Archive of Our Own

“I can’t believe he said this stuff about me,” Lizzie said, throwing her Ok! magazine across the room.

“He was being nice,” Jane said, using those soothing tones she used on their mother when she was upset.

“He was being condescending,” Lizzie said, running back over to grab the magazine. “The leader of Defective Tuxedo, Darcy, 28, referred to up-and-coming lead singer of the The Bennet Sisters, Lizzie Bennet, 24, when asked who was on his Ipod this week.; As if anyone cares! ‘I think she’s got a great voice for pop and a real sense of what makes a good dance song.’ The notoriously private singer went on to say that Bennet has a lovely pair of eyes.”

“What about that is condescending? He’s paying you a compliment. Two, in fact.”

“I’m not a pop singer, and we aren’t a pop band!” Lizzie was fairly livid. Everyone knew that Darcy was about three days away from abandoning his own pop band to run off and become some damn dubstep DJ. Clearly, pop music wasn’t high on his list of respectable things to excel in.

And besides, The Bennet Sisters were a country band!

“Did I tell you what George said about him?”

“Only about six times,” Lydia said, barely pausing from her nails. “It was boring all of those times.”

Lizzie huffed. “I’m just saying, you don’t get that big without stepping on the little people.”

“Or they’re just talented,” Jane said. “And dreamy.” Her eyes got that look that said she was thinking of her Defective Tuxedo boyfriend, Bing.

“Ugh!” Lydia sighed. “I’m so bored of this conversation. Let me have it for you.” She stalked over to Lizzie’s closet, where she pulled out a plaid shirt. “I hate William Darcy. He’s just the worst. Once I had to sit next to him at a movie premiere and he tried to talk to me even though I very clearly would rather sit alone reading and growing old rather than trying to get our big break. I hope someone knocks him off a cliff.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes.

Lydia threw off the shirt and grabbed a flower from the vase on the table, holding it, stem and all, up to her head. “Lizzie, I think you should try to remember that Darcy’s just trying to make it in the music business too, and it’s not good to alienate other artists, especially one that’s best buds with my boyfriend.”

She grabbed Lizzie’s shirt again. “I just want to die alone and friendless and party-less, and I don’t care about your relationship, Jane.”

Jane started rubbing her hand on Lydia’s back. “Lizzie’s just tense. You know how she is around Darcy—”

“Darcy’s SO BORING,” Lydia said. “Can’t Lizzie ever talk about anyone else?”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “George said—”

“Talking about your ex is just as boring.”

“Kicking someone out of your boy band is pretty bad even if he and I more or lessmutually broke up. Who does that?” Lizzie went over to her costume trunk and pulled out a bowtie and newsboy cap, adopting her best Darcy voice. “I couldn’t possibly consort with that sort of filth again.”

Lydia threw on her Lizzie shirt again. “Darcy, I was totes talking about you again even though I just hate you. It’s probably because I totally have your stupid song ‘A Broken Heart’ on my iPod even though I pretend I don’t.”

Lizzie glared from behind her Darcy costume. “Even I am allowed one good song.”

They glared. Jane tried to calm them both down with tea.

***

Lizzie was on the sidewalk when she heard it. Some hipster—scourge of the earth, all of them—was listening to a boom box that was older than he was.

It was her single, the Bennet Sisters’ “Bottles and Cans.” But rather than Lydia’s drums or Jane’s piano, Lizzie’s lyrics were playing over Defective Tuxedo’s “Get Off (and Get Out).”

“That asshole,” she said, punching in her sister’s number.

Jane hadn’t heard the song yet, but she pulled it up immediately.

“It’s really good, Lizzie,” she said. “Your voice sounds really lovely with Darcy’s.”

“I will kill him with chicken wire.”

“You don’t even know he did it.”

“I’d recognize his style anywhere.” Darcy was talented, even Lizzie realized that, and he’d crossed her heartbreaking song about her mother’s alcoholism with his band’s single-entendre eye-roller, and added in some brass and some new percussion. The result was a sleazy, sexy ode to summer drinking and dancing.

And it was catchy as hell.

Asshole.

Jane was using her soothing voice now. “You’ll see. This mashup will bring us good things.”

***

Jane turned out to be half-right. “Get Out (the Bottle)” exploded that summer and brought Lizzie a lot of attention. Unfortunately, that meant that Gardiner, her agent, hauled her into her office and told her she’d be asked to join the final leg of Defective Tuxedo’s tour to fill in for the opening act, a pop princess who was suffering “exhaustion.”

As if the idea of being stuck with Darcy in a tour bus for a month wasn’t awful enough, she couldn’t bring her sisters. The Bennet Sisters were becoming a solo act, because only Lizzie had been on the mashup, and only Lizzie was going to get to capitalize on Defective Tuxedo’s fame.

Lizzie protested, vehemently. Gardiner told her that this was her only opportunity, and to think long and hard about giving it up.

Telling Lydia and Jane was the worst part. Jane got very quiet, and locked herself in her hotel room for two days. Lizzie’s heart broke for her; Jane had been a reluctant performer, to be sure, but once she started, she loved it almost more than both her sisters.

Lydia, though.

“I just want you to know, Lizzie, that you are one selfish individual.”

“I’m not trying to be, you know that.”

“Neither was Judas.”

“The one thing you actually paid attention to in Sunday School,” Lizzie said. “Because God knows it wasn’t the parts about not slutting around or popping pills.”

“Says the liar not honoring thy mother,” Lydia spat out.

“You know she has a problem—”

“You have the problem! You go on and on like you’re so great, but you lost your best friend to Ricky fucking Collins, and your boyfriend, and our parents, and now you’re willing to sell out the two people who were willing to tolerate your bullshit.”

But in the end, what could Lizzie do? She packed her bags, and prepared for the Netherfield tour.

***

Gardiner got her on Ellen as part of the pre-tour, which was neat since Ellen was one of her idols. Lizzie liked her less, however, after she made Lizzie dance with Darcy to “their” hit song.

It was the most awkward dance ever.

And he kept trying to make conversation with her afterwards!

“I really like the SM7 for live performance,” he said to her afterwards.

“Mediocre at best. I like the Electro-Voice Raven myself,” she snapped.

“That’s good too. I really enjoy singing live—”

“And yet, your vocals are are all prerecorded.”

Darcy’s ears turned pink. “Well, not all. But yes, we can’t dance and sing at the same time. Have you ever seen one of our shows? I think you would enjoy it.”

“No, I’ve been busy trying to make a name for myself. That’s a trail of honkey-tonks and dive bars, every night I could, for years. No time to go to boy-band concerts.”

“I really admire that about you,” he said, all superior as though he owned the world just because he was in a stupid successful band with only one actually good song.

“Did what I had to do. With my sisters, of course.” She finishes throwing her stuff in her bag, and takes off for her tour bus.

It was nice, her tour bus. After years of driving her parents’ old minivan around the country, it was awesome to a moving motel room, with a toaster and an ice machine and a bathroom. She want to live in there, wrapped in her cocoon of purple. It was nicer than Charlotte’s old apartment, or Lizzie’s childhood bedroom. Her driver was a sweetheart too, an older gentleman named Carl who was her only company on the long journey.

***

She had the blessing of her older sister, but not her younger sister. Jane sent her a care package; arranged with the staff of the Cricket Wireless Amphitheater for her sister to get a box full of cookies. She sent a pair of green hair clips, and Lizzie decided no matter what, she’s going to wear them in her hair tonight.

Caroline came in to her dressing room while she was adjusting her hair. She was the makeup artist for Defective Tuxedo, and now she was on contract to help Lizzie, too. They’d known each other for a while now, since she’s also Bing’s sister— and why not? The world only has fifty-four people in it.

“Of course we’re friends,” Caroline said, brushing blush over the apples of Lizzie’s cheeks.

“Of course,” Lizzie repeated. Caroline made her nervous, from that Cheshire cat grin of hers, to her perfect clothes and accomplished background. The Bennets were hardly white trash, but Lizzie’d always felt low-class around her.

“And as your friend, I just want to tell you not to worry just because you’re going in front of all those people. Just know your makeup will make you look fresh-faced and innocent.”

“Great,” Lizzie said, her forehead wrinkling.

“I think Darcy will like it,” Caroline said, mixing lipstick on the crook of her hand.

