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“No! William, this is not over!”
When he ends the call, she almost screams in frustration, in exasperation. William Darcy is by far the most maddening, obstinate, narrowed-minded man that she knows. She glances at the camera, the red light staring back at her. She knows she’s too angry to continue the demonstration (if she can even call what she just did demonstrating), so she looks away, sighing inwardly.
“Domino, end recording,” she says, watching the red light flicker off.
Gigi’s always known her older brother could be infuriating—she’ll admit as much to anyone, even the girl he’s in love with—so, she’s not completely sure why his stubbornness today caught her off guard. Of course he’d want her to stay away from anything that involved the name George Wickham; he wouldn’t want her to get hurt again, or reopen old wounds. “Are you?” he’d asked when she asserted that she was stronger now, that she wouldn’t be dragged into his lies a second time.
And with those two little words, she feels like it’s last winter again, and she’s watching William write a check, every line of ink chipping away at Gigi’s fragile respect for her brother. And when he tears it out of the checkbook, she wonders how they could possibly be related at all, how someone so clinical, so cold could ever share DNA with someone as passionate and loving as she.
But it isn’t until George takes the check with a wink and a “Sorry, peach,” that Gigi starts to really hate him, this man who feels the need to control everything in their little world, including to whom his sister gives her heart.
“Get the fuck out,” is the only thing she says to William once George is gone. She doesn’t look him in the eye, doesn’t acknowledge him at all except to let him know that his presence is unwanted, repulsive, even.
“Gigi,” he says, carefully.
It’s this, the way he pronounces her name with soft G’s and with it the reminder of how he’s always been so pigheadedly defiant of her own pronunciation, that brings her anger to the surface.
“Is this what you wanted? Are you satisfied now that I’m as alone as you are?” She thinks she’s crying, but she’s not sure if it’s from her fury or from the ache in her chest. “Did you run out of people to alienate in your own life and decide that I was a bit too happy? That I needed to be just as fucking miserable as you?”
He doesn’t respond, just tucks his chin and looks away, a muscle jumping in his jaw.
She continues anyways, “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone for once? Why do you have to control everything? You’re not Mom! And you’re sure as hell not Dad.” These last words are cruel, she knows, and not completely true. She’s been watching William grow in the shadow of their father for years now, and he looks more and more like him everyday.
“I understand you’re angry with me,” he says, his voice level, “and I know you’re hurt, but this is for the best, Gigi.”
She laughs humorlessly, “What do you know?”
“I know enough,” he says calmly.
Gigi hates that her petulance hasn’t cracked his composed façade. She wonders what it must be like for him to not feel anything at all, to be so devoid of emotion (excepting anger, she corrects herself—she’d seen plenty of that particular emotion when he first barged into their bedroom).
“I don’t want to see you unhappy,” he continues.
Too damn late for that, big brother.
“Why do you get to decide what makes me happy? Can’t I decide that for myself?”
“George Wickham could never make you happy,” he replies firmly, donning the voice their father always used when they would argue with chores or homework.
“Well, I guess I’ll never find out now, will I? You made sure of that.”
“Gigi, please.” He’s sat down on a bar stool at her kitchen counter, and now he’s rubbing his temples, weariness evident in his tone. This brings a sick satisfaction to Gigi, knowing that she’s finally affected him, even in a small way.
“I don’t want to argue about this anymore,” he continues.
From the other side of the counter, she crosses her arms, a smug smile quirking her lips. “Then it looks like there’s no reason for you to be here,” she says pointedly.
Even as she narrows her gaze at him for emphasis, he retains eye contact. But, after a few moments, he sighs and looks down at the counter, and she knows she’s won.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls for a few moments. He types a quick message methodically, and then glances back at Gigi. “I’m going to book a room at the Beach Inn. I’ll have my cell phone with me, if you would like to talk.”
Gigi ignores this last part, and starts to walk towards the entryway. He follows her, but stops when he reaches the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other fiddling with his keys.
“Well?” she demands, because she knows he won’t leave until he’s said what he needs to say.
He looks at his feet. “I—I know that it may not seem like it right now,” he says, “but I had to do this because I love you, Gigi.”
She nearly snorts at this, because if William truly cared about her, he wouldn’t have made George leave her. He couldn’t have if he knew how much she loved him, needed him. And how much he needed her too.
When she doesn’t respond, he opens the door and steps outside.
“Thanks for your help, William,” she says as she walks out after him, hardly bothering to cover up the bitterness in voice.
