From Pemberley to Manhattan Page 16

  “Miss Nathalie, may I remind you we are in Paris, therefore you are in no way late for anything”, he expressed with a knowing smile, and I couldn’t help smiling back. I was about to mentally chastise myself for sleeping late, and he knew it. As he pulled a chair for me (yes ladies, there are some advantages in having a gentleman from the nineteenth century for company), he suggested, playfully, “Perhaps we should take that clock off the wall, so you shall no longer worry about nonexistent delays.”

  That made me laugh. Yes, I was still mad at him. No, I hadn’t forgiven him yet. But he was finding his way there, the arrogant ash. “So”, I said, my mouth dry and my stomach full of butterflies, “what did you get us?”

  Apparently, almost everything, I learned moments later. Since he had trouble choosing one baking good and a simple drink, Darcy had decided to bring a little of all. He’d brought us croissants, bagels, pies, about five different flavors of jam, three types of cheese, and a lot of butter. To drink, one could have some hot chocolate, or a cappuccino, or even an orange juice.

  Before one in the afternoon, I was fuller than I had ever been and had the most self-indulging smile on my face, my eyes closed, welcoming the warmth of the sun on my skin. Darcy laughed, a sound as rare as delicious, and accused me, “You look very happy.”

  “That I am, sir”, I pleaded guilty. I opened my eyes briefly to see his face transformed by his smile, and was mesmerized by the sight; his eyes were filled with cheerfulness and desire, making my insides do the Gangnam Style. “I need some fresh air”, I blurted out.

  “Yes”, his voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat a few times before agreeing, “I believe I need it too, Miss Nathalie.”

  Unsurprisingly, the armoire in the bedroom was overflowing with clothes, all our sizes. Darcy shyly chose a pair of jeans, a classic wine long-sleeve cotton Polo shirt, black sneakers (at which he couldn’t help turning his nose) and a black windbreaker jacket; he then asked me politely (and completely blushed) where I’d prefer to get changed. Since he’d already showered earlier, and I had not, I decided to have a shower and get changed in the huge bathroom.

  I chose a light blue crochet insert skirt, a silk white blouse, a white cardigan and charcoal ballet flats, and rushed into the bathroom. I took my time washing my hair with a fruited shampoo I found in the cabinet and letting my shoulders relax under the almost-scalding water. I moisturized my skin with a shea butter body lotion from my favorite brand (which was, coincidentally, French). The so-called Professor knew how to treat a lady, I’d give him that. Finally, I dressed up and prayed Darcy hadn’t given up on me.

  He was patiently waiting on the balcony when I left the bathroom, turning to face me with a half-smile that almost made me undress all over again. I moved toward the door and we crossed the apartment’s threshold in silence.

  As we went down the stairs, I realized I had no idea where we were going. I told him so, and he smiled at me knowingly, “If you don’t mind, I wish to take you somewhere. It is close by, I promise.”

  With a smile like that, who would say no?

  ♥

  Nat

  Champ de Mars. One of the most romantics spots in one of the most romantic cities in the planet. My view couldn’t be lovelier: Darcy was reading us Ann Radcliffe’s The Mysteries of Udolpho (which he guaranteed he wouldn’t read under normal circumstances, but was far more acceptable than the “Something Grey” monstrosity he’d read back in Central Park), while the Eiffel Tower stood grand and shiny just behind him.

  Passionate couples and young families encircled us, and I kept glancing around, trying to find Meg Ryan, the one piece missing for this whole situation turning into a (very good, by the way) chick flick.

  I heard someone clearing his throat aristocratically a couple of times. Darcy. He’d ceased reading and was staring at me, with his I-need-to-say-something-very-important look. “Yes?”

  “Miss Nathalie”, he began, seriously, “I am conscious of your feelings regarding me because of my lies. I wish you to recognize I consider them just and reasonable. Yet, I beg you to hear what I have to say in my defense.”

