“I understand that…”
“But then you came to our house that day. I was with Charlotte, in my room. Jim came upstairs and told me—us—you were there. Charlotte told me that if I didn’t go down there and tell you that you’re a selfish, heartless snob and to never talk to me again, she’d leave me.”
“Oh my God.” Darcy gawked, reimagining that morning in the rain, now that she had this new information. “That is psychotic.”
“Maybe,” he agreed. “But the really psychotic thing was that I listened to her, Darcy. I went down there and gave you every reason to never talk to me again. I had to really push you away, give you a good reason to hate me. And it wasn’t hard to fake it; I just channeled that inner part of me that always thought I didn’t deserve you. That made me mad enough to be able to say what I said.”
“Oh my God,” Darcy said again. “So you didn’t actually mean any of that?”
“That’s what I’m saying,” he said. “Not one word. I mean, that doesn’t make it okay, Darcy. I still said it, and that’s unforgivable. It doesn’t change anything.”
“Uh … I think it might change some things,” she thought out loud. “But okay. So then I heard about Kit and Lyle and I wanted to prove to you that I’m not selfish, so I came back to Pemberley and I talked to the principal and somehow you found out what I had done, and so then … then what?”
“Well, then I said to Charlotte how amazing it was that you went so far out of your way to help my family. She flipped out and said, ‘If Darcy is really so great, then why don’t you just marry her instead?’ I don’t think she meant it. It was just a dramatic thing to say, and maybe I should have brushed it off more casually, but instead I said, ‘I’ve already committed to marrying you.’ And she snapped and said, ‘Well, maybe we should call it off right now.’”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, exactly, wow. So I told her that yes, I thought we should call the whole thing off after how she’d manipulated me. After, I wanted to go to go to the Tavern and drink by myself, completely haunted by the horrible things she had me say to you—and the fact that I’d agreed to say them. But then Bingley called me and told me that you were going to the party and that nobody had told you it was canceled. He said I should go apologize to you, and that you’d accept my apology if I did. So I went and I found you there, and, well, the rest is history.”
“So … Wow…” She needed a moment, or seven hundred, to let all of this sink in. “So then it’s true; you really don’t think of me that way. You know that, even though I come off as snobby sometimes, it’s really just that—”
“You’re not a snob. You just respect yourself, and that can be misunderstood as snobbery to somebody who doesn’t know anything about self-esteem. Probably to people who themselves have low self-esteem.”
“Oh my God, exactly! That’s exactly it. So you do get it.”
“I get that you’re incredible and never deserved to be treated how I treated you that night.”
“So you truly don’t think I’m a bad person,” she reiterated, mostly just so she could hear it again.
“I really don’t. And you…” he began, getting shy. “You don’t think you’re too good for me?”
“No.” She shook her head, smiling. “I think I’m just right for you. And I think you’re just right for me.”
Luke pushed their drinks aside and reached over the table to kiss her. She kissed him back, feeling for the first time that everything was right and true and good.
ALMOST TWO YEARS LATER
Darcy woke to sunlight spilling in through the space between two curtains and the honking, revving, rumbling sounds of traffic down below. It was like a symphony to her. She stretched her arms and legs out wide across the California king–size bed and then plucked her newest pair of glasses off the nightstand.
Her apartment had changed so much in just two years’ time. The decor that was once icy gray and modern was now warm and homey. Artful sunsets hung from the walls, and photographs of loved ones sat propped on the tabletops. The curtains, which were once gray silk, were now blue gingham. She didn’t know how she had let that happen, but she had.
The smell of waffles wafted in beneath her door.
“Ooh, yay,” she said out loud. “I’m starving!” She slipped a fleece robe on over her nightgown and walked out into the kitchenette and dining area.
“Look who it is,” said Luke, looking up from the waffle iron. “Sleeping Beauty.” He was in a white T-shirt and boxers, his face freshly shaven.
“Thanks for letting me sleep in,” she said, admiring how handsome he was. “The waffles smell great.”
“You needed the rest. You haven’t had a break even for a moment in months.”
“I know.” She yawned. “But it’s all been worth it.”
“Syrup?” he asked, slipping the waffle onto a blue porcelain plate.
“Yes, please. Lots.”
He drizzled authentic Vermont maple syrup over the waffle, so that it flooded the square compartments and oozed off the sides. Just how she liked it: more syrup than waffle. This was also how she liked her frozen yogurt: more sprinkles than yogurt.
“Mm,” she said. “Delicious.”