William turns to her with something like pity in his eyes, so she quickly steps back inside, shutting the door as she does. Once she hears his steady footsteps fade away, she leans heavily against the door and slides to the ground. She wanted William gone, she really did, but now that he is, she finally has to confront the fact that she’s alone.
Gigi doesn’t call William that night (she doesn’t do much anything, really), and she doesn’t call the next three either.
On the fourth day after, her phone buzzes on her bedside table. She nearly falls off her bed, trying to reach it. She’s sure it’s George. Sure that he’s realized that he made a mistake. He’ll tell her he’s sorry, she’ll pretend to be mad, and then they’ll laugh about it. He’ll come back, and she won’t have to be alone anymore, won’t have to deal with this emptiness in her chest.
But, it’s not George. It’s William. She barely reads the text before she throws her phone across the room in a fit of rage, and something like despair. I have to catch a flight back to San Francisco this afternoon, it had said, there’s been an incident at Pemberley. Please let me know if you need anything.
It’s not until a week after that when she finally calls him.
“Gigi,” he answers on the second ring. She can hear the relief in his voice.
“I haven’t forgiven you,” she says quickly, firmly, so he won’t get the wrong idea about this conversation, “but I need to know what George did to make you distrust him.”
She hears him sigh, and she knows that it’s a sigh of resignation. “George Wickham—he’s not the boy who grew up next door to us. Not anymore.”
George’s mother had worked as the Darcy’s housekeeper for years, so, when her boyfriend got her pregnant and then kicked her out of their apartment, the late William Darcy helped her build a small house on the edge of their estate. William was two at the time, and the two boys grew up as best friends. Gigi doesn’t even remember a time before George was in her life.
“What happened, William?” she repeats when he doesn’t continue.
“When George’s mom was in the hospital,” he begins, “Dad promised her that he’d take care of him. Not just give him a place to live, but a future too, an opportunity to get into a prestigious college and make something of himself.”
Gigi already knows this part (George had told her as much, when they first ran into each other that day at Pepperdine), but she doesn’t interrupt. It’s rare that William talks this much, and she doesn’t want him to stop before he spills every detail.
“When Mom and Dad died, George had just gotten an early acceptance to Stanford; I don’t know if you remember how much he’d always wanted to attend there. George and I had not spoken much since I went away to Harvard—the distance made it hard to maintain a friendship, and we had both changed in the interim. But, he came and visited me as soon as he heard about the accident. I—I wasn’t taking it very well.”
This is news to Gigi. When William came home that winter, he was changed from the big brother she had followed around as a child. He was more man than boy, even though he was only twenty, and Gigi wasn’t sure she ever saw him cry once, not even when they buried Mom and Dad in the ground. He just held her hand and promised her that everything was going to be alright.
“You were still at home,” he continues, “and I wanted nothing more than to get on a plane and fly back to San Francisco, but I knew Mom and Dad would have wanted me finish out the semester. When George showed up at my apartment, it was almost like I was home. We didn’t really talk, but I knew that George understood, and that was enough.”
This admission, too, surprises Gigi. She doesn’t think she’s ever heard William be so frank about his feelings, about his emotions.
“When George brought up Dad’s promise to pay for Stanford, I didn’t think anything of it. We were both thinking about the future months, so it wasn’t strange to me that he would be worrying about his schooling. When I offered to pay the bursar directly and he insisted that he’d rather have all the money up front, I had no suspicions.”
Gigi thinks she knows where William’s story is going now. George had told her he’d run out of money his first year at Stanford, and that William had refused to help him, and she can easily figure out what really happened.
“I’m still not sure how he managed to do it, but he spent all of the money I gave him—enough for a Bachelor’s degree and a Masters—by the end of his freshman year.” Williams voice is low, and Gigi can hear the slightest hint of disappointment and disbelief in his tone. “When he called me that summer and asked for more money, he was an entirely different person. He brushed me off when I asked what had happened, if he was in any kind of trouble, and tried to guilt me by bringing up Dad’s promise and the fact that neither one of us had any family left. And the entire time, there was something off, something strange about his tone, so I didn’t let myself be persuaded.”
Gigi doesn’t realize she’s been holding her breath until William hesitates. She forces herself to inhale and exhale, forces herself to ignore the heavy weight that’s settled in the pit of her stomach.
“He was angry, more angry than I had ever seen. He said things about Mom and Dad, about me, that still make my blood boil, to borrow a hackneyed phrase. When he hung up on me, I knew that our friendship was over. That was the last time we spoke until…” he trails off, and Gigi knows he’s thinking about the night he interrupted them. “…Until the night in your apartment,” he finishes.