“Oh yeah, that’s my life goal. Look nice for Darcy.”

“I’m only telling you because it’s true. Are you nervous about your first concert?”

The topic changed so fast Lizzie’s head spun. “I’ve been singing since I was a kid.”

“Right, but none of those were here. Had you even left the South before?”

“I went to the premiere of The Rose, obviously, and I’ve been to Boston.”

“Fabulous. Well, what do you think of stage-ready Lizzie B?”

Lizzie thought her makeup was a little heavy, but her look for the lead vocalist of The Bennet Sisters, as designed and planned by Jane, was a lot different than for Lizzie B, country-ish pop diva, as Gardiner was now packaging her.

Lizzie hated it; she felt more like Charlotte, selling out her artistic principles for money. But this might be her only chance at stardom.

Besides, there were lawyers involved now, who had written contracts. Contracts she was bound to. Contracts that, if she broke, she would owe a lot of people a lot of money.

She was terrified of lawyers.

***

Lizzie’s set went well. Apparently. One moment, she was stepping up to the mic, and the next, she was backstage again, sweaty and exhausted, but grinning.

She was prepared to go back to her dressing room to decompress, but Caroline intercepted her. “Aren’t you going to watch the boys perform?” she asked.

“I was actually—”

“I think as an artist, it’s so important to support other artists. Besides, don’t you want to be a person who gives back like that?”

“What?”

“And they watched you, you know. Come on—” And Caroline linked arms with her, pulling her over to a spot backstage that still gave them a place to watch them, even if the angle was a bit rough.

“I’m sure we’re in the way,” Lizzie said, lips against the shell of Caroline’s ear so she could be heard over the noise of the dancers entertaining the crowd.

“Nonsense. I do this for all my brother’s shows. I haven’t missed a performance of his in years.” Caroline’s smile was warm and genuine, and in that moment, Lizzie could see why people were drawn to her.

She saw the three of them get into place, and heard the announcer’s voice, and then she could see a slice of the amphitheatre despite the hot lights and rising smoke from the dry ice. The fans she could see were going absolutely nuts, holding up glittery signs and cell phones, and screaming as though these guys weren’t just regular guys. She’d known them since the premiere of The Rose, an indie movie that had featured songs by both bands, and Bing was just a sweet guy dating her sister. Fitz was a goof, but sweet as hell. And Darcy was awful. And yet those fans were acting like they were God’s gift to straight women and gay men.

The familiar opening bars of their latest single, “Pumped,” came over the speakers, and Lizzie was grateful for her earplugs that muffled the song to almost-reasonable levels.

The three of them launched into a dance routine. Lizzie was impressed to see just how good they were, even Darcy; he who had danced with her on daytime tv like she had cooties. She’d seen them on video before- a hazard of being Jane’s sister- but they were really pulling out all the stops on this tour.

And she found herself transfixed as they danced through a dizzying array of ridiculous party music, incorporated more than three costume changes, and generally whipped a stadium into a frothy frenzy.

Three songs from the end of the set list, Darcy procured a mic, and launched into her favorite song. Lydia had been right, it was on her iPod, but that version was from a studio. Here, he was singing live, though the music was clearly still canned. She glanced over at Caroline, who was watching her, an indecipherable look on her face.

The lyrics of the song referred to young heartbreak, a person being left by their cruel and feckless lover. And Darcy sang them with such angst in his eyes that she wondered suddenly if someone had hurt him this way. He’d been in the public eye for almost three years now, and despite Lydia’s obsession with the gossip magazines, she’d never seen any evidence of his dating. Rumors swirled around him, but he was so intensely private, no one knew for sure. And for the first time, she wondered.

When the song was over, the mic discarded, and the three of them back to their regular—if impressive—song-and-dance routine.

The last song was a spectacle, even in a show devoted more to spectacle than talent. The highlight—at least, according to the noise in the stadium—was when the foam hose came out, and there was William Darcy, getting hosed down with an endless supply of bubbles.

When it stopped, he was still dancing, but now his white shirt was pasted on to his chest.

Fan service, clearly. It was gross and pandering and ridiculous.

And she was unable to look away.

When they took their curtain call, she was prepared to take off to the bus, but suddenly, there was Darcy, yanking on her arm like he didn’t get that it wasn’t his place to touch her.

And then he pulled her out for another bow.

This time, she savored it; committed every second to memory. It was glorious, how the fans loved her, and she wasn’t going to even pretend she didn’t enjoy the attention.

When she turned back around, there was Darcy, shirt still plastered to his chest, and for a moment, the crowd melted away.

She realized, belatedly, that the two other guys had also gotten sprayed with the foam hose too.

***

“The fans loved you,” Jane said to her the next morning. “I did some googling last night and you were all over Twitter. One girl who had never heard of you went to the concert and claimed you changed her life.”

Lizzie smiled tiredly, leaning against the window. She was exhausted, but getting a phone call from Jane was worth staying awake for.

“Then she went on to say some not-so-appreciated things about Bing.”

Jane and Bing had been dating for only a few months, but already Jane’s relationship with Defective Tuxedo’s fans was complicated. The Bennet Sisters had had fans, and their debut album had sold a respectable number of copies and done fairly well on iTunes, but their fans skewed older (and in some ways, less crazy) than the mostly-young boy-band fans. Bing had been open about their relationship in the media, and Jane occasionally made the mistake of looking at Twitter, where his followers talked openly about their love for him and subsequent hatred of her. Luckily, after a few months, most of that had died down, but Jane still got her share of hate.

“Twitter is the worst,” Lizzie said. “You’ve got to avoid it.”

“Some of the concert-goers were wondering why you didn’t perform your song with Darcy.”

“It’s not my song anymore. He took that away from me.” There’d been a temporary bump in sales of “Bottles and Cans,” but it had slid right off the charts, while the mashup was riding high at number eight.

“Try to look at it as an opportunity.”

Lizzie sighed. “Speaking of opportunity, tell me, what’s going on in LA?”

“I just got here three days ago. But I’m looking into some internships. It’s time to find a new passion, I think,” Jane said, sounding hopeful. “I’m working on my resume.”

“How are you and Bing doing?” Lizzie knew, from seeing him almost daily, that Bing was depressed Jane wasn’t on tour with them. But she’d mostly refrained from sticking her nose in his business.

But Jane was her sister.

“He’s still upset I didn’t follow you guys round, but what was I supposed to do? I told him, I’m not a professional groupie, or a professional musician either.”

“Did you use your bar voice?” Years of playing dive bars had given Jane a chance to grow from the meek flower she’d been into a woman who occasionally had to shout, and when she did, it was glorious.

“Lizzie. The point is, I can’t define my life according to one failed career.”

“Jane, you’re not a failure,” Lizzie said, feeling like a jerk..

“I know,” Jane said. “And Bing knows that too. He’s just disappointed our band broke up.”

“Me, too. You’re still going to be here next month, right?

“They haven’t changed the concert, no.”

“I’ll see you then, ok?”

***

Jane should intern at a psychic's office, Lizzie reflected, as she and Darcy stared each other down.

He was always looking at her. It was uncomfortable.

They had a concert tonight, but never mind resting up first. The two of them were going to perform that song. Never mind that the mashup wasn’t for singing. Never mind that she and Darcy not only can’t dance together, but one would watch them and think they were alien babies unfamiliar with the concept.

Lizzie hasn’t had to lip sync since her music videos, but the fans had spoken.

As had Gardiner.

“Okay, once more from the top,” said their choreographer, a gamine dancer named Bobbi. “Now!”

Somehow, despite the fact he danced for a living, and she was at least a tolerable dancer, the two of them looked like robots.

The only thing that kept her from pitching a fit and storming off were those contracts, looming over her head. And an email from Charlotte that she was going to respond to the moment this stupid rehearsal was over.

***

“What I don’t understand is how someone completely mainstream can be such a snob.”

“He’s a total snob,” Caroline agreed.

“I feel sorry for the woman that’s walks down the aisle only to find him at the other end,” Lizzie said, taking a gulp of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. She was feeling a little swirly from the alcohol, and her accent was starting to come out. “I wouldn’t marry him if I was fixin’ to be tied up and carried into the church.”

“As if he’d have you. His list of qualifications for being an accomplished woman leaves you right off his matrimonial prospects.”

Lizzie scoffed. “There’s no women who’d even come close to matching that list.”

