Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras: The Bennet Sisters, #1

By Mary Strand

The Bennet Sisters:  taking fate for a wild spin.

College freshman Liz Bennet refuses to let her name—or Jane Austen, for that matter—define her.  Even though she's one of five teenage sisters named after the Bennet sisters in "The Book," as Liz not-so-fondly calls it, she can't afford to let her life parallel The Book in any way.  Period.  Liz has big plans for her future, and they don't exactly mesh with the life laid out for a fictional young woman 200 years ago.

When two gorgeous guys, Charlie Bingham and Alex Darcy, arrive in Liz's Minnesota town, her whole world is turned upside down.  Her sister Jane starts acting like a lunatic with Charlie.  Alex is tempting but also a jerk.  Seeing too many uncanny connections to The Book, Liz is afraid she can't win.  Is this fate's little joke on her modern Bennet family?  What's a girl to do? Fight? Or ... surrender?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Triple Berry Press
• Release date: Sep 28, 2016
• ISBN: 9781944949006

Mary Strand

Mary Strand practiced corporate law in a large Minneapolis law firm for sixteen years until the day she set aside her pointy-toed shoes (or most of them) and escaped the land of mergers and acquisitions to write novels.  The first novel she wrote, Cooper’s Folly, won Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart award and was her debut novel. Mary lives on a lake in Minneapolis with her husband, two cute kidlets, and a stuffed monkey named Philip. When not writing, she lives for sports, travel, guitar, dancing (badly), Cosmos, Hugh Jackman, and ill-advised adventures that offer a high probability of injury to herself and others.  She writes YA, romantic comedy, and women’s fiction novels.  Pride, Prejudice, and Push-Up Bras is the first in her four-book YA series, The Bennet Sisters. You can find Mary at www.marystrand.com, follow her on Twitter or Instagram(@Mary_Strand), or “like” her on Facebook (www.facebook.com/marystrandauthor).

Book preview

Chapter 1

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.

— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter One

According to Jane Austen, a guy who’s rich and single should definitely be looking. Of course, Jane Austen lived two hundred years ago, didn’t own a cell phone or iPod, and never even heard of the Beatles.

So I don’t give a rat’s ass what she thinks.

I also don’t care if, thanks to my mom’s long-ago wacked fixation on Pride and Prejudice, my name is Elizabeth Bennet and my sisters’ names are Jane, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia. I’m eighteen and in charge of my own life, thank you very much. At least, I would be if I weren’t still living at home and too poor to get my own apartment without Dad’s help—which comes with big strings attached—and too stressed from watching over my sister Jane to fix my lack-of-cash situation.

So, right now, I really needed to keep an eye on Jane.

Rachel Langdon, my best friend ever since third grade, moved with her parents into this wildly deluxe condo at the beginning of September, and Rachel finally invited Jane and me over after classes today to check out the condo’s rooftop pool. I’d rather have Rachel still living next door than in a fancy condo a mile away, but a pool is a pool. Especially on a gorgeous Minnesota day in mid-September.

While I swam a few laps in my trusty black-and-purple Speedo racing suit, Jane stripped down to a hot pink bikini, grabbed a chaise lounge, and checked out the guys hanging around the pool. Within ten seconds, five of them offered to get her something to drink, if not to hook up.

So much for a nice swim. Groaning, I climbed out of the pool, grabbed a towel, and headed over to Jane.

Rachel was stretched out on the chaise next to Jane, in brown-and-orange plaid bermudas, a Twins T-shirt, and a John Deere baseball hat pulled low over her forehead, reading an accounting textbook. It probably explained why none of the horde of guys slobbering all over Jane were paying any attention to Rachel. In fact, one sat down on Rachel’s shins as he stared at Jane, drooling.

Rachel?

She didn’t even glance at me, let alone shove the twerp off, so I figured she was either too embarrassed or too thrilled to say anything.

I swatted him away, then moved on to Jane.

She looked up at me, utterly innocent, when I started dripping all over her. I gave her The Look and got back a sweet smile. I said Jaaaaane, and her eyelashes fluttered.

When one of the guys actually sighed, I grabbed her hand and yanked her off the chaise lounge, then stalked down to the far end of the pool, Jane firmly in tow.

Liz, please! She hissed at me, probably because yelling out loud isn’t sweet, and Jane is the sweetest nineteen-year-old on earth. Sure, she’s guy crazy and so intent on finding Mr. Right that she forgets to go to class half the time, but sweet. In a crazed sort of way that guys never notice. "You didn’t have to drag me away. I barely said anything, and—"

Jane, you can’t find Mr. Right at the Langdons’ condo building. I kept my voice low and my grip on Jane firm. They have a pool. I’d like to get invited back. But when Mr. Right turns into Mr. Wrong, as he always does, and we suddenly have yet another place you can’t go, I lose my pool.