This story is so very different from the one George had spun for her. She’d just always assumed that his side of the story was the right one; it wasn’t hard to swallow—she knew, after all, that William was good at pushing people away.
But William’s story is almost as hard for Gigi to believe as George’s was to reject. To think that George, her George, the boy that taught her how to climb a tree and William how to loosen up, could do something so cruel, is just too much. Her heart, still throbbing from George’s departure, starts to ache a little for her brother as well.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers, not trusting her normal voice to remain steady.
“Gigi, you adored George when you were growing up. You loved him more than you ever loved me, even. And I…I suppose some sentimental part of me didn’t want to ruin that, your innocent image of the old George. I never thought for a moment that he’d use you to try and hurt me.”
Gigi can feel her eyes stinging and her throat burning, and she finally acknowledges to herself that George must not have loved her as much as she loved him—must not have loved her at all.
“William, I’m so sorry.”
“Georgiana,” he says, and she can hear the firmness in his voice, the sternness that means he’s about to lecture her, “You do not need to apologize for anything. The only thing you’re guilty of is seeing the best of people, of loving a man who didn’t deserve it. This is not your fault, Gigi.”
His compliment warms her a bit, but it also makes the ache in her chest even worse. “I didn’t… that’s not what I meant. I am sorry, William, for yelling at you, for hating you, for seeing the best in George even though it meant thinking the worst of you.”
He’s silent for a moment, and Gigi can almost hear the gears in his head turning, trying to decipher her words and formulate a response. Finally, “I don’t blame you for that either, Gigi. I’m quite certain I deserved it.”
“Maybe a little,” she admits. She was wrong about some things, about William’s feelings and motives, but he didn’t exactly handle the situation in the best way. Throwing money at problems—a solution he learned from their parents—doesn’t make them disappear, and it doesn’t stop heartache. And keeping her in the dark about George didn’t protect her at all, it only made her vulnerable. “But, I think I can forgive you for it. So long as you promise that there won’t be any more secrets between us. I want us to be honest with each other, okay?”
He pauses so long before replying, Gigi almost thinks that her phone dropped the call. But, after a few long moments, he exhales audibly. “Okay, Gigi, I promise.”
She hesitates before adding anything. She’s been toying with an idea, a need, the past week, but she knows that voicing it to her brother will make it real, make it a possibility. She feels pathetic and childish that she’s even thinking about it, and saying it out loud will only confirm her cowardice.
“William…” she starts, unsure. She takes a deep breath before she continues, “I think I need to come home, to San Francisco.”
“Of course, Gigi, whatever you need,” he says quickly, his tone switching to one Gigi’s used to hearing in conjunction with work, all business. “I can have Harriet book you a flight out as soon as you’d like. And if you’re worried about missing classes, I can email your professors and explain that there’s been a family emergency.”
At that moment, she so grateful for William, for his care, but it also makes what she really means all the more embarrassing. “No, William. What I meant was, I think I need to move home. Permanently. Transfer to the Academy of Art, get a fresh start, and maybe focus just on tennis.”
Now that she’s voiced her plan, she knows she’s a coward, running away from all her memories of him, all the places they’ve been. But, she doesn’t think she can handle any more lonely nights in her apartment. It’s so cold now, so quiet and empty.
“Have you thought this through, Gigi?” William asks, his voice neutral. She can’t tell if he’s glad she’s coming home or disappointed that she’s running away. “I don’t want you to make a decision in haste that you might regret later.”
This advice is almost comical from William; Gigi doubts he’s ever made a hasty decision in his life. She could almost laugh, but she doesn’t. Instead, she breathes in, and then back out.
“I don’t think I can stay here anymore,” she says in rush.
William doesn’t reply right away, and Gigi knows he’s already planning on how to fix this, how to fix her. “I can fly down on Friday afternoon, if you’d like, to help you get your things together. I have a meeting at noon, but I can leave right after. Would that be alright?”
“I’d like that,” she says quietly, and honestly.
“Well, then, I suppose I will see you on Friday, Gigi. In the meantime, I’ll contact Pepperdine and your landlord, so don’t worry about any of that.”
“Thanks, William.”
“It’s my pleasure, Gigi,” he says, and she thinks she can hear his small smile. “I will talk to you later.”
“Wait, William!” she says quickly, before he ends the call.
“Yes, Gigi?”
She takes a deep breath. “I love you too.”