“Glad you like it,” he said, though he knew she always did. She loved practically everything he cooked for her, and she was impressed that he’d developed such a skill—and a career for himself, based on that skill—in such a short amount of time.
“Do you have a job today?” she asked.
“It’s Sunday, silly,” he said, joining her at the table with a hot cup of coffee.
“Even so,” she said, “rich people still have to eat their personally, professionally prepared meals, don’t they?”
“You would know.” He winked. “But yeah, they do. I just don’t work Sundays, remember?”
“Oh, yeah! So glad you decided to do that.”
“Me too,” he said. “Now I can be with my favorite girls. What do you think we should do today? I was thinking maybe we’d take Millie to the zoo? She’s never been.”
“We can’t,” said Darcy. “We have to get ready for the flight tonight. I haven’t packed at all yet.”
“Oh boy,” he said. “That’s right. Well, she’s never been on a plane before, either, so that’ll be a fun first.”
“I’m assuming she’s still asleep,” said Darcy. “I know, otherwise I would have heard the relentless jibber-jabber by now.”
“She’s asleep,” he said. “She woke up at five in the morning but just went down for a nap about thirty minutes ago.”
Darcy swiveled off her seat and went to the mesh crib set up in the center of the living room. She peered in to see her four-month-old daughter fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth and her Little Lion gripped tightly against her chest. She had pale skin and wispy, light-brown hair that barely covered her big head. Her eyes were shut tight, but when they opened they were bright emerald green, like her dad’s.
When she was born, Darcy struggled to find a name. The factual way in which she’d always gone about naming stuffed animals and pets (Little Lion, Big Dog) didn’t work in this scenario, though she wished it would, for the sake of convenience. She took her daughter home and called her Little Baby for as long as she could, until Luke had put his foot down and said it was time to get serious about a name. They had tried on many different names, but the truth was, neither of them knew much about girls’ names. After all, both of them had only ever had brothers, and Darcy had never been the type to have many girl friends. Luke could draw from the list of girls he had dated, but obviously that wouldn’t do.
Darcy suggested Dominique and Dagny, her two favorite heroines from Ayn Rand novels, but Luke vetoed them, saying they weren’t pretty enough. Luke suggested Angelica and Eliza, the names of the sisters Alexander Hamilton was in love with, and who were in love with him. (Once they were living in New York City, Luke discovered that he loved Hamilton, the musical. They had been to see it three times,
and he couldn’t get enough.) Darcy vetoed both, saying that they were too flowery, and also that she wouldn’t name her daughter after a girl who fell for a smooth talker.
“Okay then,” Luke had said, “should we name her after one of our mothers?”
“I like that idea, but then whichever one we don’t name her after will feel left out.”
“That’s true. Well … do you know any other women, maybe someone nonfictional, who you admire?”
“How about Millie?” Darcy suggested.
“Who’s Millie?”
“My assistant. She’s loyal and humble and … grounded. Things I want our daughter to be.”
“Millie,” Luke said. “I love it.”
* * *
“I am in love with New York in the wintertime,” Luke said, as their cab drove down Fifth Avenue. The store windows were all aglow with high-budget displays, each one a miniature production. The skinny trees that lined the sidewalk were wrapped from head to toe in white lights, and wreaths the size of small cars hung above the street, strung between buildings.
“There’s nothing else like it,” Darcy agreed. “Thank you for living here with me.”
“It was the right choice.”
“Millie…” Darcy spoke to her daughter, who sat bundled in her lap. “What do you think? Do you like New York?”
Millie pointed one finger into the air and said, “Bblkrrshhh.”
“I think that’s a yes,” said Darcy.
“Me too,” Luke agreed.
On the airplane, Darcy strapped Millie’s car seat into one of the three first-class seats she had purchased. She and Luke sat down on either side of their daughter and held hands, so that their linked arms rested over Millie, and Darcy’s wedding ring looked supernatural as it glittered beneath the soft purple overhead lights. Mild-mannered Millie fell asleep just in time for takeoff.
* * *
The ring, like almost everything else in their relationship, was part of a memorable story. It started just a month after their kiss at the tiki bar. They’d moved into Darcy’s New York apartment and were settling comfortably into their new life together. It was the evening of Darcy’s birthday, and they were on the train to Coney Island. When Luke had asked her what she wanted to do for her birthday, she had described the perfect night of being “normal,” which for her meant “living as if I’m part of the ninety-nine percent.” Luke had packed a picnic and they had mapped out the trains that would take them from the Upper East Side of Manhattan to the rickety old theme park way at the very end of Brooklyn, where they’d play games and go on rides and, ultimately, spend the night.
