The Prince of Pemberley 2

By Moira Bianchi

It ́s a truth universally acknowledged, as well as feared, that fate has its twisted ways to dispose of our lives. In my case, fate is not only whimsical but cruel.
It all started with a note I sent Darcy last year. A silly, innocent note and now I’m in this wretched situation.
You see, I was a regular thirteen years old Brazilian girl when I befriended a seventeen years old British boy through my school’s Youth Group. In short, this is how we became friends -although thirty something words can hardly describe twenty seven years: he was an arrogant douche, I hated him, we fought through letters (pen on paper, stamps, post – the old stuff), he won me over, we became best pen friends who never managed to meet in person, lost contact when young adults, found each other again in adulthood.
Now I’m forty and maybe I could see myself as a victim in my current life’s situation if I didn’t know better... Maybe if I had expected the onslaught of changes my PhD program abroad would bring me or the giddy happiness Darcy would produce, I could have had a plan but... The simple note, the flirt with my past, brought me a landslide of emotions I was not prepared to face.
Or fight.
He didn’t foresee the aftermath of our friendship’s renewal either. Fitzwilliam Darcy and I belonged to each other when teenagers, before morphing into the adults we became. Seeing him now feels like a travel back in time, a bubble, a portal between dimensions. The weirdness is that it almost seems allowed... Does such a thing as a bubble even exist?
We are irrevocably in love with each other and I dread what our planets’ alignments will bring us next. Gone are the misunderstandings and beating around the bushes, the metaphors and bashfulness... We were both swept off our feet and now... Lovers, cheaters but most of all, friends.
My sister Jane pesters me about it. Darcy’s cousin, Graham Fitzwilliam, tells him to find a way out.
How did it come to this? Well, like I said, it started last year with a silly note:
“Sorry to bother but, when a young girl, I used to correspond with the most presumptuous person I had ever met, so much so that he could only have blue blood in his veins. The heir of the richest estate-country in the whole England, His Royal Highness the Prince of Pemberley, had your name exactly and was a close friend who I miss dearly.
At the time, I was a passionate human rights enthusiast and HRH shared my views for a better world, as long as they didn’t disturb his kingdom’s peaceful life.
If, by an ingenious twist of fate it is you, please reply.
Cordially,
Your always loyal subject
Elizabeth Wickham, Bart. (Née Bennett)”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Moira Bianchi
• Release date: Dec 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310479229

Moira Bianchi

A 40 years old architect and human engineer addicted to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice from the moment she first read ‘...Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.’ After years consuming Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy in fanfiction, movies, TV series and what else; she decided to try her hand on writing and loved it. Married for almost twenty years, mother a tyrant prince of her own, Moira lives in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Book preview

The Prince of Pemberley

BOOK 2

A Pride and Prejudice inspired novel

Moira Bianchi

2015

Copyright

THE PRINCE OF PEMBERLEY is a work of fiction inspired by Jane Austen´s Pride and Prejudice, and although several characteristics and situations are presents, they are freely used. All characters here come from Ms Austen’s novels (Elizabeth’s children were Ms Austen siblings) except Darcy’s daughters. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author´s imagination or are used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

It is a big love story of leaps of faith, inner struggles and second chances divided in three volumes entitled ‘Friends’, ‘Lovers’ and ‘Partners’. Opening each book there is a quote magisterially penned by Niccoló Machiavelli giving the reader an idea of the developments ahead.

The characters met and befriended during the eighties and nineties, so a few great artists are also quoted such as Madonna, The Rolling Stones, Men at Work, New Order and many others. The author has no right over these works mentioned, but is greatly thankful for the inspiration.

Cover designed by Bianchi & Neiva.

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Rights to Ms. Austen´s work belong to her legacy

ISBN: 9781310479229

Work registered at EDA Biblioteca Nacional – Ministério da Cultura – Brasil - 2014.

www.moirabianchi.com

Copyright © 2014 Moira Bianchi

All rights reserved.

Acknowledgements

THE PRINCE OF PEMBERLEY is a Pride and Prejudice inspired story divided in three books.