Gigi can still remember every detail of that phone call, and how she and William put each other back together in the months that followed. She transferred to the Academy of Art University in the spring (it had been her second choice, only beat out by Pepperdine because of how much she wanted to get away from home in those days), and she started spending a lot of her free time at Pemberley. She and William would grab lunch and dinner together most days, sometimes joined by Fitz, or Bing and Caroline when they visited San Francisco.
In retrospect, Gigi thinks the whole incident with George might have been the best thing that could have happened to her relationship with William. After she moved back to San Francisco, they were finally able to see each other clearly, to get into each other’s heads and learn to understand, to relate.
That is, until the whole incident yesterday and their phone call from this morning. For the first time in months, Gigi cannot understand William’s thought process at all, doesn’t get why he’s so determined to keep her sheltered when they’d already seen what kind of trouble that could cause.
When she gets back to their condo that night, she calls William again. It rings once, twice, three times, and Gigi’s sure he’s going to ignore her call. She’s just about to hang up and hurl her phone across the room when he answers.
“This is William Darcy,” he says curtly, so Gigi knows he must not have checked the caller ID before answering.
“Hello, William,” she says, using the same even, business-like tone. She’s decided that if she can hold back her anger, show him that she’s mature enough to handle this, maybe he’ll stop acting like such a jerk.
“Gigi,” he says, voice softening a bit, but cautiously, as though he knows what she wants to ask him.
“What’s all this really about, William?”
“I don’t know what—” he starts, but Gigi can hear the threatening edge in his voice, his subtle hint that she shouldn’t be asking that question.
“Please don’t lie to me,” she interrupts. “I thought we learned our lesson last time: no more secrets, remember?”
“Gigi…” he pleads quietly.
“William, I think I know what you’ve been keeping from me, and I just want you to tell me the truth.”
After filming the demo, Gigi hardly paid attention to any other her other projects for the rest of the day, and, when she went to her tennis lesson, she was so off, Coach Annesley had to send her home early.
Her mind just hasn't been able to shut off all day, won't stop trying to figure out why her brother has, once again, turned into a controlling, overbearing misogynist. Because, honestly, William isn’t the same man he used to be. Their parents’ deaths changed him, George’s betrayal altered him even more, and he’s never been quite the same since Lizzie Bennet broke his heart. Gigi knows that he wouldn’t do this to her, not the new William that she’s been learning about for the past year.
Sometime after lunch, an idea entered her head, and she hadn’t been able to shake it since. It started as a tiny inkling of thought—accompanied by just a tinge of nausea—but it quickly grew into suspicion. When her first thought is he wouldn’t (the same thought she’d had when William offered him that check all those months ago), she’s almost certain that she’s right.
When William still hesitates on his end of the line, Gigi decides she just needs to say it. “He made a tape of me too, didn’t he?”
William’s sharp intake of breath is all the answer she needs.
She’s been pacing around William’s study, but all the sudden she collapses at his desk, the energy gone out of her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she whispers fiercely, but she’s more hurt than she is angry.
“Because he never finished it,” William finally says. “I was—I caught on just in time.”
The meaning of those last words strikes her; he caught on just in time. The night he walked in on them, so full of fury and coldness. The night George had cooked her a romantic dinner and lit candles all around their bedroom.
The feeling of nausea that comes over her is so strong, she has to bend over and put her head between her knees.
Her breath is coming in sharp gasps, but she manages to ask: “How did you know?”
If William can hear her uneven breathing, he doesn’t comment. “He texted me that morning, and told me if I didn’t pay, the reputation of my family and company would be inalterably damaged. He said…”
Gigi sits back up, forcing herself to breath normally. “Please, go on,” she says when William pauses.
“He said the entire internet would find out just how much of a woman you had become.”
Gigi flinches at this, but anger finally finds its way into her body. It turns the ache in her gut to steel, to resolve.
“So, you hopped on a plane and flew to Malibu.”
“Yes,” he confirms. “I thought that the tape was already made, and I had no other thought then except getting him away from you. But, I walked in, and I saw…”
“You saw us,” she finishes for him. “And you knew that you weren’t too late. So you paid him to leave right away. That way he couldn’t—”
“He couldn’t finish what he started, yes,” he concludes. “And then, seeing how furious you were, and how heartbroken, I just couldn’t make myself tell you. I wasn’t sure how you’d take it—if you would even believe me—so I convinced myself that you didn’t need to know. He hadn’t finished the tape, so I thought there was no harm done. Well, almost no harm done.”