“What did your parents say when you told them we’d be living together out of wedlock?” Luke asked, as the F train rocked from side to side and the fluorescent lights flickered on and off.
“I didn’t tell them,” Darcy confessed. “When we told them we were dating, they started asking about marriage and kids. I figured it would be best to wait until we get engaged to tell them anything. I mean, they know we’re dating, but if they knew you’d moved in they’d be all over us like flies. They can’t help it; they’re old-fashioned.”
“So you think we’ll get engaged down the line?”
“I would imagine so. Don’t you? We’re serious about each other; that’s why you moved in.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I imagine so. So what are we waiting for, then?”
“Uh…” She thought for a moment. “I guess just for you to get up the courage to ask my parents. Which, let’s face it, will be never.”
“Interesting,” he said, smiling mischievously.
As the train got farther and farther away from the city, the train got emptier and emptier, until it was just the two of them. That’s odd, Darcy thought. Where is everybody?
Just as Coney Island came into view, the big Wonder Wheel rising up out of the wooden planks, twinkling against the night sky like a trophy, the train came to a halt.
“What’s going on?” she asked. The flickering lights went off and stayed off. “What the hell is happening? Luke, I’m scared.”
“Don’t be scared,” he said. “Look up.”
She looked up and, in red dotted letters, the lights spelled out “DARCY, WILL YOU MARRY ME?”
“Oh my God,” she gasped, hand clapped over her mouth.
“The thing is,” he said, “I already asked your parents, and not only did they give me their blessing but they also helped me plan this.”
“Oh my God,” Darcy said again, tears springing to her eyes. “Yes, yes. Of course I’ll marry you!”
* * *
Now, as the plane prepared for landing, Darcy thought of that night in the train, which had been her happiest up to that point. That moment had lost its place as “happiest” on the night Millie had been born.
“Are you ready for this?” Luke asked, as the FASTEN SEAT BELT sign went off and the entire planeload of passengers made a mad dash for their overhead luggage. “It’s almost been two years.”
“I’m a little nervous,” she said. “But we can handle it.”
Luke held Millie in his arms as they walked the long link of tunnels and escalators to baggage claim and found Edward standing with a small poster that read “Welcome Baby Millie!”
Darcy sighed happily and threw her arms around Edward, never so glad to be landing in Pemberley. She couldn’t wait to introduce her daughter to the world she came from.
ALSO BY MELISSA DE LA CRUZ
Ashley Project (The Ashleys) Series
Beach Lane (The Au Pairs) Series
Blue Bloods Series
Heart of Dread Series
Isle of the Lost (Descendants) Series
Summer on East End Series
Witches of East End Series
Alex and Eliza
Angels on Sunset Boulevard
Cat’s Meow
The Fashionista Files
Fresh Off the Boat
Girl Stays in the Picture
Girls Who Like Boys Who Like Boys
How to Become Famous in Two Weeks or Less
Something in Between
The Ring and the Crown
Wolf Pact
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
MELISSA de la CRUZ is the #1 New York Times, #1 Publishers Weekly, and #1 Indie Bound bestselling author of many critically acclaimed and award-winning novels for readers of all ages, including the Disney Descendants novels, Alex and Eliza, Blue Bloods, and Witches of East End, a one-hour television drama on Lifetime. She lives in Los Angeles with her family.
Visit her online at www.melissa-delacruz.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Almost Two Years Later
Also by Melissa de la Cruz
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
PRIDE AND PREJUDICE AND MISTLETOE. Copyright © 2017 by Melissa de la Cruz. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Danielle Christopher
Cover illustrations: border © P2007/Getty Images; male silhouette © Murat Irfan Yalcin/Shutterstock.com; female silhouette © Yurchenko Yulia/Shutterstock.com; lettering © David Goh/Getty Images
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-14139-2 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-16482-7 (international, sold outside the U.S., subject to rights availability)
ISBN 978-1-250-14140-8 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250141408
Our ebooks may be purchased in bulk for promotional, educational, or business use. Please contact the Macmillan Corporate and Premium Sales Department at 1-800-221-7945, extension 5442, or by email at
[email protected].
First U.S. Edition: October 2017
First International Edition: October 2017
Melissa de la Cruz, Pride and Prejudice and Mistletoe
(Series: # )
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