Book 1 - ‘FRIENDS’ – shows their friendship and how their love grew out of hand;

This Book, the 2nd ‘LOVERS’ – shows their struggle to deal with their relationship in spite of being married to other people.

Book 3 – ‘PARTNERS’ – shows their life together as a legitimate couple.

Paperback versions also available.

This love story has a very touchy plot, one that has been looping in my mind for a while now. The allowance of fate, stars or Divine Providence to dictate a special someone designed to complete us is hardly an exclusive notion but even though it has been discussed for ages, it is still intriguing.

Several talented people have done it marvelously: Shakespeare, Byron, Austen, Eça de Queiroz, García Marquéz… Innumerous movies such as ‘An affair to remember’, ‘Serendipity or ‘You’ve got mail’. Still, here it is my own version of it.

The idea of one finding the person who was meant for her/him too late always intrigued me, even more. What would one do? Should one accept the irony and move on or stop-rewind-restart?

Especially concerning Pride and Prejudice, I frequently wonder the outcome of Mr. Darcy not visiting Netherfield to help Mr. Bingley and only meeting Elizabeth Bennet when both were already committed. Here goes my modern version of this what if.

I have been married for seventeen years already and dated my husband since he was a junior architect and I was a freshie in College, so this is our first (hopefully only) marriage. Therefore, I haven’t lived the situations portrayed here but unfortunately, several of my friends and relations have. Of course I saturated the colors but most of the situations here have a lot of reality.

Also, this book centers on a one side of two broken marriages. The other two sides, right, wrong, avenged, justified or betrayed have all my respect. For what is worth, with a seventeen years’ experience, I know it takes a lot of work to keep a marriage healthy and I’m aware the four major characters here are to blame.

Dedication

As always, this book is dedicated to my two roommates: my husband and son. I thank them for the patience and support (even though I can tell they are starting to get fed up with my absent presence at home).

Also thank my friends who, in their own personal hell, have provided me with information enough to construct the journey my characters walk; and my online JAFF readers who I’ve ditched during the construction of this work. I apologize once more.

To Ms Austen for publishing Pride and Prejudice available, as well as Persuasion. (And Lady Susan, Emma, Mansfield Park, Sense and Sensibility…).

Last but not least, I thank the thousands of divorce support sites for enlightenment and guidance.

Jane Austen once wrote

‘…if a book is well written, I always find it too short…’

and maybe that is why I can’t let her Pride and Prejudice alone.

Synopsis

Book 2

It´s a truth universally acknowledged, as well as feared, that fate has its twisted ways to dispose of our lives. In my case, fate is not only whimsical but cruel.

It all started with a note I sent Darcy last year. A silly, innocent note and now I’m in this wretched situation.

You see, I was a regular thirteen years old Brazilian girl when I befriended a seventeen years old British boy through my school’s Youth Group. In short, this is how we became friends -although thirty something words can hardly describe twenty seven years: he was an arrogant douche, I hated him, we fought through letters (pen on paper, stamps, post – the old stuff), he won me over, we became best pen friends who never managed to meet in person, lost contact when young adults, found each other again in adulthood.

Now I’m forty and maybe I could see myself as a victim in my current life’s situation if I didn’t know better... Maybe if I had expected the onslaught of changes my PhD program abroad would bring me or the giddy happiness Darcy would produce, I could have had a plan but... The simple note, the flirt with my past, brought me a landslide of emotions I was not prepared to face.

Or fight.

He didn’t foresee the aftermath of our friendship’s renewal either. Fitzwilliam Darcy and I belonged to each other when teenagers, before morphing into the adults we became. Seeing him now feels like a travel back in time, a bubble, a portal between dimensions. The weirdness is that it almost seems allowed... Does such a thing as a bubble even exist?

We are irrevocably in love with each other and I dread what our planets’ alignments will bring us next. Gone are the misunderstandings and beating around the bushes, the metaphors and bashfulness... We were both swept off our feet and now... Lovers, cheaters but most of all, friends.

My sister Jane pesters me about it. Darcy’s cousin, Graham Fitzwilliam, tells him to find a way out.