“Well, his sister is—”

“No! I’m sure no one does”. Advanced degrees. Ridiculous. “He’s a snob and his newsboy hat is stupid.”

“He’s too, too much,” Caroline said, drinking delicately from her own bottle.

“All I want in a guy, Caroline, the only two things that I need: respect me, and make me laugh.”

“Those are good qualities,” she agreed thoughtfully.

“And Ryan Gosling’s abs.”

“Better.” They giggled. This was the best possible use of her day off, and Lizzie was glad she’d invited Caroline to hang out with her. She was such a good friend, and Lizzie told her so. “I don’t know how you stand Darcy. You’re so cool and he’s so Darcy. You must have a douche-proof hazmat suit.”

“Of course. But you know, I’ve been with Defective Tuxedo since their inception. Three years.”

“Three years, thick as thieves with him.”

“More like three years with my brother and his bandmates,” she said, a warm smile on her face.

“Not if Snots McGee has his way.”

“I’m sure he’d never break up the band. At least, I hope not.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “Just saying. As if he could make it in the music business without foam hoses and synchronized dance moves. Like he’s going to find some people or group willing to put up with his shit.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” Caroline said, grabbing Lizzie’s hand and giving it a squeeze.

***

“Lizzie?” Darcy said. He’d changed from his concert-wear to a button-up white shirt and a skinny tie. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Lizzie looked around the green room. “Now’s not really a good time, actually.” The concert tonight had been a disaster. Bobbi had told the lighting team to compensate for their dancing— seven concerts in, and the two of them were no better— with more strobe lights. But Lizzie wasn’t used to dancing with strobe lights, and had pitched forward, almost falling flat on her face. Darcy had seen that she was falling, and had grabbed her hand, only instead of hauling her up, he’d fallen too. There were photos. According to the Internet, they were well on their way to meme status.

Darcy ignored her, and gestured towards the couch. She sat. The sooner this was over, the better.

He wet his lips, looking nervous. “I have to tell you, we’ve known each other for a while now, and getting to actually work with you has been amazing.”

Amazingly awful, she thought.

“And I realize I can’t wait any longer. Lizzie Bennet, I’m in love with you.”

She was stunned. Confused. Annoyed.

“I realize we’re from very different places in our careers, and you have your situation with your mother’s addictions that you’ve sung about so eloquently, and your little sister—has left me some voicemails that are perhaps a sign that she’s taken recent career shifts very seriously. And may need a new outlet in which to vent her frustrations.

“But despite the fact that I’ve found great success professionally up to this point, and you’ve been struggling professionally until recently, I think the two of us could—if you’ll forgive the expression—make beautiful music together.”

Lizzie stared at him, her mouth wide in shock.

“Romantically, I mean,” Darcy said, then nodded to himself, looking satisfied.

“Are you joking?” she asked him. “Is there a hidden camera here?”

“I don’t know what you’re referring—”

“Then you aren’t listening. Darcy, I would never, could never, wouldn’t ever fall in love with you.”

“And why not?” he asked, his mouth twisting.

“Because you’re a snob! Because you make all these sarcastic comments about me in the media. I think she’s got a great voice for pop and a real sense of what makes a good dance song. I’m not a pop singer, Darcy, I don’t care if you remixed me into one!”

“I just thought our voices would work well together. And everyone agrees.”

“And I’m not too pleased with that song either. You took a deeply personal song about my mother and made it some stupid dance number. And now I’m a pop music star and I would rather be back in those terrible bars with my sisters, singing the kind of music I love.”

Darcy’s jaw twitched, and she could see him grip his knees tightly. “I’m sorry for causing you a rift with your sisters. Though I think they were holding you back, professionally speaking.”

“You know, we can’t all be like you. You might be able to dump George from your band and never look back, but some of us care about those around us.”

“You don’t know what happened with Wickham.”

“Don’t I? I’ve spoken with him, at length. You think it’s easy for him? You kicked him out. And he was your friend. I could never be that cruel to my friend.”

“Clearly you know everything there is to know about Wickham.” He pushed down on his knees and stood up. “Well, Lizzie, I’m sorry about this. I should’ve kept quiet. I hope you’ll be able to dance with me, but if you can’t, I can discuss this with Bobbi.”

“We’re fine,” Lizzie said, jumping up. “Just. Fine.” She stomped out before he could get the last word.

***

She’d just never see him, except for the brief periods of time they were on stage together. They had separate tour buses. They rarely had to give interviews together. Netherfield Tour was going to end one day, and she’d pack up her suitcases and plan her next move.

She didn’t anticipate how Darcy’s confession would affect their dancing.

They were spectacular.

Maybe it was the anger she had, or the embarrassment he was probably still reeling from, but the day after his confession, the routine finally took.

It did make the grinding part even more awkward, but Lizzie couldn’t have everything.

They froze in place to massive applause, the lights went out, and they exited, same as they had the last seven times.

Only this time, he swung around her, breaking her stride.

She stopped herself from crashing into him. She braced herself, arms crossed. “Yes?”

He held out both hands as if to placate her. “I think we danced well tonight.”

“I think I’m not in the mood for small-talk.”

“Fair point. Listen, Lizzie, I just wanted you to know—” he stopped, looked down at his shoes, then took a breath. His head scrunched back. “I can’t take back the mash-up. I can’t fix the rift to your band. But you should know the truth about Wickham.”

“Okay,” Lizzie said.

“I sometimes have difficulty explaining myself, which is probably why I never tried to explain this before. And I felt there are certain things—when they involve other people I care about—that should remain private. But my sister—”

“Lizzie B, what’s happening?” Fitz strode into the wing, pushing the leg curtains aside. “Darcy, my man, are you ready to go out there and be outshone yet again by your most handsome friend?”

Bing smiled at her, friendly as always. “Hi Lizzie. That was a great set! But we’re going to have to take Darcy since we’re on in three minutes.”

“I’ll be there momentarily,” Darcy said.

“In the correct costume?” Fitz said with a smile.

“They don’t call it a quick-change for nothing,” Darcy said with a smile pasted on. He looked back at Lizzie, suddenly serious again. He leaned over her, cupping his hand to her head. His breath tickled her ear, and she suddenly felt very warm, even away from the stage lights. “The song ‘A Broken Heart.’ It’s about my sister...and her then-boyfriend, Wickham.”

***

“SEX TAPE?” Lizzie yelled. Radio silence from her sister since the band broke up, and now this? “You were stupid enough to make a SEX TAPE?”

Lydia didn’t want a lesson on morals, apparently. “Listen, Lizzie, Patron Saint of Totes Lying About Mom’s Drinking to the Press, if you can’t help me, then just shut it, okay?”

“You were supposed to be staying with Mary! Maybe taking some classes!”

“Mary’s was really boring, though.”

“And the tape, who was this with?”

Lydia was silent.

“I can tell you’re still on the phone. I can hear you breathing,” Lizzie said. She didn’t have time for this.

“It was—don’t be mad.”

“Talk.”

“George,” Lydia said, her voice suddenly small.

“George. As in George Wickham?” She’d kill him. That was the only solution. She’d spent a good portion of the tour listening to “A Broken Heart” on repeat, and even before this tape, she wanted to kill him, on behalf of Darcy’s sister.

“You said it wasn’t serious with him. Your exact words were it was totally casual.”

“I don’t care about it for me. It’s about—well, I can’t—never mind. Just, never mind.” Lizzie rubbed her temples and tried to collect herself. “And now he’s shopping it around?”

“Former music celebrity/sexy-up-and-coming-babe are a hot commodity, apparently. Lizzie. The magazines. The blogs. They are starting to find out about this. What the hell am I supposed to do?”

She almost preferred when she and Lydia weren’t speaking. “I don’t know.”

“I knew I shouldn’t have done it. Well, no, I thought it was the best idea I’d ever thought up, but now I realize I don’t want to be you.”

“I didn’t make a tape.”

“I want Mom and Dad to like me, though.”

Lizzie knew her parents liked her, no matter what Lydia said. True, they weren’t exactly pleased with “Bottles and Cans,” or the press Lizzie had done to promote it, but it wasn’t like they wouldn’t take her calls. They were just really busy lately.

“Focus, Lydia. We need to figure out how to make this disappear.”

“Make what disappear?” Darcy said. Lizzie almost dropped her phone in surprise. She should’ve locked the door, but who would’ve guessed anyone would assume they could just waltz in?

