The Muse

by Jessi

Chapters 26-28

Chapter 26

Elizabeth thundered up the block with Catherine Borough's voice booming in her head. Frankly, I find you vulgar... You've gotten him fired...You're no more than a common prostitute.

“Dumb bitch!” Elizabeth cursed. She had never felt so assaulted, so insulted. Anything William, or even Caroline, had ever said or done to her paled in comparison to this tirade. Sleeping with William Darcy so that Elizabeth could get a better part? The irony was that she had slept with him, wished she'd never done it, and then had herself made an outcast for it. Sleeping with William Darcy to get her sister a better part? The greater irony was that Jane now had a better part, and Elizabeth wanted to wring her neck for it. She should have told Catherine that! The old hag would have choked on her Virginia Slim.

And William fired from BTNY? That was simple insanity. Everyone in the company knew Darcy was the golden goose; Lucas would never fire him. Truly, Catherine Boroughs must have been suffering from a mental disorder—schizophrenia perhaps, or drug abuse. Any other way of looking at the situation turned slapstick in its absurdity.

Suddenly, Elizabeth felt very sorry for Anne. To live with such a woman! To have been raised by such a woman! It explained a lot in her friend's personality; one would have to become cold and detached to keep her sanity around such a mother—presumptuous, intrusive, bigoted bitch that she was.

But at least Elizabeth had stood up to her. She hadn't trembled in intimidation, or meekly protested her innocence. She had taken the flames from the dragon's mouth, and for that, she could be proud of herself. Not many corps de ballet dancers—hell, not many people—could say they had gone up against Big C and come away unscathed. Of course, Elizabeth could only wait for what professional consequences might come from this altercation. She would probably be fired, perhaps even blacklisted from other dance companies in New York. Elizabeth should have been quaking with fear and regret. Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but she couldn't find the fear. She had withstood Caroline Bingley and William Darcy. What was one more self-righteous millionaire to her?

That made Elizabeth smile—a genuine, satisfied smile—one that had recently been too infrequent a visitor to her face. Then, she chuckled to herself and balled her fists. She felt like punching the air around her like a triumphant boxer. She only needed an endless series of steps, and she probably would have dashed up them Rocky-style, raised her arms up to the sky, and then thrown air punches around her.

She would probably be fired tomorrow, cut off from the dance world before she had even plunged into it, but she had looked the grand dame of New York's art world in the face, laughed, thrown a few solid, sucker-punches, and come out, well, if not victorious, at least not knocked out. And there weren't many people, corps dancers or otherwise, who could say that.

**

Elizabeth went into work the next day expecting a summons from Sir William Lucas. It never came. Elizabeth was not fired that day, or the day after that. The remainder of the week passed by normally—classes, rehearsals, costume fittings. She went out to dinner with Anne and Mariah, and no mention was made of the spat with the older Boroughs. No one glanced at her strangely. She did not hear her name whispered in the halls. Even Caroline, normally foaming at the mouth, ready to sink her teeth into Elizabeth, barely glanced at the corps girl.

The fall season premier was several weeks away, and after that, Nutcracker. In the halls and locker rooms of BTNY, dancers hummed with the same casting speculations as they always did. Rumor had it Louisa Hurst wouldn't be dancing Sugar Plum this year. Jane Bennet was pinned for Arabian. Everyone wondered if Caroline would be healthy enough after the “injury” that had kept her from dancing in the fall season.

Once Elizabeth had gone on tour, the company forgot about her. She came to class, fell in line in rehearsals, and went back to the locker room to change, free of stares and whispers. The rumor mill churned out new gossip every day, but nobody talked about Elizabeth Bennet very much at all, and this, she realized, was exactly the way she preferred it.

**
Elizabeth trudged downstairs with Jane and Charlotte following behind her.

“Ow, ow, ow,” chanted Charlotte, as she descended each step.

“What's wrong?” asked Jane.

“I have a blister the size of Wyoming on my big toe.”

“I've become desensitized to those by now,” remarked Elizabeth. “They have to be the size of China to get any attention from me.”

“I have sensitive toes,” Charlotte pouted.

The trio undid their pointe shoes and threw on their street clothes. They had decided to go buy their lunch at the deli down the block. Elizabeth took just enough money for a turkey sandwich and a juice. Since starting Pilates, she had been forced to cut back on her outings to the deli and Starbucks. Today's lunch would be a treat, and she intended to enjoy her hefty turkey sandwich to the fullest.

Charlotte, Jane, and Elizabeth chattered on the way out of the studio about the impossible series of jumps the ballet mistress had taught that day. They ordered their sandwiches in the deli and headed back to the studio. On the way, Charlotte turned to Jane, eyes dancing with curiosity.