How did it come to this? Well, like I said, it started last year with a silly note:

"Sorry to bother but, when a young girl, I used to correspond with the most presumptuous person I had ever met, so much so that he could only have blue blood in his veins. The heir of the richest estate-country in the whole England, His Royal Highness the Prince of Pemberley, had your name exactly and was a close friend who I miss dearly.

At the time, I was a passionate human rights enthusiast and HRH shared my views for a better world, as long as they didn’t disturb his kingdom’s peaceful life.

If, by an ingenious twist of fate it is you, please reply.

Cordially,

Your always loyal subject

Elizabeth Wickham, Bart. (Née Bennett)"

Contents

Acknowledgments

Synopsis

Elizabeth speaks

Prologue

No-show

Chapter One

Stiff upper lip

Chapter Two

Finding boundaries

Chapter Three

Filling the void

Chapter Four

Anaphylactic shock

Chapter Five

Comeback

Chapter Six

Sous le ciel de Paris

Chapter Seven

Something old, something new

Chapter Eight

The evil plan

Chapter Nine

What now?

Chapter Ten

Bleeding

Chapter Eleven

Harsh decisions

Chapter Twelve

Emergency response

Synopsis Book 3

Book 3

Chapter One

Synopsis Book 1

About the Author

Other titles by this author

Lovers

"It is necessary for a prince wishing to hold his own

to know how to do wrong, and to make use of it or not

according to necessity."

The Prince

by Niccolò Machiavelli

Florence, 1532

Prologue

No-show

‘Hey.’

‘Hey… You seem sad, Beebe.’ Jane pressed her lips. ‘He didn’t come.’ Elizabeth shook her head, eyes downcast. ‘You did expect that.’

‘Still…’ Elizabeth threw her crossbody cowboy purse on the couch and slouched right after it. ‘I had a teeny weeny hope he would show up.’

Jane tilted her head to the side as if saying I told you so.

Elizabeth sighed giving in to her sadness for a few minutes but Jane walking around their one bedroom rental got to the younger sister’s nerves. ‘Stop for a while, Jane.’

‘It’s my day to wash the bathroom, I’m almost finished.’

‘I wish we could afford a maid.’

‘Me too.’

Elizabeth nodded sadly. ‘There was a good chance he would come.’

‘No, there wasn’t.’

‘Yeah… He is missing for two months now. No letter whatsoever…’ She bit her lip. ‘Did you check if there wasn’t any mail left for us at our old apartment?’

‘Not since you asked me last night. Maybe you could check tomorrow, now it’s too late to go all the way there.’

‘Even if Fitz hasn’t written me saying he was not coming after all, or confirming he would, I still hoped we would finally meet. You met him and you are not even friends! This is so unfair!’ She heard the broom’s noisy scrub against the bathroom floor but her sister didn’t answer. ‘I wanted to have him with us in my graduation, you, dad, mom, Fitz… it would be great.’

‘Honey, because your snobbish friend didn’t think your graduation deserved his royal presence, your big day is not ruined.’ Jane’s head popped from the bathroom’s door.

‘I know!’

‘You worked really hard to graduate; it’s not easy for us to study far from home. There are so many opportunities for your career and our chance to not depend on dad’s allowance… it’s supposed to be a happy time for you.’

‘I know!’

‘You know but you’re moping.’

‘Let me be sad for one night.’

Jane nodded and entered the bathroom again, the broom restarted and Elizabeth sighed. Her older and wiser sister was right: she couldn’t give Fitzwilliam Darcy more importance than he had. He was a good friend: yes; he was dear to her: yes; she had no doubt he liked her as much as she did him: yes; his presence would make her graduation much more exciting: yes; he had the power to bury her happiness: no. She took a throw pillow and pressed it to her face groaning.

‘Ok, he sure looks quite Brit in the picture he sent you.’ Jane said a few minutes later.

‘A lot.’

‘Very charming.’

‘Very. But also lanky, has a big forehead.’

‘The massive horse was a nice touch.’

‘Horses smell funny.’

Jane laughed. ‘Sister, you can admit you are attracted to the Brit screwup. It is allowed.’