“I’ll call you right back.” Lydia gave a noise of protest, but Lizzie hung up anyway.

“My sister is having a crisis due to your former bandmate.”

Darcy’s eyes narrowed in disgust. “Oh?”

“It’s...never mind, I can’t tell you.”

“I understand. I’ll see you onstage.”

“Wait!” she said, and he whipped around. She bit her lip. Darcy was awful, but he understood Wickham. “My sister and George Wickham made a sex tape, and I need to make it disappear before the gossip sites catch wind of it.”

Darcy blew out a breath. “That’s terrible.”

“Obviously.”

“How would you feel about bring in some other people to consult on this? I promise you they’re trustworthy.”

But Fitz and Bing turned out to be just as lost on how to fix this as Lizzie was. Meanwhile, every minute that went by with no solution, Lydia got closer and closer to being a porn star.

“Lizzie B, I got it,” Fitz said suddenly, fire in his eyes. “You can’t get rid of the file, and we aren’t allowed to murder Wick—”

Bing shook his head, as if to confirm this.

“But if there’s a bigger story, no one will care about this one. Right? Right.”

“Nonsense,” Caroline said, sticking her head in from the hall, where she was apparently eavesdropping. She sat down on one of the couches, shaking her head. “Lawyers, does no one remember we have access to lawyers?”

“Let’s hear him out,” Bing said to her.

“So all we have to do is give the gossip outlets a new focus?” Lizzie asked. “Because I’m fine with kidnapping Suri. Oh! Or making out with James Marsden.”

Darcy looked appalled.

“You really need to watch 30 Rock,” Lizzie told him.

“No, I’m not talking about making out with my future ex-husband or kidnapping a Scientology kidlet. I’m talking about getting on the gossip sites yourself,” Fitz said.

Lizzie rolled her eyes. “I’m hardly big news. Hell, neither are Lydia or Wickham, except for the sex tape part.”

“I agree,” Fitz said. “But someone else here is pretty damn big, plus he’s kept the media out of his personal life for years.

“Oh no,” Lizzie said.

“And if they have a rising star on the back of a comet, they have to pay attention.”

“No, no, no, no,” Lizzie said.

“Which is why you and Darcy need to fake date for the paps,” Fitz concluded, triumphant.

At least it wasn’t the sex tape she expected Fitz to demand they make. That said...

“Absolutely not.”

“I know, but think about it. It’s the perfect solution. They can only care about one Bennet sister at a time.”

Bing spoke softly. “I could see it working.”

“It won’t,” Caroline said, a look of irritation on her face.

“But can’t it be someone else?” Even as she spoke, Lizzie realized she had no idea who else would make sense. Bing was dating her sister. Fitz was dating a boy.

She needed more famous friends.

***

Gigi Darcy was a beautiful woman with short, dark hair and Darcy’s nose. It was distracting.

“It’s so nice to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you,” she said with a wink.

“Were you watching my interviews or something?” Lizzie asked.

“Nope.”

Lizzie didn’t know what to make of that, so she switched topics. “Thank you so much for coming out here. I just can’t believe my sister thought it was a good idea to—”

“George Wickham is scum. Did my brother tell you I wrote a song about him? There’s nothing as cathartic as writing about your ex. So, you two.” She looked them over critically. “You need to look like a couple. Which means you two need to look less stiff around each other.” She clapped her hands. “Okay, let’s—” and she shoved them both on to the loveseat, next to each other.

“Your sister is crazy,” Lizzie muttered to Darcy. His thigh was pressed against hers, and she wanted to pull away.

“Ok, there’s a theory from tantra that says—”

“Gigi,” her brother said, sounding embarrassed.

She ignored him. “That the way to intimacy is to spend five minutes each morning looking each other in the eyes.”

“That’s not hard,” Lizzie said. After all, Darcy could just look at her, and think of all her flaws, as he did most days.

“You’d be surprised. All right, eyes only. I’ll pull out my timer. And...go!”

Darcy and Lizzie swung their heads around. Focus, Lizzie, she thought. She could stare at some dude’s eyeballs. Of course, letting him stare back was surprisingly difficult. It was even more intense than his usual judgemental staring. It was akin to stripping naked, almost. Could he tell she’d just thought about being naked? She blushed.

“That had to be five minutes, she said, turning back to his sister.

“No, that was one minute and twenty-three seconds.”

Lizzie grabbed the phone out of Gigi’s hand. “Wow.”

Gigi sighed. “We’ll work on it. Everyday, we’re working on it. Maybe you could both try holding hands?”

Lizzie looked at Darcy, but he was already sprinting out the door. “Or not,” she said. It wasn’t like she wanted to hold his hand, anyway.

***

“So how’re you going to leak this to the press?” Charlotte asked. Lizzie was thrilled her number one bestie and former manager was talking to her again, and she loved getting phone time with her, but at the moment, she wished Charlotte was busy with her new charge.

“I don’t know, maybe, just, like, a press release?”

“You have got to be kidding.”

“Of course!” Lizzie said, wracking her brain for what the actual answer was. “I’m going to do it in a better way that you’re going to explain to me.”

Charlotte pulled out her professional voice, the one she’d perfected after so many business classes. “You don’t just send out a press release. You start dropping hints. Flirting in public. Holding hands when you think no one’s looking. Spending time together when there might be photographers. Keep them guessing.”

“Can’t we just tell them, and then continue behaving as-is, and then that’ll work."

“Lizzie.”

“I’m just tired of Darcy.”

“He’s doing you a favor. Play nice,” Charlotte said. “And take care of yourself.”

“Thanks. You’re the best,” Lizzie said, wishing the two of them could be geographically close again.

“Your sister’s ridiculous,” Charlotte added. “Honestly. What was she thinking?” Lizzie could practically hear Charlotte’s eyes rolling as she disconnected.

***

“We’re going clubbing tonight,” Gigi announced, hurling herself into Lizzie's tour bus without knocking, causing her and Darcy to startle. They’d been doing their Gigi-mandated staring contest, and it was just as awkward as it had been the night before.

This time, they’d hit a minute and thirty -seven seconds. It was a record.

“We who?” Lizzie asked.

“You, me, Fitz, Caroline, and William, of course.”

“William?—Oh. Darcy. Right,” Lizzie said. “What about Bing?”

“He’s going to sit by his cell phone, moping over your sister, I assume,” Gigi said, an eye-roll implicit. “As for tonight. Yes, if you’re going to fake a relationship with my brother, you’re going to have to go fake-fraternize. Although. If you rather just let the paps know you’re together in here all the time...”

“No!” Lizzie said. She looked over at Darcy, who was tucking his chin, presumably to avoid eye-contact.

“Don’t worry, I’ll pick you out an outfit,” Gigi said, clasping her hands in delight.

***

Lizzie was shocked that Fitz and Gigi didn’t do more to convince the world that she and Darcy were madly in love. It was actually a lot of fun, their night out, and other than when Gigi shoved her into Darcy’s arms and Fitz tweeted it to the world, or when Gigi used a bunch of fake Twitter handles to drum up rumors, they were mostly well- behaved. She’d had been suspicious, since @ggdarcy and @fitzonthefitz had been talking in code all afternoon about tigers and eagles, and Lizzie had suspected that had something to do with her, but perhaps she’d misunderstood.

And spending an evening with Darcy had been illuminating.

When the cab dropped them off at their semi-circle of tour buses, Lizzie hugged Fitz and Caroline and Gigi. She was debating how to say goodnight to Darcy—handshake? hug? shoulder punch?—and was about to give him a high-five when Darcy suggested he walk her back to her bus.

It was cute, if old-fashioned.

“This was nice,” she said to him. Nice was sufficiently generic enough to encompass everything from kittens to champagne, and surely an evening with Darcy fell somewhere in that spectrum.

“Thank you for going with tonight.” He patted her shoulder and turned away.

Thirteen minutes later, there was a knock at her door.

“Yeah?” she said to the door.

“I’m locked out,” Darcy said.

“I know. It’s my bus.”

“No, not from your bus. From my bus.”

She opened the door, forgetting for the moment that she was clad in only a tank top and sleep shorts. She remembered when Darcy’s eyes raked over her. Probably judging her for not wearing a full-length dressing gown.

She refused to go get her robe. Let him judge her all he wanted.