“So, Jane, I'm just dying to know...what are Mr. Darcy's rehearsals like, now that he's gotten the pole out of his ass?”

Elizabeth turned her eyes down to the sidewalk upon the mention of his name, feeling her insides begin to churn with envy. She tried to avoid the topic of Mr. Darcy's new piece. After nearly a month back in New York City, it still stung, and the pain made her turn on Jane.

Jane laughed. “He never had a pole up his ass, Charlotte!”

“Okay, whatever. Since he started smiling. What are they like? Come on, Lizzy and I want to know.”

Elizabeth smiled stiffly. She really didn't want to know.

“They're just normal,” said Jane. “He teaches the steps, we dance them. Same as his last piece.”

“Oh,” Charlotte sighed, with a hint of disappointment in her voice. “So what's the piece like?”

“Um, slow-ish. Kind of different than his last piece, I guess.”

“You guess?” repeated Charlotte.

“Actually, he hasn't let us hear the music yet.”

“Huh?”

“He says he wants us to know the dance in our bodies before he lets us dance with the music. He says the music will bias us.”

Elizabeth snorted. “That's so typical. So when is he going to let you hear it? The day before the show?”

Jane licked her lips nervously, jarred by Elizabeth's sudden mood swing. “Well, I'm not sure really. Maybe when he's finished choreographing the piece. On Tuesday, he mentioned that it might be soon.”

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth muttered inexplicably under her breath. Charlotte and Jane shared a knowing look and returned small shrugs. Jane glanced to her sister uncomfortably, puzzled and hurt by Elizabeth's defensiveness as of late. She saw a bone in Elizabeth's jaw shift as she stared stonily ahead. They reached the steps up to the doorway.

“I'm going to sit outside for a while,” announced Elizabeth. “Enjoy some of this cool weather.”

“Okay. Want company?” asked Jane.

Elizabeth shook her head. “That's okay. You and Charlotte go inside.” She sat with an air of finality. Waiting for a helpless second, Jane looked at Charlotte, and then the two went inside.

“I don't understand her,” said Jane. “She's been like this since she got back from tour.”

“Did anything happen while she was away? Did she say?”

“I don't know. We barely talk anymore. She's never home, and when she is, she just stays in her room.”

Charlotte frowned. “Maybe she feels there's a reason she can't open up to you.”

“We tell each other everything, though. I just don't understand.”

They trekked upstairs to eat lunch in the hallway outside of the studios. Sitting in an unoccupied corner, they unwrapped their sandwiches and continued the conversation.

“Jane, do you think...,” Charlotte hesitated, “there's a reason she isn't confiding in you?”

“What kind of reason?”

Charlotte sighed. “Do you think she's jealous of you?”

“No. No way.” Jane stared at Charlotte as if she were crazy.

“Think about it. You got promoted. You got a prime role is Darcy's piece. She might be jealous of you.”

“No, Charlotte. She's not. This isn't the first time I've gotten a better part than Lizzy. She's never gotten jealous before.”

“Okay, but what if it didn't have to do with dancing?”

Jane stared at her friend suspiciously. Charlotte took a sip of her soda and lowered her voice.

“Do you think it might have to do with Mr. Darcy?”

“What about Mr. Darcy?”

Charlotte shrugged. “Oh, I don't know. A while back, I heard some rumors that...”

“You shouldn't trust rumors,” warned Jane.

Charlotte sighed. Here it was again, that instinctive Bennet urge to protect the other members of the clan. Smiling in resignation, she took another sip of soda.

“Yeah, I know. Lizzy's just in a funk.”

Jane nodded, but her expression wasn't convinced. However, she didn't have much time to ponder the issue, as her thoughts were interrupted by an excited cry from down the hall.

“Hey! Nutcracker casting's up!”

**
Elizabeth pushed herself off from the steps and took a deep breath before entering the building. The lobby was quiet. Before turning up into the stairwell, she glanced over her shoulder at the poster of William Darcy in La Bayadere. She shook her head and shuffled down the stairs to the locker room.

As she pulled open the door, two fellow company members were on their way out. They smiled at her. One patted her shoulder.

“Nice one, Liz,” she said, before continuing past her up the stairs.

Elizabeth frowned in confusion. Afternoon rehearsals were about to begin, but there were few dancers left in the locker rooms. Quickly shucking out of her street clothes, she grabbed her pointe shoes, warmers, and water bottle. Another late dancer ran out from the bathroom, smiled at her, and called out, “Congrats!” before streaking out of the room, so as not to be late.

