Like…dating? Courting? Without the sex?"
"I would be in favor of keeping the sex, but — anything you want, Elizabeth, anything…" His voice breaks, Elizabeth cannot process it, Darcy's phone beeps.
A text. Richard. "The groceries are in the car, Romeo, and I am going for a beer, somewhere, far away, into the wild. If you're not happy about it, fuck you. Except that's not my job, that's Juliet's job. My best to the lady."
Darcy puts his phone back a little forcibly on the table. Elizabeth stifles a laugh. "Richard?"
"He's being uncooperative."
"Well." Elizabeth's eyes shine with amusement. "You do have the habit of ordering people around. He might not enjoy it as much as you think."
"Am I ordering you around?"
"As a matter of fact, you just did. You ordered me to stay near the tables—the children's books table. Then you ordered me not to think."
Darcy shakes his head. "You enjoyed giving me orders too. Recently, remember?"
Elizabeth grows scarlet; she remembers that night perfectly well. Playing games in bed after an evening of board games in Netherfield.
…And then everything is a blur again, "Let me think," she whispers, "let me think."
She tries to recall the moments spent together. She and Darcy, all the horrible tense scenes, the awkwardness, and the rancor, but also — when he got out of his car in front of Bingley's house, in the snow, in his stupid suit and tie. His smile then. Their banter, when they play. The way Darcy is loyal, thoughtful. Always there for his friends, for his sister.
Yesterday evening, in Bingley's house. Hot chocolate, rum, and laughter.
Her heart, going wild, near endless boxes of green tea.
Is there something there? Is there?
"We spoke in anger so often, too often…" Darcy whispers. "But this is not who I am, Elizabeth. Or I suppose, this is also who I am, but… I–I just see it. We would laugh together. You would — say these silly non-sequiturs you're so proud of, I would make fun of you, you would tease me back… We would have endless discussions, disagree on everything and just — kiss the dissensions away. It could be fun to argue if we… If we trusted each other, if we…" His voice breaks. "If we loved each other."
Alien universe. Alien stars. Too bright. Elizabeth is dazzled.
She steps off her stool, she has to leave. She cannot think when he speaks to her like this, with — ardor. Tenderness. She is not used to it, she…
She has to be rational; she has to be alone.
"I will be back," she breathes, "I just need a few moments to myself to — it is a lot, what you're asking me. I have to process."
Darcy watches her, fear in his gaze. "Stay here," Elizabeth orders, with a half-smile. "I will be back."
The hall is not that big. She paces between the watch shop and the newspaper stand. On the other side of the carrousel, out of Darcy's view. Love. This is crazy. They don't even know each other. Sure, Darcy's been in her life for almost a year and a half now, but he's so closed off, so secret. How can she know him? How can she make an informed decision? Obviously not understanding Darcy did not stop her from judging him — harshly, wrongly, about Wickham, about Bingley and Jane. Elizabeth is duly ashamed of it, but it doesn't mean she is supposed to fall in love with him now.
Although it is not what Darcy is asking. He is just asking for a relationship, let the chips fall where they may — oh God.
Elizabeth's head hurts. The supermarket's noise is so loud, people, merchandise, choices. There is another Darcy that the one she has learned to hate, she knows this, she's seen glimpses of him at Bingley's apartment, or here, in the mountains, in the snow. So yes, trying to know him better would be…reasonable, but let's be honest, reason is not what is swaying her here. (Swaying? Is she? Is she hesitating? Is she considering it?)
No, the reason she's walking in a daze, the reason her heart is still beating a little fast is…
The way Darcy is looking at her. The way he kissed her. The way they made love, last night, when she snuck into his room. And let's be honest here, when they slept with each other in town, despite all the clashes, all the abhorrence, it has always been — powerful.
Elizabeth's heart is beating fast again.
But this is why she cannot decide now, though. Passion, power, tenderness…, irrationality, this is so not the Elizabeth Bennet way. Not that she is incapable of passion, tenderness — or power. But this is not how decisions are made. She is not Lydia, she is not her mom. Elizabeth values reason. Sense, not sensibility. You think, you ponder, you estimate the situation. You weigh your options. You don't — jump into deep waters just to check if you can swim. You don't start a relationship with a guy because he said he loved you and when he looks at you, your heart jumps and your knees buckle, you do not take a leap of faith just because—
And then—
Why not?
I mean — seriously. Why not?
All those people in the supermarket, in a nearly infinite ocean of opportunities. Her life, Elizabeth Bennet's life, is horribly boring. She complained to Jane about it, just this morning. Elizabeth told her sister she wanted a change, any change, she begged the fates, and now a change is offered to her on a silver platter — and — what — she's going to refuse? She called destiny and destiny answered and she is cowering in a corner — the sheer melodrama of this line of thinking makes her laugh, so soon she's back on 'reason' and 'sense', applying them to the other side of the issue.
A love story is not a financial investment. You're allowed to go a little crazy. If you take risks, better take them at twenty-two—it's not like she's marrying him. If it doesn't work she can just walk away, hell, she can say yes and walk away in an hour, tonight, tomorrow. She's allowed to change her mind — Darcy is allowed too. And suddenly she hates the thought, hates the idea that Darcy could take it all back, so she quickly walks back to him, when he spots her he doesn't react, his face neutral, his body rigid. His eyes do not leave her though, even when she's back on her stool; her horrible coffee with too much sugar has been faithfully waiting for her, except, it's cold now.
"What about your family?" she asks.
The Matlock family and their endless snobbism and dysfunction. They would not accept a mere Elizabeth Bennet in their ranks.
"I don't care."
Elizabeth's voice is soft. "You do."
