Chapter Text
February 2014
A winter drizzle had just begun to fall over South of Market when Lizzie walked through the sliding doors off Mission Street. It was 10:00 AM on a long, hectic day of deadlines and business meetings, but she still felt her mood shift the moment she stepped inside - trivial annoyances giving way to the quiet reflection of Darcy Memorial Hall.
Tugging her scarf loose around her neck, she crossed the airy, high-ceilinged foyer to a minimalist fountain cascading over stone. No-one else was there, aside from the usual handful of visitors and employees passing through. She wandered a few steps along the water’s edge to gaze at the large portrait hanging on the wall above her.
The late Anne F. Darcy gazed back with a subtle confidence that always made Lizzie stand a bit straighter than usual. With her delicate features and sleek dark hair, she looked very much like her daughter, Georgiana; but her posture and expression were exactly like her son’s. Everything about her said “East Coast upper class”: reputable family, private school education, probably an advanced degree from a Seven Sisters college.
She was a surprising match for the broad-shouldered man standing behind her: William S. Darcy, every inch the California television producer with his shirtsleeves and hearty, suntanned face. He was wearing a tie and suspenders – a loud tie and wide suspenders, but it still made Lizzie smile. He looked like someone who laughed a lot, someone with big risky ideas. Anne’s family must have found him shocking. That made Lizzie smile too.
Lost in thought, she didn’t realize her own William Darcy had arrived until he spoke her name from three feet away. “Yes! Hi. Sorry,” she said, managing not to jump. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Only a moment,” he said. He kept a professional distance, hands folded in front of him; but his eyes smiled at her fondly. “Busy morning?”
“Ridiculous morning. I can only stay for 20 minutes.”
He nodded and ushered her toward the modern art gallery with a light touch on her arm. As they left the fountain, Lizzie saw him glance up at his parents' portrait with an expression she was beginning to recognize, one that made her heart feel heavy and warm. It was still new, this habit of stealing random half-hours to walk through the collections and gardens with him. She knew it meant something but wasn’t in a hurry to name it.
When she spoke, her voice was teasing. “So it looks like my views are above 100,000 for the third straight week. I do believe you owe me dinner.”
He scoffed in mock-irritation. Two months ago he had dared Lizzie to discuss Russian literature in her videos (because it was Their Thing (they had a lot of Things)) without her viewers losing interest. She accepted the challenge with aplomb, incorporating six new costumes, comparisons to George Eliot and Gustave Flaubert, a heartfelt monologue on slut-shaming and a truly terrible Russian accent. “Next week we discuss Marxism,” she drawled her latest upload; “but in Tsarist Russia, Marxism discusses you.”
Darcy was delighted with the results – not that he was going to admit it. “I still think Anna Karenina was too easy after that gaudy film adaptation you loved so much. Perhaps I should take Keira Knightley to dinner instead.”
“Fine,” Lizzie said. “I love Keira Knightley, you can introduce me.”
He chuckled. “Very well. While we’re on the topic, what are your plans for lunch?”
“Catching up with my investors, I’m afraid.” She sighed as she smoothed a lock of hair back into its businesslike knot. “I figured I’d better give them some extra attention before they switch any more funding over to you guys.”
She was aiming for lighthearted, but judging by the crease of his brow she missed by several yards. “I heard about that,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry, it’s only business.” She smiled at him and absolutely did not think about stakeholders and lease payments and rapidly dwindling seed money. “How’s your presentation shaping up for next week?”
“Chaotically, which seems appropriate.” Pemberley was hosting a panel discussion about the commercial release of the Domino app. He and his sister would both be speaking. “My contribution was ready on Monday, but Gigi…”
“… works at her own pace, you know that. Don’t micromanage. I’m sure she’ll nail it.”
“Yes, I know.” He accepted the reminder with a rueful shake of the head. “I started assisting her with her homework nine years ago and now I find it a difficult habit to break.”
Again, that warm, heavy feeling; but Lizzie only brushed his wrist with the backs of her fingers and said, “She must have been a handful.”
“Oh, she was quite terrifying. Were it not for Fitz and Caroline...” He trailed off and cleared his throat, while Lizzie was suddenly fascinated by the nearest abstract painting. “Well, you’re right,” he said briskly. “Gigi has always been more natural at public speaking than I.”
They walked for a moment in silence. Lizzie glanced at her phone and saw she only had ten minutes left. Darcy must have noticed too, because he moved them to a slightly faster pace. “I was wondering if you found the time to consider my invitation.”
Lizzie made a face. “Ugh, I was afraid you’d say that.” Following the Domino panel, Catherine de Bourgh was throwing a high-publicity cocktail party for 300 of her dearest friends at a swanky restaurant overlooking the Yerba Buena Gardens – otherwise known as William Darcy’s worst nightmare. “You’re the CEO, for crying out loud. Can’t you make up an excuse?”
“I’ve tried. Aunt Catherine is relentless.”
“So get Fitz to hang out with you.”
Darcy sighed. “He said he has a business trip – a very convenient, very amusing business trip.”
“Well, I can’t exactly walk in there on your arm, can I?”
They had reached an obscure exhibition of sculptures that was usually empty at this time of day. Darcy checked that the coast was clear before sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her close. “Just make an appearance,” he murmured. “It will give me something to look forward to.”
Lizzie shoved playfully at his shoulders. “You can’t kiss your way out of this one. I told you Lydia’s in town that weekend.”
“She can accompany you, if you like.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Wow. You are really desperate, aren’t you?”
“Lizzie.” He lowered his head until his lips brushed her ear. “I will get on my knees if I have to.”
Laughing, she squirmed free and gave him a peck on the cheek. “I need to think about it.”