Jane sniffed. It’s just a pool. And there’s no reason why we can’t keep coming here.

I’m not giving up this pool, and I’m not giving up Rachel. I felt my teeth grind. Do I have to remind you about all the places we’ve had to stop going? The pizza parlor? The deli counter at Kowalski’s? Not to mention the friends we avoid just because you hooked up with their brothers?

You make it sound like I plan this.

I lifted an eyebrow.

I don’t. Jane glanced at the pack of frothing young guys hovering thirty feet away and gave a cutesy little finger wave. It’s just that, well, things don’t always work out, and it gets...embarrassing.

Embarrassing? I glared at the guys, but none of them budged. I’ve gotta work on my glare. That’s why Dad had to get you a new cell-phone number? Three times now?

Jane shrugged, but her gaze kept sweeping the pool deck, this time landing on a couple of fresh victims at the far end: one tall and blond, the other taller and dark. I mentally bet on the blond guy, who looked almost as sweet as Jane.

Excuse me, Liz. I just remembered I have to—

I grabbed her arm. You don’t have to do anything. Those guys live here, too.

I’ve never seen them before.

"You’ve never been here before. And I don’t want this to be your last time here. Or mine."

She headed toward the far end of the deck anyway, dragging me along, until we came to the edge of the pool. She suddenly twisted out of my grip, and I landed in the pool.

I came up sputtering. Hey!

All I got in reply was her cutesy little finger wave.

She can’t help how she is, Liz. Rachel glanced up from her accounting book when I finally flung myself onto the chaise lounge that Jane had vacated. Guys like Jane. She’s cute, she’s nice...

She’s determined.

But in a sweet way. Even you think so.

Well, yeah, but... Even after living next door to us all these years, Rachel didn’t really have a clue about Jane. Sure, Jane seems like your typical gorgeous college student with a major in English and a minor in cute guys, but I knew better. Dad figured it out the last time he had to change her cell-phone number, in July, which was the same moment he told me he’d chip in on an apartment for Jane and me only if Jane got over her cell phone issue, as Dad put it. As if I could keep her from all her relationships ending badly. Right.

Basically, I was stuck living at home for the next bazillion years unless I either shut Jane down or robbed a bank. So, even though I’m a year younger and would really rather let her do her thing, no matter how many cell phones it costs her, I’ve spent the last couple of months making it my job to protect her.

From herself.

I glanced at her now, chatting up the two hotties at the far end of the pool and somehow managing to wiggle her tush as she spoke. I groaned. Time to make my second save of the afternoon, and we’d been here only fifteen minutes.

Just as I pushed myself off the chaise, though, she suddenly scooted back to Rachel and me, her face stark white against the remains of her summer tan.

I sank back down onto the chaise, a whoosh of relief leaving my body, and looked up at Jane. What’sa matter? Neither one asked you out? I nodded at the chaise lounge on the other side of me. Pull up a chair. No big deal.

She plunked down on the end of my chaise lounge. "I-I think it is a big deal. Huge."

I rolled my eyes. Jane. There are millions of other guys in the world, and at last count half of them wanted to go out with you.

Jane shivered, despite the cloudless day and a temp in the upper eighties. They’re—

—just guys. I glanced over at the two hotties, still talking to each other and not even glancing at Jane, which I had to admit was weird. I mean, guys stare at Jane. Like, sometimes for hours at a time. Maybe they’re not into gorgeous girls in hot pink bikinis. Maybe they’re gay.

They’re not gay.

How would you know? You asked? I frowned at Jane before turning to Rachel for moral support, but Rachel was reading her accounting text. Shrugging, I looked back at Jane, who was now openly staring at the two hotties. It wasn’t Jane’s style, but, then, Jane wasn’t used to rejection.

Just then, I spotted the blond hottie sneak a peek over his shoulder at Jane, at which point the other guy walked away, out through the door. After a long moment and another puppy-dog look at Jane, the blond guy followed his pal. They’d barely arrived, in swimsuits they hadn’t even gotten wet, but I had a feeling they weren’t coming back.

Good. Two guys I wouldn’t have to protect Jane from. Or vice versa.

I patted Jane’s hand—and noticed her fist was clenched.

Geez, Jane. They’re gone, but so what? A dozen other guys here would like to get your digits.

Rachel snorted.

It’s not that. Jane stared at her fists, the knuckles of her hands now turning white. I kinda flipped when I found out who they were, so I, um, basically ran away.

