Chapter 12

Darcy woke up, beads of sweat pouring down her face. She sighed, and shifted onto her back. Of course, she had fallen asleep on her chair in front of the fire yet again. The sun had yet to rise, but she stood and stretched. Walking to her small, cold bathroom, she took a towel and wiped the soot and sweat off her face. She looked in her mirror, and her shoulders slumped. She wasn't fit for a prince!

Look at yourself, she thought. You're practically a servant!

She was still recovering from the anxiety that perhaps her stepfamily had seen her two nights ago at the party. She hadn't seen Ryan since, and instead had sent him some flowers. That gave her a fresh new worry: did she appear desperate? Too clingy?

These thoughts plagued her as she spent nearly every moment with her stepfamily, trying to appear as normal as possible. She would have to go back to work tomorrow, since Susanna was returning, but for now she followed her family around like the little servant she was.

Glancing at her clock, she was relieved to see it was only 4 a.m.; there was no need to get up quite yet. The pathetic fire was the only dim light in the room, and she slumped back into her chair. A small picture of her father stood on the dismal mantle, smiling comfortingly at her. He had been a tall, strong man, with blonde hair and brown eyes. He had been married to her mother for twenty years; when Darcy ten years old, however, her mother died of leukemia. Her father was never the same. He lost his job, they lost their house, and Darcy had to work every day after school.

One day, though, when Darcy was sixteen, something was different. Her father began to shave in the morning; he read the classifieds and bought new clothes; he began to clean their small New Jersey apartment. Darcy, who back then was naught but skin and bones, and did little more than schoolwork, work, and sleep, didn't notice right at first. But then one day her father told her to dress in her finest, and to get the night off from work. They traveled into the city and to a shining golden hotel, where they were taken all the way to the top and into the fanciest apartment Darcy had ever seen. It was filled with prim, finely attired adults, and Darcy was old enough to feel ashamed at her sewn and re-sewn cotton dress. Her father, an odd look on his face, hurried Darcy through the crowd and to the balcony. He continued on, but Darcy had halted by the glass door, staring at the tall, thin woman whom her father had hurried over to. She had long, shiny black hair with cold, gray eyes, but Darcy found she couldn't stop staring at her abnormally large, crooked nose. Two girls stood on either side of her, one with the same black, curly hair, and one with blonde hair like herself. One was tall and thin like her mother, but the other was short and rather round. Darcy remembered her heart falling as she looked on her father cheerily conversing with them.

Two months later her father and Miss Vagarte were married. They sold their hole of an apartment and moved into the city, to a penthouse on Lexington Avenue. Her father got a job on Wall Street, leaving Darcy to succumb to her new family's every whim. She was strictly forbidden to go to college, so instead she took up a few secretarial jobs here and there, just to get out her stepmother's way.

Nearly four years later, however, when Darcy was twenty, her father left for work in the morning and never came back. Panicked, Darcy called his cellphone, his coworkers, everyone she could think of. Not five minutes later, a call from the hospital came, confirming that they were John Thomas Clevell's family. He had had a heart attack. An hour later, he was dead.

Now an orphan, the Vagartes were truly the only family Darcy had. A year later, she took the job as Susanna Bennet's secretary, which, from what she heard, was a coveted yet difficult position. She had been in awe of Miss Bennet the very moment she had stepped into the office; she was everything that Darcy had always wanted to be: strong, confident, talented, and let's face it, rich. But she was also sarcastic, cynical, and at times, mean. Yet Darcy could relate, because she knew that Miss Bennet had good reason to be all those things.

Darcy was suddenly snapped out of her reverie by a sharp knock at the door. The cook had arrived, and wanted her help in the kitchen. She got up, and with a sigh, left her room.

In the kitchen, she stirred consistently as her thoughts drifted off again. Her parents, her true parents, had really loved each other, even if their lives had been kind of boring. That was what her mother had always told her, "Don't settle for someone just because their exciting. Excitement dies, and excitement isn't love."

Darcy suddenly stopped stirring. She had a revelation, like a bolt of lightning. She didn't love Ryan. He was just exciting, like her mother said. It would die soon, and then where would she be?