“Who locked you out?’

“Well, judging by the giggling, I’d say it was our companions this evening.”

“And why don’t you have a key?”

Darcy winced, glancing down at his pants. Clearly, in pants that tight, there was no room for keys. “Apparently, this is a prank. And there’s no room for me on the crew bus. I’d get a hotel, but we’re supposed to be driving within the hour. Can you—”

“You can sleep in here,” she said, opening the door wide.

He blanched. “I was going to ask you if you could convince Gigi and Fitz to let me in.”

“Fine. Don’t sleep in here. I’ll text them.” She shut the door quickly.

“Wait!” he said, and she cracked the door, peering out at him. “I wasn’t trying to—please, let me in.”

“I have four beds in here,” she said. Her bus was a little bigger than necessary, as the only people who slept in it were her and Carl. “Do you want some tea?” She’d learned something from Jane over the years.

He sat down at the built-in kitchenette set, and didn’t speak until she set down a mug of berry mint rooibos tea. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking depressed.

“For what?” she asked. “It’s not your fault.”

“When my sister hangs out with Fitz, the two of the often team up. Against me, mostly. It’s like they’re the siblings, and not me.”

She slid across the table from him and smiled as she sipped. “I understand. I might have been known to team up with my bestie against my sister once or twice.”

“Yes, well, I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of it.”

They both sipped their tea in surprisingly comfortable silence while the bus started up.

They talked about the tour. Lizzie broke out her sister’s latest care package and the snickerdoodles she’d sent. They talked dessert, a very important topic.

Darcy yawned. Lizzie was offended.

“I’m sorry. It’s just—what time is it?”

Lizzie pulled out her cell phone. “Yikes! I had no idea.” She looked him over. “You probably don’t want to sleep in that.” He was still dressed for the club. She leafed through her closet. He was so broad, and she wasn’t really the t-shirt or sweatpants type. He had to be at least six feet tall. She had to crane her neck up to see him.

He could sleep in his...boxer briefs? He probably wore boxer briefs.

She peaked at him, only to find him staring at her. He could probably read her mind. He could tell she was thinking about him in his boxer briefs.

“You could wear my robe?” she blurted out.

“I don’t have to wear anything,” he said. Suddenly, his eyes got huge. “Wait! I mean, you don’t have to give it to me. No! You don’t have to lend me anything.”

Lizzie grabbed the robe off her bed, threw it at him, and bolted for the bathroom.

After a minor pep talk and a major round of aromatherapy lotion, Lizzie exited to find Darcy sitting up in the bunk across from hers. He was under the covers, but the purple robe was clearly wrapped around him, the silky fabric straining a bit to cover his chest.

She killed the lights before he could speak, then dove under her covers. She burrowed under the sheets, took a deep breath, then popped her head out, as though to block the pajamas she’d been sitting around in.

She was debating if she should tell him goodnight, when he spoke.

“I hate clubs.”

“What?”

“I hate clubs. Or rather, I hate being a patron in clubs.”

“You’re a performer,” Lizzie said.

“And I enjoy being a performer. Tiny clubs or arenas or weddings, even. As long as I’m on a stage, away from the crowds. But being in crowds makes me nervous.”

“But you’re Darcy. You sold actual physical CDs last year.”

“I had panic attacks as a child,” Darcy said, a touch defensive.

Lizzie contemplated their evening. It had to be all elbows and tight spaces and people thoughtlessly bumping into everyone. “It’s nice of you to do this, for me. And Lydia. Mostly Lydia.”

“Your sister is...energetic. But she has a good heart.”

A good heart. Darcy was a snob, but he had a good heart.

She was startled by that realization.

***

“I think we should spend the day together,” Darcy said a few days later, following a very successful two minute and thirty-three second morning staring contest.

“To do what?” she asked, taking a moment to tidy up her bus and recover from their relationship exercise. She avoided looking at the bed he’d slept in that one night; the sheets were still on the bed, and the robe still carefully folded and left on the pillow.

She was going to take care of it. Eventually.

“To tour the city? We don’t have anywhere to be until the sound check, and I have one thing I have to do this morning, but after that, we’re free to explore. And I’ve never had the chance to see Denver. We’ve performed here before, but the schedule was usually tighter.”

“Who else is going?” she asked.

“We could bring my sister. Let me text her,” he said, whipping out his phone and turning slightly from her.

“She’s busy. But you and I could still...?” He looked so hopeful, she felt her resolve crumbling.

“Why not?” she asked.

He smiled. “I’ll be back here in fifteen minutes,” he promised. “I just have to grab some—” and he was out the door.

Lizzie grabbed a sweater and smiled to herself. It was the weirdest thing, but she almost thought Darcy had been fake-texting.

***

“I hope you don’t mind us making a stop-over first. It’s just a thing I like to do with the guys when we get to a new city. I’d switch off, but Bing has a—”

“It’s fine. But why an elementary school?” Lizzie asked, looking at the sign. Despite the fancy name, Pemberley Academy was run-down. She couldn’t fathom what they were doing there.

“You’ll see,” he said, opening the front door for her.

Twenty minutes later, they had their visitor badges- a process that involved everything except getting their blood drawn- and were knocking on room 214.

A youngish woman in a seafoam green sweater set answered the door, a huge smile on her face. “Come in,” she said, ushering them into what appeared to be the band room.

Thirty or so students, probably mostly fourth and fifth graders, abandoned their instruments in favor of staring at whoever was interrupting their class. As soon as Darcy stepped into the room, though, curiosity turned into excitement.

“They just adore you, don’t they,” she mused quietly to him.

“Oh, they’ll love you soon,” he whispered back. “Hello, students! My name is Darcy, and I’m from—”

“Defective Tuxedo!” one kid shouted excitedly, before she slapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry, Ms. Hermes.”

“Right!” Darcy said, grinning at the child. “I’m from Defective Tuxedo, and this wonderful woman to my left is Lizzie B, and your teacher Ms. Hermes invited us both to come here and talk to you about music education. But first, I want to get to know each of you. We’re going to go around the room, and I want your name, your instrument, and your favorite superhero, starting with you.” He pointed at the little girl who’d spoken without raising her hand.

Lizzie arched an eyebrow at him. This was certainly unexpected.

“Now, your teacher tells me you’ve been practicing a song for me,” he said when they were done introducing themselves.

Ms. Hermes moved back to the podium, pulling out her baton. The kids launched into a rousing, if slightly terrible, version of “Cats and Chinchillas,” Defective Tuxedo’s goofy song about the internet, and one of their few songs not to be devoted to more adult topics.

Darcy sang along, and she had to admit, he sounded great, despite not warming up. He motioned to her to sing along, and she held up a hand. She didn’t actually know the song that well; it wasn’t one of the ones they performed at their concerts.

If Darcy noticed that the kids were lacking musically, he said nothing, and his probably-fake enthusiasm afterwards was believable. After a hearty round of clapping, he launched into a story about his own musical background, and then started asking the kids for their stories, too. He was better at kids than adults, she mused.

“And Lizzie B’s going to tell her story too,” he said mischievously, cocking his head in her direction.

“Oh, I really shouldn’t,” she said. He grabbed her hand and pulled her from her spot on the wall.

She glared at him, then told the kids about growing up, singing and working really hard to make it in the music business. She talked about sacrifice and practicing and about not giving up your integrity even if there was a lot of money on the table, if you could help it.

Darcy gave her a funny look, but she ignored him.

“We’re going to have to wrap this up soon,”’ Ms. Hermes said.

“One song?” Darcy asked, and the teacher seemed to melt a little at his pout. Maybe he wasn’t as bad at adults as Lizzie thought. “And I’m going to need some volunteers to help me with the chorus.” He looked around the classroom at everyone raising their hands, thought about it, and then picked everyone, to their delight. And Lizzie, who was going to sing too. He pulled her over to the piano.

When she heard the opening notes, she knew.

"It's a little bit funny," he sang, and she wanted to groan at the old-fashioned song, but instead she harmonized with him.

***

“So you spent the morning with him at a school?” Charlotte asked, her voice cracking from Lizzie’s ancient phone’s speakers.

“Yeah,” Lizzie said, twirling a pen in between her fingers.

“‘Your Song’ is just about the cheesiest song in Elton John’s extensive catalogue.”

“It was sweet,” Lizzie protested.