  He watched me intensely, his puppy dog eyes begging for a chance. I needed to be tough, I told myself; if I forgave him too soon, he would believe it was okay to lie to me. Not that I was considering forgiving him at all. Yet. So soon. In any case, I nodded, and I witnessed some of the tension leaving his shoulders right away.

  “I must start by saying there was no excuse not to tell you the whole truth since the evening we were introduced. I had more than enough chances to communicate to you who I really was and the circumstances that brought me to your century.” It was your century too now, Darcy. “Yet, even though my behavior was unacceptable, my intentions were nothing if not fair. Perhaps, they were not always honorable, but I can promise you–”

  “Honorable?”, I couldn’t help interrupting.

  “I did take advantage of your ignorance about my situation the worst possible way, Miss Nathalie, when I kissed you regardless of my knowledge that we could never be together. It was selfish of me to wish us to be engaged when I could never marry you and leave you afterwards. It was not honorable, as I have previously stated, and, for that, and all the other lies, I beg you to forgive me.”

  Awww!

  Why the shell did he have to be so cute and adorable? So hot and masculine? So gentlemanlike and polite? So hopefully proportional?

  My Reasonable Me reminded my Own Me he was also a prejudiced man, besides being a liar. On the other hand (on the prejudiced account), one had to be at least a bit understanding. After all, the guy was from the nineteenth century. As long as he had an open mind to our values, I could find a way to forgive his sexist, racist, and prejudicial remarks. Maybe.

  Still, he had lied to me, my Evil Me screamed in my head. The Nice Me didn’t know how to argue that one… I had so many Mes I was going nuts.

  “Can you give me some time to figure things out, Darcy? There’s a lot to digest here…” And it was hard to do it staring at your gorgeous, blue eyes.

  “Of course! Take as much time as you need!” His excitement was almost catchy. Almost. After a few moments of silence, he asked, “Can I dare hope there is a chance you might forgive me?”

  “Don’t push it, Darcy.” I used my serious façade. He deflated like a balloon, and the puppy eyes were back on. God, I wanted to cuddle him so much. And a few other fifty shades things as well. “We can try to be friends until then, though.” I didn’t resist giving him a little sugar.

  His response was worth it: he rewarded me with one of the brightest smiles I’d ever seen.

  ♥

  THAT SAME DAY

  NEW YORK

  They had left Mike back home, with the address of where they were supposed to go, just in case. Indeed, the Estevez Brown family had recognized Ethan’s handwriting, but they thought it safer to have a backup plan. Besides, it hadn’t been Ethan who had invited them to that fancy building in Central Park South, but a man who supposedly worked on his behalf.

  Carlos had barely touched the penthouse’s bell when a man in his seventies opened the mahogany door. He wore white gloves, a dark suit and shining black shoes. “Good morning, and welcome”, he pronounced slowly, with a smile that wrinkled his entire face, then moved away from the door, so the family could enter.

  “Hello, there”, Carlos answered with all the energy he could muster, as he stepped into the elegant apartment, “Are you the Professor?”

  “No, Mr. Estevez. I am the butler”, he stated in a light tone, looking proud to be confused with his employer.

  “Dude, are you from the nineteenth century too?” Bobby considered if the old guy was Fitz’s uncle or something. He definitely spoke like his time traveling friend. Plus, he was a butler.

  “Bobby!”, his mother scolded.

  “It’s all right, ma’am”, the
butler assured Mrs. Elizabeth Brown, controlling his laugh. It would not be appropriate to laugh at his employer’s guests. “The Professor will come shortly, but he’s requested me to take you to his library. Would you mind?”

  “No, of course not. Thank you…”, Elizabeth hinted, in order to get the man’s name. She didn’t like acknowledging someone as “the butler”.

  “My name is Robert”, his smile was broader now, and he glanced at Bobby, “But I guess you might call me Bobby as well.”

  “Thank you, Bobby”, Elizabeth answered with a polite smile.