Ryan woke up happily, thinking of Darcy. Ah, what fun to be in love! He got up and opened the curtains, filling the room with bright sunshine. Autumn was setting in, and the leaves on the trees were brilliantly red, orange, and gold. An endless smile on his face, he ate breakfast, showered, and got dressed, ready to go find Darcy. He didn't care anymore why she had left the party so hastily; he figured she would tell him in her own time. He had quit thinking of Susanna entirely, or at least, tried to.

He was putting on his jacket when a knock came at his door. He opened it to find Darcy, who actually looked tired and in sweats, but to Ryan, she never looked more beautiful.

"Darcy!" he cried, and gave her kiss. "I'm so happy to see you!"

"Ryan, I think we need to talk," she said, coming in, wringing her hands.

Ryan didn't notice her agitation, and instead wrapped his arms around her and kissed her neck. She seemed swayed for a moment, her eyes closed and her lips beginning to smile, but then she shook her head and broke free.

"Ryan, listen, about the other night –" she began.

"It doesn't matter," he interrupted. "I'm sure you had a good reason."

"Well, yes, but, I still need to talk to you," she insisted, stiffening as he brushed his lips along her neck and collarbone.

"About what?" he murmured, but she seemed to be melting in his arms. Her eyes were closed again, and she allowed him to gently back her against the sofa, until she fell over and lay down on it. He softly got on top of her, and began again to kiss her, more passionately this time. She groaned in her throat, her breathing becoming rougher.

"I just… you're… exciting…" she breathed, gasping as his hand ran down her side and brushed along her thigh.

"Why thank you," he said with a smile, and was surprised when she began to ardently kiss him back, tearing open his shirt. A thought ran through his mind – did he want where this was going? He moaned as her hand slipped farther and farther down, and he decided yes, definitely, he did want this.

As for Darcy, all thoughts of her mother's advice flew out of mind, and she smiled through their kisses as she let her hand travel down. She heard him moan, which only turned her on more. His arms pressed her closer to him, and she decided that, at least for now, she'd much rather have excitement than love.

Susanna, irritated and jet-lagged, dragged her luggage up to her apartment late Sunday morning. She was still angry from everything that had happened in London, and all she wanted to do right now was sleep. And sleep she did. Dumping her bags at the door, she threw off her shoes and fell onto the nearest sofa, and went straight to sleep.

She woke up in the late afternoon, and finding herself to smell like pubs and peanuts, she staggered to the shower. She threw on some jeans and a sweatshirt, and was attempting to unpack when the phone rang.

"Hello?" she said crossly.

"Susanna, mon petit chou!"

Susanna laughed, the first time she had done so in three days. "Hello, Godmother." It was her French godmother, Clarissa, who was really her father's elder cousin, or something like that. She had been appointed Susanna's godmother for some unknown reason, but had never failed; every birthday, holiday, or any other occasion, a package would surely be there from France.

"Darling! How is my goddaughter?" Clarissa asked in her thick French accent.

Susanna lied and said, "Fine."

"Ah, no you are not, do not lie to your godmuzzer!" her godmother scolded.

Susanna sighed. "How do you know?"

"Godmuzzers always know, Susanna."

Susanna smiled. "I suppose you've heard?"

"Oui, many times," Clarissa said with a click of her tongue. "And I am in New York, and I want to see you."

This brightened Susanna's spirits. "Of course! Come on over!"

"I am already halfway there. See you in five minutes."

Susanna hung up, and decided she should change. She put on a pair of nicer jeans and a red sweater, and quickly braided her wet hair. She had barely finished when her godmother was knocking at the door. Susanna hurried down from her room and opened the door.

"Susanna!"

"Godmother!"

They hugged happily. Clarissa was about Susanna's height, with a thin frame, smooth, porcelain skin, and snow-white hair. She was decked out in fabulous jewels, from her ears to her wrists, and wore an elegant, sequined pant and top. She looked Susanna over with her bright blue eyes, and smiled in approval.

"You're as lovely as ever," she announced, and Susanna smiled.

They moved to the living room and sat down. They talked a little of Susanna's job, and Clarissa's home in Provence, but Susanna's godmother quickly went to other matters.

"Susanna, darling, do not feel ashamed for what you said," her godmother began.

"I don't!" Susanna cried, but sighed under her godmother's gaze.

"I know, dear. Perhaps you are bit… jealous?"

Susanna looked at her sharply. "Of what?"

"Of zis… Darcy. She is getting a lot of attention; attention you used to get," her godmother explained.

"I don't think that's it," Susanna said softly.