“He’s like a cheesemonger.”

“Darcy?”

“Elton. Though maybe Darcy, too.”

This is why she couldn’t even begin to explain to Charlotte how it had felt to sing with him. They’d never actually sang live together before, and Lizzie wondered why that was. Because it had been lovely: his tenor mixing with her mezzo soprano, and the kids coming in on the chorus.

“Darcy’s not so bad,” she mumbled.

Charlotte made a little noise in the back of her throat. “Knew it.”

“Whatever. I have to go.”

“Tell Darcy I said hi,” Charlotte said with a laugh.

She disconnected just as Bing rounded the corner.

He blocked her path. For Bing, agreeable, likeable Bing, this was practically aggressive. “Any idea why your sister hasn’t called me back?”

Lizzie shrugged. “She’s been really busy with her internship? I guess? She doesn’t call me back either.”

“It’s just not like her,” he said, softening again. Watching him pine for Jane was not in the cards for the day.

“Fashion is a tough mistress.”

Bing sighed, leaning against the wall. “I just worry. Relationships are built on spending time together. You know my parents...” he trailed off. Lizzie wanted to roll her eyes. She’d never met someone so obsessed with his parents’ failed marriage.

“If you’re going to doubt my sister, I’m going to have to shove you into the foam machine,” she told him.

He cringed. She hadn’t even told him what she’d do with the confetti cannon.

“I just worry. Your sister’s amazing, you know that, right?”

“Of course she is,” Lizzie said with a smile. “Now speaking of sisters, I have to find yours.” She strode off to her dressing room.

Caroline looked peeved as she lined Lizzie’s eyes. “You know, I saw that video of you.”

“What video?” Lizzie asked.

“It’s being discussed on the local blogs.”

“I didn’t realize. Do you have me on Google Alerts or something?”

Caroline’s lack of answer made Lizzie wonder. “One of the kids at the school took a video of it with his little cell phone and now there’s video of you two brazenly singing together.”

“So?”

“So! People are going to think you’re dating for real.”

“Which is what we want. Did you not get the memo? I swear we sent out a memo.” Lizzie hoped the joke would break the tension, but Caroline kept ranting.

“I’m not saying that you didn’t sound good together,” Caroline said, snapping a compact shut. “But you need to realize that working professionally with Darcy would be a big mistake.”

“I already work with him professionally.”

“Everyone will think you slept your way into the tour.”

The thought made Lizzie’s blood run cold. She’d gotten the job through hard work, years and years of performing, and a stroke of luck, getting picked to be on a soundtrack. Not because she’d slept with the lead singer of a boy-band.

“You should probably finish up the tour and never work with him again,” she said, rubbing powder over Lizzie’s cheeks.

“What’s your deal with Darcy?” Lizzie asked, her eyes narrowing. “Do you have a crush on him or something?”

“Please.” Caroline rolled her eyes. “He’s not exactly my type.”

“No, it makes perfect sense. Why you don’t want me to work with him. You’re worried I’m going to date him for real. Which, no, no I’m not, so you can just go kiss him for all I care.”

“What are you talking about?” Caroline asked. “Darcy? As in William Darcy?”

“Your crush,” Lizzie confirmed.

“You know I’m attracted to the fairer sex, right? Or are you so self-centered you don’t even pay attention to those around you?”

Lizzie felt gobsmacked. “But you told me that story about the guy you went to prom with, when we were in Salt Lake.”

“In high school, Lizzie. I also told you about Sara and our trip to Maui, did I not?”

Huh. “But then what’s the obsession with Darcy?”

“I don’t care about Darcy! He’s my friend, and I hope he’ll be successful in his endeavours, but that’s not why he can’t break the band up.”

“The band? What the hell—”

“You realize if Defective Tuxedo breaks up, say because the lead singer decides to create a duo, I’m out of a job, right?”

“You do amazing work, Caroline. I think you’d line something up.”

“Right, but not with my brother. If the band breaks up, he’s going to leave the industry and go back to school. We’ll never work together again.”

Lizzie let that wash over her.

“And unlike some people I could mention, I care about spending time with my sibling. You only have your family, Lizzie, and Bing and I? Only have each other.”

Lizzie’s stomach clenched in guilt.

“Caroline, I assure you I have no intention of running off with Darcy to the studio.”

“Fabulous.”

“I don’t want to break up Defective Tuxedo, no matter what you think."

"Let's Keep it that way."

***

But once Caroline implanted that idea in Lizzie’s head, it was all Lizzie could do not to suggest it herself. She’d missed singing with other people, and she and Darcy— had been better than she expected. The Bennet Sisters always sounded amazing together, with Lydia’s clear-as-a-bell soprano and Jane’s sweet alto harmonizing with Lizzie’s voice. It was one of her favorite parts about performing, that she got to make such lovely music with her sisters.

She’d sung with other people over the years, but none had ever sounded as good as when she’d sung with her sisters.

But Darcy had come damn close, and that was without warming up or picking a song really meant to showcase their vocals.

At least people were starting to notice that the two of them were (fake) dating. The Defective Tuxedo fan sites had been all over it for weeks, even before the charade had started. Apparently, for celebrities, merely standing next to a person brought out the shippers.

Hell, the fans were writing fan fic about the two of them. Lizzie was all for creativity, but it was still a trip to read it.

She never should’ve given Fitz her email address. It just meant she had to know about people envisioning her as a pirate.

But now the mainstream media was speculating, talking to “unnamed sources” that sounded suspiciously like Gigi, who informed them that Darcy was seen entering and exiting Lizzie’s tour bus at all hours of the day. The fact that their source was back at college, and therefore no longer on the tour with them, didn’t seem to bother them at all.

The “all hours of the day” might be a stretch, however. Every morning at 8:15, Darcy would knock, and they’d do their morning staring contest. They were almost at three minutes before Lizzie had to turn away, because the whole thing was intense. She had to give Gigi kudos; she could take that college degree and go into couple’s therapy, if she wanted. But he usually left after that, or after a cup of tea.

This morning, Darcy knocked, as always, at a quarter past eight, and let himself in, only to find her strumming her guitar. It’d been ages since she wrote a new song, but she liked to pretend that what she was doing. Though she was performing for more and larger crowds than ever, what she really missed was writing those songs.

When he left her bus an hour later, she hadn’t written a word, and she hadn’t done her morning stare, but she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she and William Darcy sounded great together.

Damn it.

***
The spotlights on her were blinding, and the audience a giant, shadowy mass of screaming. It was just her, alone with a microphone. She licked her lips.

She wasn’t ready for this to be the last concert. In the almost two months she’d spent on a tour bus traveling the west, she’d really come into her own as a performer. She’d always thought that the size of the audience didn’t matter, but now, she realized she’d only thought that because her audiences had been small. The roar from a stadium of fans was intoxicating.

She wet her lips.

And then it was over.

Time was all relative, apparently.

One more dance with Darcy, one more night on the bus, and tomorrow was the start of the rest of her life.

She wasn’t ready.

But that didn’t matter, because opening notes of her mashup came over the speakers, and the dance that had once seemed so difficult to her was second nature.

Step, turn, side-close-step. Step, turn, side-close-step...bow.

Only this time, rather than grabbing her hand and bowing along with her, Darcy instead spun her into a dip, then pulled her up till she was standing in front of him. He moved his hands on her hips to steady her surprise, and he leaned in.

She froze, momentarily, before her brain kicked in. Kiss him back! Her heart was pounding, but she slipped her tongue between his lips and felt his surprise. He tasted like spearmint, and she liked that.

Later, she saw photos. Her hair was mussed from his fingers, and his shirt was rumpled from her clenching. She stopped in the middle, looking hungry. The confetti cannon went off. Fans went wild, though at least one woman tore up her DARCY sign. And there was a picture of Fitz, just off-stage, giving someone a thumbs-up.

But in the moment, all Lizzie saw was Darcy, his pupils blown wide, and all she felt was his jaw under her hand, and his lips and heat too.

Their curtain call went on ages, before Darcy pressed his forehead against hers, whispering “I really do think we could make beautiful music together.” He laced his fingers through hers and pulled her off stage.

Bing gave her a sly grin, and Caroline was filing her nails, her pursed lips the only sign she was upset.