You ran away? I blinked. Jane ran away from a couple of hot guys even though it’s her life mission to land a hot guy? "Who are they? Drug addicts? Perverts?"

Ha ha. Jane wasn’t laughing, though. In fact, she looked sick. It’s...The Book. It’s happening.

I frowned. The only one with a book open was Rachel, and I didn’t think Jane was talking accounting. What book? What’s happening?

"The Book. Pride and Prejudice."

Ever since Jane and I figured out, in middle school, that Mom had somehow talked Dad into letting her name the five of us girls after the sisters in Pride and Prejudice, we’d referred to it not so affectionately as The Book. We also had a few choice names for Jane Austen, and sometimes even Mom. We weren’t quite sure about Dad, who probably never even read it.

I shrugged. It’s just a book. Be grateful you didn’t get stuck being Lydia. Or Mary.

Jane finally looked at me, her eyes crazed and a bit like Mom’s when she skipped her bipolar meds. "I met them, Liz. They’ve come. Charlie and Alex."

Those guys who left? So?

"Charlie Bingham and Alex Darcy."

My jaw dropped as the names sank in. Just like—well, almost like—the names of the guys in The Book who hooked up with Jane and Elizabeth. Who married Jane and Elizabeth.

Holy crap.

Mom once admitted she’d actually hoped that naming us after the girls in The Book might make The Book come true, at least for Jane and me. We’d all laughed. Of course, by then Mom had gone to law school and become a divorce lawyer and done everything she could to keep us away from guys. Not that she’d exactly succeeded with Jane.

Until this moment, though, I’d focused on distracting Jane from guys long enough to move into an apartment with me and convincing Dad that Jane’s cell phone issue was over. I’d never given a serious thought to The Book actually coming true, and I definitely didn’t want Alex Darcy coming near me, no matter how hot he is. Not when I’m only eighteen, at least. I have plans for my life.

My knees suddenly shaking, I pushed Jane aside and went to the edge of the pool, then made a clean dive straight to the bottom. Drown myself? Good idea!

I didn’t drown myself, but I decided to keep it as an option, especially after I caught Jane three times in the next few days sneaking a peek at a beat-up copy of Pride and Prejudice that I kept trying to hide. But the phone didn’t ring and no one named Bingham or Darcy showed up at our door. Sure, I’d have to avoid Rachel’s pool for the foreseeable future, but it was the price I’d pay for keeping Jane safe.

Not that I’m totally selfless. I also wanted to keep myself safe—like, indefinitely—from any guy named Darcy. I didn’t believe Jane Austen could actually have an effect on my life, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

By Thursday, I’d almost forgotten about the Two Guys Who Must Be Avoided when Mom trotted in the front door after work, waving a sheaf of papers she plucked out of her briefcase. "I know you told me not to give it another thought, Jane, but I couldn’t not give it another thought, especially when his name is Bingham—so close!—and his friend’s name is Darcy."

Glancing up from his leather chair, my dad stared dumbly at Mom. Jane’s face turned red, and I tried without success to catch her eye. Since when did she blab to Mom about anything, let alone her latest couple of hot prospects? Even if their last names were Bingham and Darcy, we’re talking Mom.

Mom kept talking, even though no one else said a word. "Yes, yes, I understand his name is Bingham, not Bingley, and the friend’s name is Alex Darcy, not Fitzwilliam, but who on earth would name a child Fitzwilliam today? I mean, other than a Rockefeller or Vanderbilt or perhaps a Kennedy or—"

While she rattled off every rich family she’d ever heard of, my eyebrows rose. Mom, who named the five of us girls after characters in a book, was wondering how people named their kids these days?

Dad picked up the newspaper and pressed it into his nose. As I sprawled on the living-room rug with a Sudoku puzzle book instead of the freshman calculus problems my prof had piled on today, I glanced again at Jane. Deep in some novel she claimed was homework, she shrugged and pretended she hadn’t started Mom on her latest rampage.

Don’t you want to know what I found out? Mom’s face started to turn purple, which actually complemented her turquoise dress.

The newspaper dropped an inch or two, but Dad still didn’t say anything.

As if Mom ever waited for permission, especially when her eyes were popping out of her head. Well. Doreen Langdon says she doesn’t think anyone named Bingham or Darcy owns a place in their condo building, but the penthouse condo—four bedrooms!—is owned by a wild young man who travels quite a bit, and apparently he often lets his friends stay there while he’s away, which is very trusting of him in my opinion, but, then, I’m not his mother, or even his lawyer. But perhaps that’s where they’re staying.

I don’t think she even took a breath.