Elizabeth gasped. ‘He is engaged to be married!’

Jane shrugged and continued to the kitchen with broom and bucket. ‘Like he had his future wife in mind when he said he’d come to meet you.’

‘He was bringing her!’

‘And you wonder why he was not at the airport when his plane landed.’

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek. She had indeed wondered about his presence and how would they be in person, how their friendship would accommodate face-to-face interaction. ‘Can you believe I checked the copy of his ticket several times, even took it to the airline counter and asked them to confirm it was the right flight?’ Elizabeth said incredulous of her own silliness. ‘The woman said it was the right flight but couldn’t check if he did embark.’

‘Ok, so he stood you up. So what?’

‘I’m sad.’

‘And?’

‘And tomorrow I move on, attend the graduation gown photo shoot and smile big and thank my stars I finished school and use that godawful ring mom was adamant about.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘Friday I’ll smile and graduate, Saturday I’ll dance until I drop at the celebration ball and Monday I start looking for a job.’

‘Good!’ Jane nodded once smiling in approval. ‘Maybe you’ll find a date at the ball.’

‘That’d be nice.’

‘A handsome and hot consolation prize.’ Jane giggled. ‘Remember the Peru convention you didn’t go and didn’t meet this Fitz and later you ended up dating the hottest guy in school?’

‘George…’ Elizabeth giggled dreamily and suddenly she widened her eyes. ‘Can you believe I saw him last week?’

‘George Mathias Wickham?’

Elizabeth nodded. ‘Last week, when I needed to arrange my documents for graduation, I met my friends at the bar near school and he was there with other guys. I mean, I’m almost sure it was him.’

‘See? Better a known octopus than an unknown one.’

Both sisters laughed.

‘Sure!’ Elizabeth was still smirking, the thought of trying to stop Wickham’s attempts to explore her chest intruding her memory. ‘And of course I would never let Fitz come here… The guy has a kingdom; we live in this smallish apartment, rented, almost no furniture…’

‘We don’t have to be ashamed, this apartment is just fine.’

‘Fine and small and far from the subway and we have a neighbor who has twenty cats!’

‘Fifteen.’ Jane corrected her. ‘You’ll find a good job, we’ll save and then we can start thinking about buying a place for us.’

‘I want a nice neighborhood near the beach so I can run every day.’

"Fly like an eagle to the sea, I wanna fly into the future…" Jane sang and Elizabeth tried to smile brightly saving her sadness for when she was in bed, in the dark, facing the wall.

---

‘William!’ A familiar female voice shouted. ‘William, where are you?’ The voice shouted louder and a tad angrier.

‘Annie, don’t be so upset…’ A younger familiar female voice asked tenderly. ‘You should be resting.’

‘Your brother is missing! Have you seen him?’

‘Not since breakfast. Isn’t he in the library?’

‘No… My mother is there. She wants to talk about our wedding.’

‘Mmmm…’

‘William, are you hiding?’

‘Really, Annie!’ Georgiana giggled.

‘William, where are you? Come to the library!’

‘Really… Do you have to shout?’

‘Georgie, if you see him-’

The voices trailed off as the women probably went down the stairs and Darcy sighed. Where he was? He was safe, secluded in one of the spare bedrooms trying to write a letter to Elizabeth explaining why he hadn’t been in the flight that probably just landed in Rio de Janeiro. In a moment of deep sadness he wished the plane had crashed killing all two hundred passengers so when he finally found what to write to her, she would be very grateful he had stood her up.

He wanted to be there, meet and have dinner with her that night, see in person her big smile, hear her laughter, let her soften his sadness. Too many catastrophes together, everything seemed to be crumbling around him, all the weight of the world falling on top of his shoulders. His aristocratic fiancé cling to him to stay afloat while he saw in her the loss of his dear father. Darcy felt hollow.

Elizabeth was sunny and funny, fiery, exciting. Darcy needed time away from his problems in the arms of someone who loved him for who he was not for his money or his strength. He would attend her graduation, take her to a resort at the coast for a few days, and spend their afternoons talking and drinking beer…

Instead he was escaping his future wife, staring at a blank page and thinking what could he say to his only penfriend to excuse his mess. Could he say it all without using words? If he sent her an airplane ticket, would she accept? She would graduate in three days, still had no job – unless she found one since his last letter – she could spend a few months in England.