  They followed the butler through the foyer and the spacious living room. Even though the group was able to notice the rooms were elegantly furnished, the thing they truly paid attention to was the view. All windows overlooked Central Park, taking Julia’s breath away, impressing Elizabeth, mesmerizing Carlos, and making Bobby gasp rudely in surprise. He earned a squeeze on the back of his neck by his father and a frown from his mother for such impoliteness.

  Robert the Butler guided them to a room inspired by Coco Chanel’s illustrious apartment in Paris, its owner’s favorite space in the many-million-dollars penthouse. The library walls were covered by eighteenth century Chinese lacquer panels, its large windows also overlooking Central Park. In the center of the room, there was a three-seat couch, facing two armchairs. On one side, there was a fireplace, and, on the other, there was a nineteenth century wooden desk, facing the only wall lined with bookshelves in the room.

  “I will get you some tea”, Robert announced, leaving the library.

  “Wow”, Elizabeth exclaimed, as she examined Mr. Rockwell’s small, yet rare, collection of books. “I feel better now. No man this intellectual could offer us any threat.”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions, dear”, Julia warned her somewhat prejudiced daughter, “After all, Ted Bundy was quite intelligent.”

  That earned a new frown from Elizabeth and giggles from Bobby and Carlos. “There’s nothing here good enough to read…” Bobby stated, already feeling bored, and threw himself in the couch.

  “Whatever do you mean, Robert?”, his mother was taken aback by her son’s statement.

  “He’s probably right, sweetheart. After all, a guy who reads Plato and Voltaire is either a snob or boredom in human form…”

  “I read Plato and Voltaire!”, Elizabeth protested.

  “I rest my case”, Julia whispered, making her grandson giggle again.

  “Now, who’s being prejudiced, Julia?” Carlos noticed his wife had been wounded by her mother’s little joke, so he decided it was better to present a defense in her name. He was glad to do it; Elizabeth offered him a thankful smile.

  “Touché, my dear”, Julia said, right before the infamous Professor entered the room from a different door than the one they’d used.

  “Well, good morning to you all.”

  He was an older man, but his age wasn’t obvious. They went through the familiar greetings, weather remarks and annoying small talk, until Julia got tired of it and blurted out, “Who the hell are you and what have you got to do with my grandson?”

  All stared at Grandma with dismay, except for the man the insult had been aimed at. The Professor threw his head back and laughed out loud, so hard it made his white beard shake, his blue eyes water and his cheeks flush. Without further words, he walked to one of the corners of the room, to a painting covered by white linen.

  “Do not worry, everything shall be explained”, he stated, uncovering the painting in a swift movement.

  That time, all of them gasped.

  ♥

  Chapter 21

  FIVE DAYS IN PARIS

  Nat

  So far so good. We’d been both in our best behavior, doing exactly what we’d agreed on: be friends for now, and then… We’d see. I needed to trust him again, and he desperately needed to be twenty-first centuried once and for all.

  Of course, we still had many let’s-lose-all-inhibitions-on-top-of-each-other moments now and then, like the time when we went up the Eiffel Tower for the first time. It was fun losing our Eiffel Tower virginity together; me because I had never had the money to go to Paris, him because when he came from the construction of the tower was still decades away.

  When we were on its top, it felt like the city belonged to us, like we were the only ones left in it. Had not a group of Australians asked us to take their picture, I believe we would have kissed. And it would have been a Rhett-and-Scarlett kind of kiss. Yes, sir, it would.

  We had other almost-kissing situations in the past days, but we’d been holding it together, like the mature adults we were. Like when we took a sightseeing cruise on the Seine, spending the afternoon admiring all enthralling views Paris had to offer.

  It was a romantic trip, set up by the people who “worked for Ethan”, the kind of cruise that served you fresh fruits and champagne. We’d just passed by the Invalides, with the sun setting, its color changing from bright yellow to deep orange, when we faced each other. I could swear Darcy’s eyes were whispering to me in his baritone voice, and they were saying, “You need kissing badly, that’s what’s wrong with you. You should be kissed and often”, while my eyes were certainly begging, “Yes, my blue-eyed Rhett Butler! I need some kissing!”