You didn’t say much about Alex Darcy, and Lord knows Liz— She broke off but waved her papers again, oblivious to the fact that I’d just snapped my pen in half. "Well, I took a moment to run a quick search on Charlie Bingham. Purely out of caution. I know you tend to get a little, well, obsessed with boys, Jane, but I just don’t think he’s right for you."

I snorted. Law school had definitely knocked the Pride and Prejudice fixation out of Mom if even a guy named Charlie Bingham wasn’t right for Jane.

Mom kept blathering, even though Jane had turned her back on Mom. Yes, he’s single, and I admit he seems fairly successful for someone who’s only twenty-one, but I—

I tossed the Sudoku book aside. Mom, will you quit already with the Google searches? We couldn’t care less. As I said it, though, I caught Jane trying to grab the papers from Mom’s hand, which didn’t exactly help my argument. "And Jane isn’t that obsessed with guys, so quit worrying."

Dad’s eyebrows rose, and he gave me a sharp glance.

Okay, Jane was obsessed, but she didn’t need Mom obsessing, too. Whenever Mom ran a Google search on one of Jane’s hot prospects, Jane tended to do the opposite of Mom’s advice. If she went after a guy named Charlie Bingham, I had a bad feeling it wouldn’t just kill my chances at an apartment. It might ruin my whole life.

"It’s for Jane’s own good. You don’t want to know some of the disgusting things I see in my practice. Mom shuddered. She lived in terror that one of us might hook up with someone like one of her clients. He could’ve been a creep, or a criminal, or even a Republican. So I ran a background check in case he asks Jane out. Not that I think it’s a good idea."

Mom darted a sideways peek at Jane, as if she were trying to figure out whether Charlie had already hit on Jane. I started to wonder that, too.

The newspaper crumpled into a heap on Dad’s lap. "May I ask why you’re running Google searches? I’m sure we’d all like to help Jane find a little more, ahem, balance in her life. Right, Lizzie? He shot me one of his Significant Looks, as if I didn’t know what he was talking about. But unless this young man is an ax murderer..."

Listen to you. But these things happen, and Jane is much too young.

Geez, Mom. Jane isn’t the one talking about it. I shot Mom a dark look, but she was too busy shoving the Google search into Jane’s outstretched hands to pay attention to me. "Jane meets a lot of guys, and one happens to be named Bingham. Not Bingley. So what? We’re all in our teens, including Jane, and no one is planning to run away and get married any day soon. We’ll let you know if we do."

Okay, I admit I was hoping to run away the first chance I got, but not to get married, and I’d rather not discuss it with Mom. Not until the day after I moved out. Trying to negotiate it with Dad was ugly enough.

I glanced at Jane, wishing she’d stand up to Mom for once, but her face went white as she gripped Mom’s Google printout.

Connie. Dad sighed. You said he doesn’t even live here, and it sounds like the tenants in those condos turn over more often than my car in the winter.

Dad raised his paper again, twisted his head to one side, and winked at me.

As Mom crossed her arms and glared at Dad, a sick feeling skewered the pit of my stomach. Had Charles Bingley—or, well, Bingham—found the Bennets like Jane Austen predicted? Like Mom had prayed for in high school, when she’d inhaled Pride and Prejudice and waited for her own Mr. Bennet to appear?

And why had she fixated on finding a guy named Bennet? Did she first try waiting for Darcy, but Darcy gave her the slip?

Law school had knocked some sense into Mom, but was it too late? The five of us girls were approaching the ages of the Bennet girls in The Book, and a couple of guys named Bingham and Darcy had magically appeared. Jane Austen must be rolling over in her grave. At the moment, I felt like leaping into the dirt with her.

Dad, a yoga master who reads the sports page and every book Deepak Chopra has ever written, obviously doesn’t have a clue about The Book. Mom has a clue, but she’s also bipolar, and sometimes the highs and lows of her fixations tend to smack us all upside the head. Right this moment, I wasn’t sure if Mom needed to take a pill or if I should just flush every existing copy of The Book down the toilet.

Instead, I decided to picture Charlie and Alex as dope-crazed drug runners with bad teeth. With any luck, gay to boot and therefore uninterested. Otherwise, I’m screwed. I’m a college freshman who plans to major in biomedical engineering. I am not looking for love. I just want my own apartment.

Howard.

Dad’s newspaper was back up again, higher than before. I think he’d given up on reading, but he didn’t respond. After twenty-three years of marriage, he should’ve known better.

Howard, I need you to support me on this. Tell Jane not to go out with Charlie Bingham.

The newspaper rattled, and Dad muttered something under his breath. Has he asked her out?