"I…" Darcy's fingers play nervously on the table. "No. I mean, yes. But not…for this. Not about this. Not when it comes to you."
It is a lie, Elizabeth knows. It is a lie Darcy believes right now, but — what if she says 'yes', and they — they fall in love — and his family tries to come between them. Will he be strong enough to resist? She knows how it can be. The mere thought of disappointing her father fills her with dread. If she tells her dad she wants to quit med school…
Does she want to quit med school?
(She does.)
Will Darcy be strong enough? Would they be stronger together? Against family, expectations? Fighting for their lives?
"Yes," she says, taking his hand in his. "Ok."
Darcy's face is blank.
"Let's try this," Elizabeth whispers.
He turns pale. "Really?"
"Yes, really," she whispers, she wants to laugh but she cannot, her stomach in knots, they stay unmoving, fingers intertwined, Darcy repeats "really?" and she just nods. She cannot talk, she can't even smile. Dread, building a nest in her belly. Look at him, look at them, turned to stone. Not even a word to say to each other.
She made the wrong decision. Oh my God she made the wrong decision, maybe she can take it back, she has to take it back, "Don't take it back," Darcy says in a low voice, God, she has never seen him like — seen him raw — he stands, he walks around the tiny table, he sits on the other stool, the one just near her, he puts his hands on her waist. And he…
"Don't take it back."
And he—
Ok. The kisses are good. The kisses are very—all in favor, raise your hands.
"I don't know how to do this," she whispers. They're still so very close. Foreheads, touching. The mall, the conversations, everything is gone. White noise. Like the snow on the mountains, outside.
"I am not in love with you yet," Elizabeth blurts.
Silence.
Why did she say this? She did not want to say this. She just— She didn't think...
Darcy is very pale. "I know." He looks away. A group of friends walks by, happy and loud, some of them are carrying skis. A young couple hurry through the hall, rolling suitcases. Darcy turns back to her. "You said 'yet' though. 'Yet' changes the whole meaning of the statement. Doesn't it?"
"I— This is the plan, right?" She hesitates. "Love is the plan?"
"It is." New pause. "I have the feeling", Darcy speaks slowly, "that the way I behave now, the way I act during the next few days is going to be crucial. I have to be careful," he continues. "You are ready to bolt."
Maybe. But she also… He's holding her hand. She likes it. Despite her—ill-advised comment, the connection is not broken. "I mean. We don't—" She shakes her head. "We don't even... What are we even going to talk about?"
"What?"
"We never really… We never talk. We just—"
A pause. "I have a list," Darcy says, his voice very low. "Of topics."
Elizabeth almost laughs. "A list?"
"Topics I wanted to discuss with you, when we were — together. Sleeping together. Conversations we could have had, that I wanted us to have. Issues I wanted to get your opinion on. But it was never—it was always so difficult — we were never in the right mood—"
"You have a list," Elizabeth repeats. Her eyes shining, so amused. "Did you write it down? In a little notebook? On your phone?"
Darcy sighs. "I feel like I just gave you a lifetime of ammunition."
"It's good you're aware of your mistakes. So, what are the topics?"
"Relationships in general. The one between your sister and Bingley, in particular."
Elizabeth is instantly worried. "Why... You don't like it?"
"I do. That is why… When I'm watching them," Darcy says. "I want the same thing. With you."
"Ok." Her voice, unsteady. The dread in her belly, it's turned, it's morphed, into—into something warm. Something still apprehensive, something that says, This. This is important. What's happening here, it could change your life. "Ok. Other topics?"
"Games. Why do we play then? What does it mean, that we invest all this energy in…meeting in Netherfield and spending hours playing Terraforming Mars?"
"Wow. This is a whole— Philosophy, sociology, game theory... Do you have three hours?"
"Yes," Darcy says. His phone chimes. "No. Richard is going feral. Anyway. As I said, there's a list. It's long. These last few weeks, each time we met. Each time we did something, I thought, I want to talk about this with her — with you…"
"We should go," Elizabeth whispers, Darcy looks taken aback, but it's too much, everything is upside down; they stand up, they walk toward the sliding doors, Darcy's face blank and careful and she cannot bear it, so she — she grabs him by his shirt and she kisses him again — it's impulsive, almost fiery — he reciprocates in kind — on their left the carousel goes round and round — carts rolling kids laughing people walking—
When they stop — breathing hard, still so close —
...they walk outside onto the parking lot, holding hands, the sun, shining, the air, freezing, proud immaculate mountain peaks ignoring them in the distance, "We're really doing this," Elizabeth whispers, "We're really doing this," Darcy repeats, as if he was just realizing it, just beginning to believe it, and suddenly they're both smiling like lunatics and they laugh and kiss AGAIN in the biting cold and it seems the world is whirling and Richard is leaning upon the side of the car looking pissed, and soon enough they're gone; Richard's driving, frustrated, but also kind of smug, Darcy's in the passenger's seat, Elizabeth in the backseat again; on a whim she leans over and reach for Darcy's hand, it's really unpractical, but he takes it and kisses it and doesn't let go, and Elizabeth feels giddy, floating, like she's high — like there's wind—and Darcy meets her eyes in the rear-view mirror and the way he looks at her, "oh come on," Richard grumbles, except later Darcy realizes Richard has drunk three beers while waiting for them—three! So he makes his cousin stop the car, right here, right now, on the border of the road, he takes the wheel, Richard decides to go sulk in the back so Elizabeth sits in the front near Darcy, and there are so many things they haven't resolved, so many decisions they haven't taken yet, but whatever disasters lie in wait, they will face them together, and maybe Elizabeth is falling in love, or maybe she was in love before, maybe she always had been, and the road stretches forever, and the sky is crystal blue.