  In that precise moment an intense – and pretty chilly – rain began to fall on our overheated bodies.

  Those types of moments were doomed to be repeated tonight, I was convinced. We were going to have dinner at a restaurant in the Quartier Latin of Paris, called Le Petit Prince de Paris, by courtesy of the Professor. Again.

  Unable to hold back my curiosity, inflamed by the name of one of my favorite books, I googled about the place, only to find out it was an ancient tavern from the fifteenth century (even older than Darcy!) near the Panthéon, which had changed names and owners over the centuries. It looked romantic and welcoming, not one of those pretentious places.

  What Ethan’s intentions were with the apartment, the sightseeing cruises, the lovely meals, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps, he wanted us to be so busy I didn’t have the time to kill Darcy, as Ethan feared I did and requested me, quite convincingly, not to in his letter. Or maybe, what he really wished was for us to get fifty shades on each other. That sounded a lot more appealing to me, by the way.

  Anyway, back to the night in question: we’d returned from the Rodin Museum earlier than expected, our dinner not scheduled for another three hours. I decided to take a long bath, using the lavender salts I’d bought the day before. Darcy announced he would take a nap, stating he hadn’t slept well the previous night.

  Yes, we were still having problem sleeping because of the sexual tension between us. So, if that was Ethan’s plan all along, he was doing a great job.

  Therefore, it was established Darcy would catch up on his sleep, while I’d be lost in the magical bathtub, catching up with my… Daisy? No, that made me want to sneeze, I was so allergic to daisies. Maybe I should call her my… Kitty? No way! That made me think of those cute cats videos! Well, there was always the chance I’d grow up and call her by her true name…

  That was it, then. I’d have a nice, long bath, and would play with my vagi–

  Nope, I couldn’t. Geez, I was such a phony prude, even in my mind.

  ♥

  Nat

  There I was, sleepy in the water smelling like Provence (or what I imagined the region smelt like), watching the sky above me change colors, as day gave its place to twilight and, later, to night.

  I’d already played a lot with myself (exactly the way your dirty minds are calculating), feeling so relieved I could swear my skin was glowing. My shoulders had lost most of their knots, and even the tension in my neck seemed to be vanishing.

  I was in French heaven.

  Until the deafening sound of the fire alarm made me jump from the bathtub, splashing water everywhere. “FIRE!” I flew
out of the bathroom screaming, at the same time Darcy hurried in my direction calling “Nathalie!”

  We crashed into each other, but he gentlemanly took the fall. We were now in each other’s arms, noses touching, hearts hammering against chests, wet skin on warm skin and– wait. A. Shelly. Second. I was wet. Because I’d been having the most amazing bath in my life. And I was totally naked.

  I WAS NAKED!

  “Darcy, let me go!” I begged him.

  “All will be well, Nathalie! I will save you!” He held me tighter. Now my breasts were flat against his hairy chest. Had I mentioned he was shirtless? Oh, yeah!

  Snap out of it!

  “The noise’s gone, Darcy! It must’ve been a false alarm.” I tried to reason with him. Honestly, I was barely breathing, his grip on me getting tighter and tighter. As he paid attention in the lack of a blaring noise, his grip on me lost some of its strength.

  “Oh, good.” His body relaxed under mine, even though his hands were still protectively around my waist. He began rubbing my back, a caressing, mindless gesture, as if he did that all the time. Until he finally realized our situation. “Miss Nathalie! Oh, God! You are naked!”

  Oh, really? The adorable idiot actually sounded offended, as I had attacked him or something. He moved away from me, so I could at long last stand up. Still naked. We were facing one another: me as my mom brought me into this world; him wearing nothing but his hotness and thin boxers, which were now wet and showed how… Proportional he was.

  Oh, sweet little mermaid!

  His face went pepper red, yet he couldn’t stop his eyes from traveling from my head to my toe. Neither could he stop something from growing even larger within his boxers. Wow, Mr. Darcy, we weren’t that proportional after all, were we? Fanny would be ecstatic.