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They’ve done this routine enough times, they have learned what works and how to be efficient. In the almost-a-year that they have been a couple, there have been several galas and dinner dances and other formal affairs, and, without fail, he always takes longer than her to get ready.
It doesn’t make sense really – Lizzie has to style her hair, put on her make-up, and jewelry, and squeeze herself into a torturous contraption that some designer has dubbed a gown. William simply has to get dressed (granted, there are many steps to his formal attire) and make sure that his hair is combed.
Tonight, after an hour of texting back-and-forth, Lizzie gets frustrated because she is slipping her feet into her shoes, and he is barely out of the shower. Even though he plans to pick her up at her condo, she messages him – I’ll be there in 10 - and drives herself to his place.
She walks into his bedroom, and hears him rummaging around in his absurdly large closet as she tosses her clutch onto his bed. “I’m here! You have 15 minutes before we HAVE to leave!”
He steps out to greet her, shirt on but untucked, pants on but unbuttoned and loose around his waist, socks on but no shoes. He is fiddling with his cufflinks as he walks up to her.
“Whhhhyyyyy aren’t you dressed yet?” she whines as he approaches.
“I am dressed, mostly. I just need to – ” he glances up from his wrist, and halts. “Hey. You… wow.”
He adores her in blue, and tonight she is wearing a rich cobalt that will bring out the color of his eyes when she is perched on his arm. Her hair is swept up, with a cascade of curls tumbling down over her left shoulder. He slowly scans her from head to toe and back up again, and she almost laughs when he licks his lips. He zeroes in on her exposed neck, and takes a step closer.
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” she admonishes as he looks up with a frown. “This,” she gestures to her face and hair, “is a precarious balance. I can’t allow you to destroy it before we even get to the gala.”
“Fine,” he smirks. “I’ll be good now, but promise that I can muss you up later?” He sidles up to her, as close as he can get without touching, and leans down so that she can feel his voice tremble against her ear. “Promise me that I’ll have hairpins on my floor and lipstick on my pillowcases tomorrow morning?”
Lizzie shudders, wants to tug him close, but instead pushes him away. “William, stop! Go and – get yourself dressed, rather than trying to undress me!”
He backs away, grinning cheekily. “Really, you look phenomenal,” he tells her as he darts back into his closet.
“Thank you. And I look forward to saying the same to you. If you would ever GET DRESSED, that is.”
“I can’t really help it, that you are so amazing and can put yourself together so perfectly in an hour. Most of us take many hours just to make ourselves appear decent... enough,” he adds.
Lizzie has plopped herself down on the end of his bed, and she rolls her eyes at his attempt at a joke. “Quit flattering me and FOCUS! For crying out loud, William Darcy, you can be so frustrating!”
“I’m almost ready! Two more minutes; time me,” he challenges.
“Two minutes, then, or I swear, Honey, I will walk out and leave you to drive your own dawdling ass to the museum,” she spits out, and then freezes as she hears him go still inside the closet.
He silently leans out of his open closet door. “Did you just ‘Honey’ me?”
Lizzie grimaces. “Yeee-ah. Yeah, I think I did. And that just felt really… odd. I don’t know why that happened. It wasn’t intentional…”
He is laughing outright at her puzzled, apologetic expression. “No, it’s fine. Call me whatever you like – as long as it is not ‘Newsie’ or ‘DarcyBot.’” He raises his eyebrow at her, and she chuckles back at him.
“Don’t expect it again. It doesn’t seem to fit.”
He ducks into his closet, but calls out, “Oh, now I think I’m hurt. ‘Honey’ doesn’t fit me? Am I not your Honey, Darling?”
“Stop. You know what I mean! Sappy nicknames just don’t seem to suit us.”
“I beg to differ!” William retorts as he steps out of his closet, fully attired. “Why shouldn’t we use terms of affection with each other? Are we not affectionate? Are we not loving and romantic, Sweetheart?” he asks, and he holds his arm out to help her up from the bed.
Lizzie links her arm with his as they walk through his condo towards the garage. “Yes, we are… but, ugh! Pet names? I’m almost 26 years old, I feel too mature to use simpering, cutesy nicknames for my boyfriend. We have names for a reason, you know?”
“No, no, I think I like this suggestion of yours. Why shouldn’t we be ‘cutesy?’ I am older than you, but I see nothing wrong with two loving, committed individuals being a bit sentimental, Baby.”
“’Baby?’ Don’t even! That’s by far the worst. Pet names just make me feel like I’m back in junior high.”
“Oh, Muffin, don’t talk like that! I think you are sweet as candy, Sugar.” He can’t help but snicker as he says the last line.
Lizzie glares at him, “William. I’m beginning to regret ever introducing you to my father. You’ve had a few too many lessons in ‘How to Tease Like a Bennet.’”
Three hours later, William is all seriousness as he mingles with two of his biggest investors, but greets Lizzie with a smile and an outstretched hand when she approaches. He introduces her proudly, only to discover that one of his financiers also invests in her business, and the other is interested in doing so as well. William wants her to have the opportunity to talk business with the investors – without her proud boyfriend hovering over – so he politely excuses himself from their circle with the pretense of needing to track down his Aunt Catherine.
Just as he steps away, Lizzie calls out, “I believe you owe me at least one dance, Tiger.”
He stumbles, glances back towards her; he wants to toss out a witty reply, but cannot say what he desires in front of the genial tycoons at Lizzie’s side. He settles for a narrowing of his eyes and a quick nod as he turns and saunters away.
The party is winding down by the time they make their way back to one another. The band has announced that the dance floor will close in ten minutes, as he comes up behind her and puts his hand on her bare shoulder. “Shall we?”
He pulls her closer than he would normally in public, closer than he would have two hours previous, closer than he would have three glasses of champagne ago. He tucks her up tight against him, and bows his head next to hers. “That was a low blow, Bennet.”
“Whatever do you mean?” she asks against his shoulder.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Do I? Tiger?”
His “Mmm” of response is almost a moan, and she chuckles softly against him.
“I had to get you back for earlier. You were owed.”
“Perhaps. But calling me… that… in public? Not a fair fight, Lizzie.”
His petulance causes her to laugh aloud. “You know, I could always just go back to calling you Darcy.”
“Hmmm.” He kisses her on the top of her head. “Or… I could call you Darcy.”
He spins her gently before she leans back and looks up at him.
“William, was that a proposal? Because, if so, it was pitiful. I would have to say ‘no’ simply on matter of principle. I DO have standards.”
He tightens his hold around her, brings her back to him, “So, if it was less pitiful, your reply would not be ‘no?’”
“You’re cheating, do you know that? And I am not going to fall for it, Honey.” Lizzie slides her arms under his jacket. “I think that it would take a grand gesture for you to find out my answer.”
William rests his chin on top of her head. “Fine, I’ll just store that bit of advice away in my head for future reference… Baby.”
He beams with joy, with peace, and with relief, because, in his head, her teasing words have given him permission to start building the grand gesture around the ring that he retrieved from his safe deposit box last month.