“And that’s why you told me to stay away this morning. So I wouldn’t find out.”
“Yes,” he confirms. “Perhaps it was cruel, even foolish of me, but I didn’t think I could handle seeing you heart broken again. Not over him.”
Gigi can hear the fresh pain in his voice, and she knows this isn’t entirely about her own feelings. “And not when you already had to watch Lizzie leave Pemberley.”
“That too,” he says quietly.
“William,” she says gently, “you don’t have to do this all by yourself, you know?”
She can practically hear his jaw setting over the phone. “Yes, I do,” he says firmly. “This is completely my own fault, after all.”
“How in the world is this your fault? This is all on him, William, not you.”
“I could have pressed charges last year, if I had wanted to,” he argues, “I could have stopped George from ever hurting anyone again. But, I didn’t. I suppose I wanted to protect you, but I think part of me also didn’t want to see George ruined over this. I—I tried to do what Dad would have done, but I can see now that I made the wrong decision. If I had contacted the authorities or done anything other then pay him off, maybe—”
“William, stop,” she says forcefully, interrupting his tirade. “How could you have seen this coming? How could you have known he’d meet the Bennets?”
“That’s it though, Gigi,” he says quietly. “This isn’t just about Lydia, and it’s not even about Lizzie. George could have decided to prey on anyone, and by not acting when I should have, I would have—albeit inadvertently—let it happen.”
This quiets Gigi, because he’s right.
“What’s worse,” William continues, “is a year ago, I might not have cared. Why should it affect me if someone outside our circle was hurting? But, Gigi, I don’t want to be that kind of man anymore. That’s why I need to stop George. This isn’t just for you or Lizzie or Lydia, but for any girl he might hurt in the future.”
“I—you’re right, William, this is bigger than me,” she admits, “But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you.”
“I don’t want you to think I’m trying to control you, Gigi,” he starts, tentatively, “you’ve grown into a mature, loving, and sometimes meddlesome woman, and I respect that you can take care of yourself now.”
This brings a smile to Gigi’s face. It’s rare to get praise from William.
“And you’ve grown into a good man, William. Mom and Dad would be proud.”
He doesn’t reply right away. If William isn’t very good at handing out compliments, he’s even worse at receiving them. It makes Gigi laugh and want to tease.
“But the whole calling me weak thing on the demo this morning? Not cool, big brother,” she points out. “That’s something snobby, douchey Darcy would say.”
Gigi’s reference to Lizzie’s videos elicits a low laugh from William, and it’s this—his ability to laugh at himself—that reminds her just how much he’s changed.
“Point taken,” he says.
“And, look,” she continues, not wanting the drop the conversation yet, “I know you’re worried about my heart getting broken again, but I think my heart’s safe now. But, even if it weren’t, it’s up to me to decide who to give it to. I thought you’d learned that lesson this year, too.”
“I have. Believe me,” he says meaningfully, and she knows he’s thinking about Bing and Jane. “That’s next on my list.”
“So, you’re still intent on getting involved? And you call me meddlesome?”
“I’m not getting involved, per se, I’m just righting some wrongs.”
“Whatever you say, William,” she says, glad he can’t see her rolling her eyes over the phone. “So, are you going to accept my help, or are you going to be stubborn about this?”
“What do you think?”
“Stubborn, it is,” she sighs. “Oh, well. At least there are some parts of your life you can’t stop me from interfering in.”
“Gigi,” he warns, easily catching onto her meaning, “please leave it alone. Besides, I don’t expect we’ll ever see her again.”
Gigi laughs loudly. For someone so incredibly intelligent, so good at predicting outcomes and planning for the future, William sure can be dumb sometimes. Absolutely, utterly clueless.
“We’ll see, William,” she says, knowingly. “We’ll see.”
When she crawls into bed that night, she lets the knowledge of what George did roll over her. She felt sick to her stomach earlier, and that later turned into righteous anger, but now she finds not much else inside her heart. Perhaps she was telling the truth when she told William she was safe.
It strikes her then, that she really doesn’t love him anymore.
For so long, she’d held onto her pain—her hurt over losing him, her hurt over finding he was never hers to lose—and she’d never realized that she was holding onto it like a crutch that she didn’t even need anymore.
But sometime in the past few months, without even realizing it, she had let go. Let him go.
So, she falls asleep without regret over what she’d done, because, after all, it led her to the present. It brought her and her infuriatingly stubborn (and sometimes amazing) brother together. And for her, for today, that’s enough.