Page 56 of Inventing Mr Darcy

“If you’re sure,” Fisher says, glancing down at me. There’s a question in his voice, and just enough glare on his glasses to make it impossible for me to read his eyes. The situation feels a little like I’m walking into a trap. This isn’t Grantham. If I spill something this time, I’ll ruin a gazillion-dollar dress and wind up going viral.

“Of course,” I reply with a too-hearty smile. I can do this; I’ll prove to him he doesn’t need to be ashamed of me. “Can’t wait.”

We return our skates and head back to the hotel. I need time to freshen up before the last panel of the day. “I’ll pick you up on Tuesday at eight,” Fisher says, as he brushes a soft kiss across my cheek before stepping toward the parking valet.

“And I’ll have a messenger deliver some dresses in a day or two,” Gaby says cheerily. Then she leans in to kiss the air near my other cheek and drops her voice to add, in a sharp tone I’ve never heard from her before, “Do not break my brother’s heart.”

I draw back, shocked by her warning, but before I can even form a retort, she’s joined Fisher at the valet stand and the doorman ushers me inside the hotel.

I’m so absorbed in mulling over what’s happened—Is Gaby trying to break us up? Or just worried that I’m some kind of gold digger? Could there really be a place for me in Fisher’s life here?—that I almost snub two faculty members from a mid-size school in Oklahoma that’s looking to hire in my field. But I manage to make stilted small talk in the elevator, which I hope is better than nothing, before ducking out on the sixteenth floor, thinking it’s my stop, and having to climb two flights of stairs with a bruised tailbone.

I’ve always had trouble keeping all the moving parts of my life running smoothly. At best, I’m usually operating some sort of Rube Goldberg machine. But at the moment, I’m a mechanic in grease-stained overalls, every piece of the engine laid out on a tarp before me, no manual, and someone’s stolen my tools. I simply don’t stand a chance.

I’m late getting back to the booth, which annoys Professor Pedersen.

I spill coffee on the central pillar of my conference kit, a simple black sheath dress that was going to be my New Year’s Eve fallback when Gaby “forgets” to send anything.

Worst of all, I miss a call from Fisher. There’s no follow-up text, and when I try to call back, he doesn’t pick up.

On the morning of New Year’s Eve and the last day of the conference, the dresses finally arrive while I’m still brushing my teeth: four garment bags with accompanying boxes of shoes and accessories. When I unzip the first bag, it’s a window onto what I’m in for tonight, because … wow. It’s slinky and metallic and there’s no hiding in a dress like that.

I imagine the sort of place you go wearing something that looks like this, and I hope I remember something from that etiquette class I took through career services back in undergrad.

I don’t have time to try anything on right now, but I immediately text Fisher to thank her for me. Relief, and maybe a tiny bit of trepidation, floods through me when my phone vibrates with an instant reply. Our sole communication for the last few days has been limited to a text from him saying he’d run into an unexpected complication, but that he was still looking forward to our night out.

Only it’s not a reply. It’s a text from Cassie.

Um, girl? Did I just see a picture of

you ice skating with Fisher Davis?

Where?

Looked like Rockefeller Center

No, I mean where did you see the picture?

BeeSocial

Also PicSnap

And there was a video on YouTube,

but I didn’t click play … yet!

Oh God—did I look like an idiot?

Her reply is a long time coming.

Actually, you looked … really happy

I know it would be foolish to read wistfulness into a text, but I can’t help but think maybe she’s questioning her own choices in the face of our rom-com worthy moment. And I’m also super relieved to know that the pictures didn’t capture any of the weird vibes in the air that day.

Maybe it was all in my head.

Thanks! It was fun

You should get Bill to take you