A production assistant handed Lizzie her phone. Fourteen text messages. Several from Charlotte, who was sitting in the audience tonight with her client Ricky Collins, the talentless fool. I knew it followed by I get to be maid of honor at your wedding, yes? and several discussing possible music collaborations that would capitalize on this.

But the rest were from Jane.

Lizzie tugged her hand from Darcy’s to scroll faster.

Lydia’s sex tape is online.

“Lizzie, what’s wrong?” Darcy asked, hand running over her back.

Twitter’s all over it.

“My sister’s tape,” she said lightly. “It’s live. It was all for nothing.” She choked back a sob.

He tucked his chin in. “What are you going to do?”

#celebritysexscandal

“Go home. Tonight. Now. I’m sorry.”

Darcy grabbed a person with a headset. “Stall the show.”

Soon, she had a flight home, a cab waiting, and a promise from him that someone would pack up her bus.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Lizzie,” he said, turning away.

***

The downside to recent fame became apparent when a dude started shooting pictures of her at the airport. She had to duck into a random store to buy a wide-brimmed hat and some sunglasses to hide her face as best she could.

She was a terrible flyer anyway, and some paps might be waiting for her when she disembarked.

Luckily, it wasn’t an issue, but the ride in the rental car to her parents’ home was still fraught. She hadn’t seen her parents in two years, ever since The Bennet Sisters had debuted “Cans and Bottles.” At the time, her mother had hollered about it; since then, she’d been distant. Her father, meanwhile, had found the family strife unbearable, and mostly dedicated himself to his train collection.

They still love me they still love me they still love me, she chanted to herself, unsure if that was true. Perhaps with Lydia’s scandal they’d finally written their daughters off. Perhaps they wouldn’t let her and her sisters gather, as they had in years past. Perhaps the Bennet family was no more.

She knocked on her mother’s door anyway.

The door swung open, and there she was, her mother.

“Mama,” Lizzie sobbed, and her mother ushered her in.

***

She arrived before her sisters, and her father only hugged her, scolding her for not letting him pick her up at the airport, despite the late hour. He left her alone with her mother, who pulled her to the table, setting a glass of sweet tea in front of her.

“When are Lydia and Jane getting here?” Lizzie blurted out.

“Lydia’s driving and she’s about seven hours out, but she’s spending the night in a hotel, that poor dear, and Jane’s got a flight tomorrow afternoon. And Mr. Bing Lee will be coming in around then too. I suspect the two of them will be tying the knot soon, now that he’s free of that band.”

Lizzie’s stomach bottomed out. “Free...?”

“Oh honey, you would know better than me,” her mother said. “Didn’t they tell you before you left? I would think with you dating that Darcy, you’d know all about it. You know, I didn’t like him when I first started hearing about you girls knowing those boys, but Jane assured me he was a good boy. I assumed he wasn’t interested in women, what with never dating and all, but apparently he got that all sorted out with you! Tell me, when will you be flashing a rock on your fingers, sugar?”

“Mom. He dated. He’s just discrete. Not every celebrity has a parade of casual lovers.” Lizzie cringed. Here she was, repeating Darcy’s words to her, and to her mother, of all people.

“The important thing isn’t if he’s interested in you sexually, it’s the size of his net worth. Which is substantial, according to People. Not that you’re not doing well yourself, Lizzie, but you aren’t, compared to him.”

“Thank you,” she said absently. Her phone confirmed what her mother mother had said; Defective Tuxedo had broken up the night before.

Boyband front man Darcy, 28, announced at the Rose Garden that the last stop on his Netherfield Tour would be the last show for his band Defective Tuxedo. The band, which was formed in 2009, started out with William Darcy, Bing Lee, 29, and George Wickham, 28. Wickham left the band in 2010 after a falling out with management, and was replaced with Fitz Williams, 31, previously of queercore band Casual Emily.

She scanned past the stats and awards, and the fan reactions, which mostly seemed overdrawn and wrought.

Industry speculation centers around pop star Lizzie B, whose former country band, The Bennet Sisters, broke up prior to her reimmersion as a solo pop act. The Bennet Sisters were most famously known for “English Dreams,” a song included on the soundtrack for the critically acclaimed indie movie The Rose, and for “Bottles and Cans,” a song the was mashed up with Defective Tuxedo perennial favorite “Get Off (and Get Out)” in the surprise summer hit that reached number eight on the charts in August. Bennet, 24, has been long rumored to be a paramour of Darcy, speculation confirmed at last night’s concert. While some believe Darcy broke up his band to team up with Bennet, his manager Catherine de Bourgh, has issued a statement saying ‘the two will not be producing any songs together.’”

“Well, I’ll leave you to your phone,” her mother said, walking towards the door before pausing, then brushing a stiff kiss to Lizzie’s forehead. “Get some rest; tomorrow you won’t have time.”

***

“You’re going to have to talk to Mom,” Jane said one afternoon over a mug of tea.

“I’ve been talking to Mom ever since I got here,” Lizzie said, focusing on her hands. “She’s got my wedding half-planned, and my career mapped out, and I suppose it’s better than talking to reporters, but only barely.”

“I mean really talking. She was really hurt by the song, and by you avoiding her.”

“I wasn’t avoiding her. I was busy. Being in a band.”

“I remember. I was there. But I still called home, too.” Jane ruffled Lizzie’s hair, then poured some more tea. She settled back, watching Lizzie. That was fine. Lizzie wasn’t going to break.

“It’s just growing up with Mom’s drinking was really hard,” she said, because Jane was looking at her and Lizzie had no resolve.

“She’s not as bad as you think she was,” Jane said soothingly, enveloping Lizzie into a hug. “She really wasn’t. Have you ever considered that maybe you have a skewed perspective?”

“Hey Lizzie,” Bing said, popping his head into the kitchen. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” Lizzie said, scooting her chair over to give him space to sit at the table with them.

“What’re you guys doing?” he asked. “Where’s Charlotte?”

“She got on a plane this morning,” Lizzie said. “I just got back from dropping her off.”

“I’m going to go check on Lydia,” Jane said, kissing Bing’s cheek. “Lizzie, please consider what I was saying.”

“Bing,” Lizzie said, ignoring Jane. “What’d you need?”

“I overheard you in your room earlier—”

“Not my room. The yoga room.”

“And you were singing some new song, right?”

“I was,” she said, and on his encouragement, added, “I’ve been writing a lot, since we got here.” It wasn’t like she had much else to do, other than avoid the phone and internet and everything else.

“It was good,” he said, humming the tune. “Darcy said you were good.”

“Darcy hasn’t heard the song.”

“No, but he, ah, he told me about you two, and brainstorming song lyrics. He said you were great at it.”

She blushed. “How is... Darcy? Are you two... okay?”

“With what?”

“He broke up the band!”

“He announced our breakup.”

“But Perez said—”

“We all wanted to end it on a high note. But I’ve been in the business since I was a kid,” he said, and Lizzie recalled those old episodes of The Mickey Mouse Club that Bing had been on. “I’ve been thinking medical school.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Lizzie said, because Really? You? seemed rude.

“In LA, to be with your sister, of course.”

“What about Caroline? She’s out of a job—”

“She has an amazing portfolio. Have you ever noticed she’s really talented? She’s a little steamed, but she’s going to be employed again in no time. And Fitz wants to become a private eye.”

“Really?”

“Nah, just teasing you. He wants to be in transmedia.”

“What does that mean?”

“No one really knows. I think Twitter’s involved.”

It took Lizzie a few minutes to broach the subject. “And... Darcy?”

Bing smiled at her. “He’s going to keep making music.”

***

“Mom, I’m going to be leaving soon,” Lizzie said. Both her sisters had taken off already, Jane for LA and her fashion internship, and Lydia to their cousin Mary’s place. Lizzie had hung around for a few extra days, writing songs next to the seahorse tank, and while she’d had a very pleasant time at the homestead, it was time to get back on the road.

“Oh honey, I just want you to know you can just come home any old time you want to. Don’t be a stranger anymore, you hear?”

“We should talk.”

“Is this about how you keep trying to leave the house without your face on? I’ve told you time and time again, a Bennet doesn’t go out looking anything less than her best. You might as well wear sweatpants in public!”

Lizzie might roll her eyes at a lot of what her mother said, but she still wouldn’t do that. “Mom, come on. You know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m just afraid I don’t.”