I piped in. Since when did facts get in the way of an argument around here?

Quit interrupting, Liz. This doesn’t concern you.

"Oh? Isn’t Alex’s last name Darcy?"

Mom blew out a few quick breaths, gasping between them, as if she were imitating Dad’s yoga breathing but not quite nailing it. I’m speaking to your father. Howard, I’m serious.

And I’m not involved. Lizzie and Jane don’t want our advice, and Lizzie already has plenty of incentive to handle this appropriately.

Mom frowned. Liz? Don’t you mean Jane?

Dad glanced from Jane to me, and Jane started frowning, too. Okay, I might not have told her about Dad’s terms for getting an apartment, even though I normally tell her everything. But she wouldn’t exactly appreciate Dad’s terms. Neither did I.

Dad finally turned back to Mom without answering her question. Connie, you’ve already done a Google search. At least the tenth she’d run in the last few months, and it’d been a slow period. I think that’s enough.

Mom’s voice approached screech level. "Enough? Who are you to say what’s enough? If it’s up to you, God knows who will prey on our poor girls."

It’s not up to either of us. Dad looked over the top of his newspaper at Mom. After all, Jane Austen lived two hundred years ago. Our girls are still teenagers, as Lizzie pointed out, and perfectly safe from any unsavory predators who happen to have the bad luck to be named Bingham or Darcy. And if they’re not, well, Lizzie will handle it. I have every confidence.

So, once again, Dad had way too much confidence in my ability to keep Jane out of trouble—and also knew more than he’d ever let on. Jane’s jaw dropped, and I tried not to choke on my surprised laughter.

Sputtering, Mom sank into the nearest chair.

Chapter 2

I am sick of Mr. Bingley, cried his wife.

— Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice, Volume I, Chapter Two

Sunday afternoon, after staring out the window at the bright late-September sun, I finally gave up on studying economics, slipped into a swimsuit, and threw a pair of running shorts and a Death Cab for Cutie T-shirt on top. Rachel had invited me to her pool again, and I wasn’t going to say no. Just to be on the safe side, I didn’t mention it to Jane.

I’d made it to the front steps, where I was lacing up my running shoes, intent on jogging the mile to Rachel’s condo and then cooling off with several laps in the pool. My shoulders tensed when the front door opened behind me.

Liz? Are you going over to Rachel’s?

I never lie, not even to Mom, and especially not to Jane.

I bent my head to focus more intensely on the laces.

"You are going to Rachel’s. I heard Jane sigh. And you’re trying to slip away without me."

I finished lacing and slowly turned around to glance upward at Jane. Why would I do that?

Because you think I want to— She gulped. —hook up with Charlie Bingham.

See, that’s the thing with Jane. Despite her constant manhunting, she couldn’t even say something like hook up without practically fainting. I always wondered what she did with all her conquests. Did she even kiss them?

I shrugged. I have no idea what you want to do with Charlie. I don’t even know if he’s still staying in Rachel’s condo building.

Jane started whistling to herself as she stared up into the sky, like she’d suddenly become Miss Nature Lover.

I frowned. "But I’m guessing you know if he’s staying there. Have you seen him again? How?"

I, er, happened to run into him at Kowalski’s.

My eyebrows rose. Even though you stopped going to Kowalski’s six months ago. After you went out with the assistant manager.

Mom needed something.

"Mom has them deliver. Or she asks me to go."

Jane fanned herself with a hand that was shaking. Weird. Mom was in a hurry, and you weren’t around, and I volunteered.

Whatever. I wanted to believe Jane—I mean, she never lies to me, either—and the best way to do that was to quit asking questions. So you saw him. With Alex?

Jane shook her head. He was alone. I ran into him in the produce aisle.

I zipped my lips, even though Mom’s idea of produce was French fries and even though running into a guy in the produce aisle was such a cliché. Even when Jane did it.

Jane glanced down at her feet, which I noticed were in flip-flops the same moment I noticed she had a beach towel under her arm. I guess I also happened to run into Charlie at Dairy Queen last night.

Last night? I squinted at Jane. You said you had to study at the college library, since it was so loud at home.

It was, and I did, but I stopped there on the way home. For a Diet Coke.

The fact that we had a twelve-pack of Diet Coke in the fridge, less than half a mile from the DQ, didn’t seem to occur to Jane. Sighing, I stood up. Anyway. Rachel invited me over this afternoon. I didn’t know where you were when she called, so I just told her I’d come. Alone.

I felt awful saying it, especially when my tongue landed on the word alone and stayed there. Jane and I had been through everything together, always, and were even closer than Rachel