Could she?

Would she?

He left the unwritten letter, walked to his room to find where he had her parent’s phone number saved and dialed.

Alô?

Ma’am, is this Mrs. Bennett?

"Não falo Inglês! Espera, vou chamar minha filha!" The woman said loudly and he heard her shout. A minute later there was a teenager at the phone. Alô? Is it from school? My mother doesn’t speak English, I’m Mary.

One of the sisters, he thought unsure of which one. Hello, Mary, this is William. Please, I’d like to speak to Elizabeth.

Oh, she doesn’t live here anymore… she lives in Rio.

I know, I’m her friend… He scratched the back of his neck. She isn’t at Merytonia by chance, is she?

Huh-huh. And she doesn’t have a number in Rio.

He knew that as well. Can I ask you let her know I called?

I don’t know when she’ll come home with the graduation and all.

He nodded and let his head hang. Please, tell her I called to congratulate her and am expecting her to call me back. Can you take note of my home number?

Mary pressed her lips writing the many numbers down on the pad near the phone and shook her head to her mother. Got it, bye.

Mrs. Bennett was curious as one could be. ‘Who was it? Such a rich voice…’

‘A friend of Elizabeth’s, asked her to call him back.’

‘Speaking English he must live far.’ The older woman said counting the numbers her daughter had written.

‘British accent, just like that horrid English teacher Elizabeth liked so much.’

‘England! Good gracious, imagine how much this call would cost!’

Mary shrugged and Mrs. Bennett shook her head. Call abroad, huh, what a notion!

---

Darcy stopped expecting Elizabeth to call him back in two weeks, lost all hope in a month, finally found what to write her three months later but only managed to hear her voice, see her fine eyes shining and her beautiful lips smiling seventeen years later.

Chapter One

Stiff upper lip

It was worst when she was alone.

When alone and upset it was almost unbearable.

With the kids around her, pets and household, Elizabeth managed to deal with the secret urge of being loved by someone she couldn’t have. She distracted herself with PhD chores and her research, trying to add activities to her already busy work schedule to actually not have time to talk to Darcy when he called.

Her guilt of getting involved with someone she shouldn’t crippled her - especially because Darcy didn’t show any; it seemed she was guilty for both of them.

Three weeks since she had willingly entered the world of cheating and Darcy had called or texted her almost every day. He was too uptight to sext but the subliminal message was there. Did she feel fine, any soreness, he had enjoyed his birthday tremendously, the statue was over his bedroom’s dresser in front of his bed where it belonged, he wished he had more birthdays each year; it was delightful to confirm that Brazilian fruit tasted exquisitely.

That sexy voice saying those words made is so difficult to dodge the excitement of being in his mind. It gave her a thrill every time she considered he was erotically fantasizing about her, that he craved her body as much as she craved his… He needed some more exercising; his belly was positive and slightly jelly-like. Exquisite hips and family jewels though. Butt was not bad either. Great legs; strong, toned, long, hairy. Brawny arms and chest... He rowed a lot, God bless that rowing machine of his. Can such a thing be used as sex chair?... Elizabeth groaned and shook her head to clean her horny mind; Darcy crawled into her thoughts the whole time.

As difficult as it was, she dodged his attempts to get even closer; she ignored his flirts and slowly was becoming unavailable to him – although it was a struggle for her, especially during the Holidays.

His answer at the airport worried her. It would have been neater to let it go, it had been only their curiosity after all. Darcy wouldn’t accept that... He insisted by phone and texted and tormented her mind. That was potentially dangerous, everyone could lose that way. Lies piling up, deception building and ultimately, the cheater, the mistress, her husband and his wife may all end up with nasty emotional scars.

"May not. Will not." She recited her new mantra.

Long and excessive reasoning careened exponentially in her head, migraine after migraine hit her.