“Please?” she said, but her mother refused to meet her eyes, and fussed instead with the Jell-O mold she’d made the day before. Lizzie wasn’t allowed to eat it, of course, because her figure and her career and her upcoming wedding, one hopes.

Lizzie reached into her pocket and pulled out her iPod, scrolling through and selecting “Bottles and Cans.”

Her mother’s lips pressed so tightly they turned white. “You know, I think I prefered the remix.”

“I spent two years telling everyone you’re an alcoholic. You have to have some reaction to that, Mama.”

Her mother smacked the table, knocking the Jell-O mold to the floor with a plop! “Listen to me, missy. I might have had the occasional gin and tonic while you were growing up, but I’m not some falling-down drunkard.”

“Occasional? Occasional?”

“I was always there for you.”

“But were you present?”

“I did the best I could with you three. Soccer. Tennis lessons. Dance lessons, clearly wasted on you. Private singing lessons for all of you. Your father buried himself in his work. And I was there, at every event of yours. Even your ballet recitals, and I hate the French.”

“There’re better ways to cope, Mom!”

“Are there? Tell me about them, sugar, because you’ve lived a pretty nice little life here. You didn’t struggle. Oh, sure, your path to stardom was bumpy, but that’s not hardship, not really.”

“I worked hard all my—”

“I had to marry your father.”

Lizzie felt her blood run cold. She did the math in her head before she said, “Jane was born two years after you—”

“No, honey. Because my parents died, and I had two siblings to take care of, and your father was a good man offering to help me. And I didn’t get to go to college, or travel around performing, or get a wonderful career. And you realize I love you and your sisters, right? But I married your father because I didn’t have options. Do I have regrets? Not you three. But regrets, yes.”

Lizzie was without words.

“So forgive me, please, if had a coping method you didn’t approve of. I’m on Xanax now, did Lydia tell you?”

Lydia hadn’t. But if there was one thing Lizzie was learning about her sister ever since they’d returned to Texas, it was that Lizzie hadn’t been listening to Lydia for a long time.

“So I’m trying a better option. But when I was your age, I already had two kids, and an apathetic husband, and a case of postpartum depression that wasn’t diagnosed till you three were out of the house. Did I self-medicate? Yes. Because I was out of options.”

“Oh Mom—”

“I just wanted to give you girls those options. I hoped the three of you would make it, and you’d have the money to do what you wanted to do with your lives. So I kept my mouth shut through all those interviews and the gossip. But it was hard.” Her mother sat down, slightly glassy-eyed, and practically deflated, her energy spent.

“I’m so, so sorry,” Lizzie said, going in for a hug. “Mama, I’m so sorry.”

***

“And we’re back with Lizzie B, pop superstar on the rise. Lizzie B, what’s your next step?” Phillip asked, shoving his microphone in her face. Lizzie didn’t feel up for this interview, at all, but as Gardiner said, how often did she get to do television?

“I’m going into the studio to record my first solo album,” Lizzie said, a bright smile pasted on her face. “I’ve been writing songs non-stop since I went home—”

“And where is home for you?”

“Lufkin, Texas. I was visiting with my family, and the trip home really gave me a chance to work on my music.”

“You were staying with your mother, right? The subject of your most famous song!” he said, the make-up at his crow’s feet creasing. Her song cued up as she contemplated how to answer, her face twisting into a frown.

“My mother is, as always, someone I love dearly, and I think she was hurt—crushed—to find herself the subject of a song I didn’t run past her first. But we’re in a good place, now.” She threw the smile back up. “Besides, I’d rather talk about the new music I’m recording soon. It’s shaping up to be a great album. Mostly original stuff, some stuff from my recent tour, an Elton John cover, new songs I’ve written since I’ve been home.”

Phillip said, “Sounds fun! Would you say you’ve drawn from your Texas roots with these new songs?”

“Well, it’ll be all pop music, but good songs. I’ve had a creative resurgence. I’ve been touring almost non-stop for two years, first with my sisters, and then of course with the Netherfield Tour. And I think you need to just pull back sometimes and really find your home, and there’s your creativity.”

“Speaking of the Netherfield Tour, let’s talk Darcy!”

“Oh, should we? Because I wanted to talk about the record—”

“Darcy. Absolutely. Now, you two were hot and heavy during the tour, and since then, not a single photo of the two of you canoodling! What happened? Did you break up?”

“We’ve both just been adjusting to changes in our lives.”

“Now, de Bourgh Management has spoken and says you two will not be working together in the future. What do you say about that?”

“Darcy’s really talented. And if he asked me to work with him again,” she said, looking straight into the camera. “I wouldn’t say no.”

***
“Darcy!”

“Lizzie.”

Lizzie twisted her hands together in surprise. “What’re you doing here?” she blurted out. “Not that it’s not nice to see you, I just didn’t expect—”

He thrust a bouquet into her arms. “I brought flowers.”

She peeled back the plastic and found not roses, but wildflowers; bluebonnets and Drummond phlox. They smelled like home. “They’re lovely.”

“Lizzie, I just wanted you to know—”

“Maybe we should talk about this somewhere else, somewhere that’s not the recording studio. My sister’s here, for back-up vocals, and she’s brought the camera crew.”

“Oh yes, I’d heard she was getting her own reality show.”

Lizzie pursed her lips. It wasn’t exactly what she would’ve chosen for her sister, but everyone had to make their own path. And since Lydia was (apparently) pretty hilarious in the video, E! had offered her a show.

Somehow that weasel Wickham was also going to be making a few appearances, but that was Hollywood.

“They’ll film everything. Domino has their cameras everywhere.” The production company was ruthless, but luckily they were limited in what exactly they could show of Lizzie’s recording sessions.

Sometimes, scary lawyers were a good thing.

“I don’t care about that.” He looked so vulnerable, and Lizzie wondered how she’d ever thought he was just some snobby hipster.

“And?” she asked, giving him a gentle, encouraging smile.

“But I do care about you, Lizzie Bennet. I meant what I said in Seattle. I’ve been DJing at some clubs in LA, and it’s more fulfilling than someone who’s already had such a great career deserves.”

“I’m sure you sound great,” she said, remember some stuff he’d played for her in the green room.”

“I do. What I mean to say is, people say I do.”

“Of course.”

“But I’d love to mash up with you again.”

Lizzie raised an eyebrow.

“That is, I’d love to mix our sounds.”

Lizzie bit her lip.

“Rather, I think we should work together again, creatively.”

“Why the flowers? Why not have your people call my people and so on?”

“Because I think we should—let me try something.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the yellow stopwatch from their mornings together. He pressed a few buttons, then touched her chin with one finger, staring into her eyes.

A moment later, a timer went off, and she had to blink, to remember not to stare anymore.

“Was that five minutes?”

“It flew by. Lizzie, I think we should go out. On a date. If you’re interested.”

She grinned, and tossed the flowers on a nearby chair. Then she launched herself at him, knocking him practically off his feet. He was tall, but easily startled, and she kissed him full on the mouth. He responded almost immediately, lacing his fingers through the hair at the base of her skull, opening his mouth and stroking her tongue with his. She gripped his shoulders, her fingers digging into his back. Someone, probably her, was making little moaning noises in the back of their throat, and it wasn’t until—

“Go Lizzie! Ride that pony!” Lydia hollered.

Lizzie was mortified. She broke apart from Darcy, smoothing down her hair. He took a deep breath, then started readjusting his bowtie.

“The only person who will be more excited than my sister will be your sister,” Lizzie said, smirking.

“I look forward to finally shocking her,” he said with a sigh.

“You know our sisters talk on Twitter, right?”

“Gigi and Lydia? Nothing good comes from Twitter. Though I suppose that’ll be good for them.”

“Lydia needs some friends. Especially after her show hits the air.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Lydia yelled through the glass. “You still have your mic on.”

Lizzie swore. “Last time I film for your show.”

“Hey, Untitled Lydia Bennet Project is going to be the tits.”

Lizzie finally found the on/off switch on her mic pack. “Come on,” she said to Darcy.

“Don’t you have more singing to do?” he asked.

“I’m good. And we actually were done for the day. I was actually going to spend the evening touring the city. You wanna come with me?”

“Why Lizzie Bennet, I would truly enjoy that,” Darcy said.

She leaned in and kissed him again, letting herself get lost for a moment. When she came up for air again, she looked him in the eyes before grabbing his hand. “Let’s go.”