Her godmother smiled. "I know zat you and Ryan did not alvays get along, but he is happy, is he not?"

Susanna groaned, and thought with sharp regret on what she had said to Adrienne. "I guess I am jealous," she admitted, something she was only ever able to do with her godmother. "It's just… so romantic, you know? What if I never have that? What if I end up like my parents?" she wondered aloud.

Her godmother smiled, and wrapped an arm around Susanna. "When your father died," she began softly after a few moments, "your mother cried nonstop for a week. Even though he had been sick for many months, she was not prepared for it, like you were. She found a letter in his desk to her, and do you know what he wrote? He told her that even though they may not have fallen in love at first sight, he loved her more than anyone in the whole world by the time he died. You do not find that romantic?"

Susanna smiled a little, a tear in her eye. "Yes, I suppose."

Her godmother gave her a squeeze. "I wish I could turn your motorcycle into a golden carriage, and give you glass slippers and a ballgown and send you off to find your prince charming. But alas, I am no fairy godmother." She paused. "Romance is everywhere, Susanna. You just have to be open and brave enough to find it."

Susanna nodded, her tear stalled.

"However," her godmother continued, "I am glad to see you have not lost your wit," she laughed. "Your father would be proud."

Susanna smiled. "Thank you, Godmother. Sometimes I wish you could send me to the ball… sometimes I wish I was Cinderella instead of one of the boring nobles the prince is forced to dance with until she shows up."

Clarissa smiled. "You should call Adrienne, and say just that."

Susanna made a noise in her throat. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she said. "I feel bipolar… one minute I hate love, the next I want it…"

Her godmother chuckled. "Don't you see? That is being in love."

Susanna laughed, but the comment stuck with her. Her godmother left with a wink and a kiss, but Susanna sank back down onto the sofa. She soon regretted everything, including what she had said to her mother. Could her godmother be right? Was she in love? With… Keith? Something nagged at her that that wasn't it. But she refused to think of who else it might be… that never led her anywhere. Perhaps it was Keith, then. And yet…

Tired with these thoughts, she called Adrienne and left a long, apologizing message on her machine. She then picked up the phone to call her mother, but put it back down.

"Just get it over with," she whispered to herself. After many more pick-ups and put-downs, she finally dialed the number. It rang and rang and rang, and she let out a relieved breath as her mother's official message machine came on.

"Um, hi, Mom, it's me," she began awkwardly. "Listen… I guess I'll just say it… I'm sorry. I am, really." She paused. "I suppose growing up I just always had this image and thought of you as some sort of unfeeling, controlling monster who I just had to get away from." She thought of what her godmother had said. "But that's not you, Mom. I know Dad dying was difficult and painful for you, but I guess I was just so mad at both of you I didn't see it. I was mad at him for leaving me… but then, he was leaving you, too." Tears came into her eyes, and she tried to blink them away, but her voice began to shake. "I know this whole Ryan and my secretary thing is weird for you… it's weird for everyone. I just… I just don't want to grow old knowing that something like this came between us. I guess what I'm saying is… I'm sorry, and I hope that you forgive me." She paused again, and then hung up.

Darcy sat on the sofa, horrified at what she had just done. She had specifically come here to tell Ryan to cool things down, and what did she do? Slept with him! She smiled weakly at Ryan, who was cheerily making waffles in the kitchen. It had been amazing, of course, but she felt terrible for completely rescinding her goal. Now she would have to wait to tell him, because what kind of slut has sex with a guy and then tells him to cool down?

"Fresh waffles," Ryan said merrily, placing the plates down in front of her and kissing her on the lips. She smiled, and ate slowly.

"Something wrong?" Ryan asked, noticing. "Was it bad?" he said, a hint of a smile on his face.

She shook her head. "No… it was incredible," she said.

He smiled rather smugly. "Then what is it?"

"Nothing," she told him. He shrugged and believed it. Once they were finished, he took the plates back to the kitchen, leaving Darcy to sit dismally on the couch. She tried to look anywhere but the sofa, as now it just made her feel terrible.

"Now, I know you may not want to," Ryan called from the kitchen, "but how do you feel about visiting Telera?"

He was smiling hopefully at her, and she sighed. What was she doing? He was a great guy… a terrific guy. But then her mother's words came back to her… but how was she going to break up with him? Without feeling arrogant, she knew he was awfully hung up on her, and he wasn't going to go easy.