They had simply and thoroughly enjoyed each other, there should be no unfolding, and it had only been an irresponsible adventure... a fantasy. It had been morally reproachable, an indulgence that she selfishly gave herself leave to try. It had been worthwhile, very very pleasurable, as memorable as a hookup could be. It happened once and would never happen again. May not. Will not.

Even so, a week after she arrived home and hating herself for making up stories, Elizabeth had visited her gyno for frugal explanations and to check on the morning-after pill’s side effects, bit around the bush and accepted when the doctor prescribed birth control pills. The two women came from way back, since they were both fresh out of the same university and had mutual friends; had been pregnant around the same age and after Cassandra, when discussing birth control, they agreed it would be easier if their husbands had a vasectomy. Her gyno didn’t probe and it made Elizabeth even more self-conscious.

She managed to act normally with Wickham but their sex now had a different dimension. She bit her lip not to ask for what Darcy had done to her; how he licked, the way he held her against the bathroom vanity or the rhythm of his thrusts. Wickham was hot, good body, nice dick and took his time but... He was not Darcy.

Darcy had those hands, strong fingers that explored her body making every inch respond as an erogenous zone. Oh, she had tried to duplicate the feeling in her dreams, concentrating hard, masturbating... It was impossible; he had imprinted his power on her skin cells.

Elizabeth had done it for the thrill, the challenge and the assurance that being the man - her Fitz - unavailable; it would be a one-night stand. Despite his wife and her husband, she had loved his bed; their passionate encounter had given her a huge confidence boost. She felt empowered, more beautiful and sexy. Desired.

Her husband desired her, but he also admired hot women in general. For Darcy, she was the hot woman coveted and admired. And in itself, it was so effing exciting.

It was worst when she was alone, upset and in pain.

Elizabeth hated her obsessiveness but a freaky migraine combined with a throbbing knee destroyed her self-control. She had fallen when running at the beach a few days before and the pain made her consider cancelling New Year’s at her mother-in-law’s, in spite of Wickham’s insistence on keeping their plans.

Lost in her inner turmoil of not wanting to be crazy in lust for the friend she adored, Elizabeth was surprised when her daughter entered the room running and flopped down on the bed.

‘Mom, you should have gone with us! Dad took me ice-skating! I loved it!’ Cassandra started skating on the bed, Elizabeth’s head and knee hurt so much she could hardly speak.

‘Mom?’ Tom asked entering the room carrying a bag of truffles, his mother’s favorite candy. ‘Does your leg- Dad!’ The boy yelled. ‘Mom is not ok...’

‘Babe?’ Wickham asked from the hall.

The effort of not dampening her baby daughter’s enthusiasm while the bed shook made Elizabeth’s eyes water. When her husband entered his mother’s spare room with the older woman on his heels, they both saw she was in trouble. He expelled the kids from the room in a fierce shout while his mother called her husband, one of Wickham’s former professors in college.

‘Mother is calling Young, Babe. Hang on.’ He said kissing her forehead. ‘What did Nanda do?’

Elizabeth tried to breathe. ‘Jumped on the bed, really close to my knee.’

He raised the ice pack. ‘Maybe coming to São Paulo was a good thing after all.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I know you wanted to stay at home, but here Young can help you.’ Wickham put the ice pack on her knee again. ‘I’ll take you for a few more tests with Deny.’

The mentioning of the guy who ditched Jane pregnant and alone irked Elizabeth. ‘In hell I will.’ She mumbled.

‘Babe, no more grudges.’ He sighed impatiently. ‘He has a good clinic here.’ Wickham took his phone and made a call before bringing her another painkiller.

When the medicine kicked in and she was a little groggy, Elizabeth’s phone beeped with a text from Darcy.

‘Boarding. Talk to you when I get back.’

Elizabeth considered ignoring the text. Darcy was about to spend three weeks in Israel on business even though they were in the middle of a particular war there. He had predicted he would be busy in business that would require secrecy, giving them both time to wane.

But what if he found other weed for his garden of love?

‘You are one crazy headstrong man.’

She wrote, repeating her several advices for him not to go and send one of his hotshot minions as an expensive webcam.

‘I’ll miss you too, Lizzy.’