"I don't know," she finally answered.

"Well, think about it," he said. She smiled and nodded.

"I should get going," she said. She couldn't stand it much longer.

He looked disappointed, but nodded. He left the kitchen and followed her to the door.

"Goodbye," he murmured, and kissed her long and deeply. She let her hand run along his face, but then took a deep breath and left.

Once Darcy left, Ryan showered again and took a walk. He came back late in the afternoon, his strong emotions from earlier dying down. He ordered his usual room service, and deliberately sat on a different sofa.

The phone rang halfway through dinner. He swallowed and answered.

"Hello?"

"I'm sorry."

He paused. "Susanna?"

"Yes," she said, her voice uncharacteristically shaky.

"Everything alright?" he asked, somehow worried.

"Fine. I just wanted to apologize if I caused you any trouble."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I'm just kind of in an apologizing mood," she said.

"Um, alright," he said, but he couldn't stop thinking that he wanted to comfort her. Darcy, Darcy, Darcy, he forced himself.

"I just know what the repercussions from something like this can be like," she went on. "Remember the Duke of Mulaire?"

"Ugh, yes," Ryan said with chuckle. The duke had said something offensive to the queen, and before long he and his whole family had been all but exiled.

"Well, I just wanted to make sure I didn't cause you and Darcy any trouble."

He paused. "No, actually. In fact, you made things very pleasing."

She must have noticed the change in his voice. "Really? Well, I am rather… stimulating," she purred, her voice husky and sensuous.

He felt a prick, make that a blow, of excitement. How was it that Susanna was able to do with just her voice that Darcy could only do with her actual touch? He managed to chuckle.

"Anyway," she continued normally, "that's all. I just wanted to check."

"Do you really feel alright, Susanna?" he asked. Something was bugging him about all of this.

"Why?" she said cautiously.

"I don't know… this is very strange. Why do you care?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You don't believe in love," he said simply, and without thinking.

There was a long pause, and he immediately regretted having said it. "I'm sorry, Susanna, I didn't mean-"

"I have other calls to make," she said. "Goodbye, Ryan."

She hung up, and he slowly clicked his phone off. He tried to continue eating, but found he couldn't. He let his head fall to the table. He hadn't meant that! Was there any cure to this Susanna plague he seemed to have? But then… he was in love with Darcy, right? He must focus all his attention on Darcy, make Darcy want to be with him forever… he and Susanna could be friends, of course, but it was Darcy… it was Darcy… it was Darcy…

Susanna hung up the phone with a click. She should've known that nothing good ever came of her godmother's 'enlightening' visits. Why did she care if her little tantrum had any effect on Ryan and Darcy? It sure as hell hadn't, anyway… they'd slept together, that much she knew.

Back came her bipolar-ness. She didn't feel sorry for apologizing to Adrienne and her mother – they she really had needed to apologize to. But Ryan? Her godmother hadn't said anything about apologizing to him… so why had she?

Perhaps I'm a caring person… No, that's not it. Perhaps I'm in lo- No! Nothing would come of that. She finally determined it was just something subconscious and utterly out of her control.

"I'm sick of this!" she exclaimed out loud. "I just want things to go back to what they were!" She stamped her foot and went out to her balcony. The cool autumn air fell over her as she gazed out to the twinkling lights of New York. If she had known back in August that things would get this complicated if Ryan came to New York, she never would have said yes. But here she was, with complicated feelings all over the place.

"All I have to do is sort them out," she said to herself. "Well, my father's still dead but I think things with my mother are looking better. I'm angry that everyone thinks Ryan and Darcy are ill-suited for each other, but then again I think that they're ill-suited for each other. Darcy can't deal with that much excitement, and Ryan… Ryan should like someone like me. Sometimes I think that Ryan could like me, but then sometimes he makes me so angry I could be done with him forever. I would like to fall in love, but then again that would make even more problems. Keith… well, I think Keith thinks that this is going somewhere, but I'm not sure it is. He's great but there just isn't that… something."

She paused, the only sound the loud traffic below. "Well, that didn't solve anything," she said exasperatedly. She sighed, and leaned against the rail. "At least I know how I feel," she said. "And right now, I feel pretty crazy," she said, realizing that she was outside, talking aloud to herself.

"Life is far too complicated."