His usual irony brought a speck of doubt to her mind like a fat drop of black ink in a glass of water: was she a common weed rather than a rose?

‘Bring me a bomb as souvenir?’

‘Anything for you, March.’

---

‘I’m glad you’re better. Next week is your last with crutches.’ In floral shorts, Dr. Young buried his thumb’s tip in Elizabeth’s knee.

‘Great!’ She breathed seeing stars.

‘Let’s try the cane for just a few days. People tend to force shoulder and wrist using a cane.’ He said forcibly flexing her foot with the palm of his hand.

Elizabeth groaned audibly with the fleeting pain. ‘How about the treadmill?’ She grimaced.

He shook his head. ‘Swimming or hydrogym.’

She twisted her nose. ‘Acupuncture?’

‘If you feel all right, maybe even some Pilates.’ Dr. Young said squeezing her calf.

‘Fine. I need to start working out again… In three weeks’ time and I’ll have another module of classes in Paris.’

‘Hmmm...’ The white haired man frowned.

‘George said you shouldn’t go.’ Mrs. Young twisted her nose.

‘Your son is a beautician, Evelyn. I’m the ortho here.’ Dr. Young answered his wife who clicked her tongue, turned on her heels and entered Elizabeth’s apartment leaving patient and physician at the balcony enjoying the weak sea breeze on that stuffed summer afternoon. ‘Consider not going, Elizabeth.’

She shook her head. ‘If I miss this set of classes, I’ll be in trouble.’ She said feeling her heart sink with the possibility of missing a chance to meet her heartthrob.

‘I’ll take another look at you when time comes.’ He said and she nodded. ‘For now, you’re doing fine. Behave or you’ll see carnival only from this balcony!’ He chuckled as she pouted while he closed his black medical bag.

A second later her phone buzzed and Darcy’s face flashed on its screen, it felt like she had hammered a finger. She waited Dr. Young go inside to store his medical bag and took a deep breath before answering the phone.

Hey!

Bart!

Shalom!

He chuckled. Say ‘mazel tov’!

Why?

Congratulate me, Lizzy. Darcy said happy for hearing her melodic voice again after three weeks. He had wanted to call her a couple of times but had been busy and when he did find time to place the call, she didn’t answer. He sent texts she answered with delay but no text could rival hearing her. My business was a success, the trip was great.

And you’re alive! She teased. In one piece?

Play nice, Bart. Darcy asked. You know I stayed far from the conflict. Israel is not a dangerous place.

Elizabeth sighed. Her leg was sore and she was grumpy for being kept mostly in bed rest for the last weeks. Mazel tov!

You sound different. Darcy entered his car at the airport’s parking lot and rested against the back seat. ‘Let’s go directly home, Jones.’ He ordered his driver.

A hard day at the office, King?

No, just landed. He ruffled his hair. The seven hours’ flight hadn’t been the sole cause of his exhaustion, but added to the days working diligently and the tension caused by the belligerent situation of the area, he was worn-out. All I want is a bath and my bed. He said. Got plans? He added in a throaty voice. Elizabeth’s insides made a flip-flop but she only snorted. Is something the matter, Bart? How are you doing?

I’ve been having a few problems here. Things are a bit messy for me.

Darcy snapped back into attention. Do you need money? Give me your bank account and someone will deal with the international money wiring immediately. He said already searching his pockets for paper and pen to write.

No! She hurried, horrified with the idea of him lending her money (that she didn’t need) as well as him finding out her mishap; her husband, mother and father-in-law were already treating her like an invalid. Not everything is about money, you know?

What is it, then? He considered if she was talking about her husband’s affairs. Maybe she had found out he had several schemes when he was away from her. Tell me so I can help you, Lizzy.

It’s nothing, just… life. She sighed, tried to change positions fearing her butt was squaring up and winced silently. It’ll be ok in a few days. Tell me about your trip?

He told her briefly about his successful business ventures and proudly announced he had conquered his goal of doubling his fortune before turning fifty. She congratulated him as best as she could despite her discomfort and he chatted as much as his fatigue let him, but the call didn’t last long.

Darcy was intrigued by her low spirits; it was very