Elizabeth's heart began beating an allegro rhythm. Something was up. She walked slowly from the dressing room and into the hall. No one was around. Checking the clock, she wondered where everyone was. Rehearsal would start soon, but usually dancers were still milling about at this time.

Just then, Anne Boroughs ambled down the stairs and stopped when she spied Elizabeth.

“Hey,” she said, smiling uncharacteristically, “I bet you feel like a million bucks.”

“Uh, no,” Elizabeth replied, “I feel like crap, and I want to know why everyone keeps smiling at me.”

“They're just being nice, Elizabeth. Would you rather they take a crowbar to your kneecaps?”

“Huh?”

“Huh? Have you even seen the board?”

“No.”

“Nutcracker casting is up.”

Suddenly, Elizabeth understood. Her eyes widened, and she straightened her spine as if a bolt of electricity had just coursed through her. Without a word of good-bye, she pushed past Anne and took the stairs two at a time. Anne watched her go with a smile and shake of the head.

Elizabeth saw a small crowd gathered in front of the company message board. Her heartbeat felt heavy in her throat as she approached, at once excited and terrified. She began scanning the list from the bottom up, as had become her habit to avoid disappointment.

She found her name towards the bottom of the page, in a cluster of corps dancers' names, for Waltz of the Flowers. She had also been chosen to understudy the Dance of the Reed Pipes. Elizabeth smiled; she had not even been in Act Two the year before. She looked further up and found her name under Waltz of the Snowflakes. As she suspected. Maybe a little better. Certainly no reason for all manner of felicitations to be spouted her way. About to turn away from the board, she gasped in surprise when Lydia catapulted onto her and nearly broke her neck in a huge hug.

“You fucking rock!” she cried.

“Thanks,” Elizabeth sputtered. “You're fucking choking me.”

“Sorry.” Lydia giggled, releasing her. “So, how many times did you have to blow Lucas to get that part?”

Elizabeth guffawed. “First, that's just sick. Second, fuck you. And third, you're in the same dances as me.”

Raising an eyebrow, Lydia looked at Elizabeth strangely. She pointed at the list. “Why don't you take another look, Lizzy.”

Rolling her eyes, Elizabeth turned around and skimmed the list again. She ran her index finger up the list of names for Waltz of the Flowers. She saw herself and nodded. Continuing upwards, she saw that her sister had been cast in the Dance of the Reed Pipes, as well, and as understudy for the Arabian pas de deux. Caroline's name was listed under Sugar Plum Fairy, along with two other principals. Elizabeth's finger continued the journey upwards to the cast list for Act One. The list for Waltz of the Snowflakes took up an entire page in itself. Elizabeth found herself and nodded again. Finally, simply to be thorough, she looked upward to the cast for the opening Christmas party scene, comprised of mostly children and retired dancers playing party revelers.

And then her finger stopped.

“You're kidding,” she exhaled.

But there it was, in that staid, Times New Roman font, the one she had always hated. Her name written under the heading “Doll,” a one-minute soloist role danced early in the first act. Elizabeth gawked in disbelief and whirled around to stare at Lydia, who simply stared back smugly. Turning around, Elizabeth looked again, studying the words “Elizabeth Bennet.”

And then, she smiled. She shouldn't have, but she did anyway. Elizabeth felt everything in her body turn warm and light. Jane had also been chosen to dance the role, most likely in a different cast, because it was a part for one. Nevertheless, Elizabeth grinned and then laughed in disbelieving bliss. It was a fluke, alphabetical serendipity, but there it was. In spite of rank or experience, for the first time ever on any cast list, it was the name of Elizabeth Bennet which came before that of her sister, Jane.

**
After the last of the company had gone home, William meandered up the stairs and down the hall to studio B, his favorite—the one with no windows. The last minute of his piece was giving him trouble, and he needed to put in the overtime to tweak a few transitions and phrasings. Not exactly the way he wanted to spend his evening, but the piece needed to be finished.

Everything had begun so well. After Miami, he had raced back to New York City and choreographed the first two minutes of the six minute work in an evening. And then, his inspiration slowed, drying up to the caked, cracking desert where he was now wandering blind. William regretted his decision. At the time, the choreography had seemed so fresh, completely opposite to anything he had ever created. He had made the decision during a fit of creativity; everything, all six minutes of his piece, had seemed so clear to him then. What had happened?

In any case, he would have to struggle through the last minute of the song. Tonight, he decided, if the dance still didn't work, he would change the music to something he was more comfortable with, simply to get the damn piece done. Fortunately, he hadn't let the dancers hear his selection yet, covering for his cowardice with an excuse about “feeling the dance in their bodies.” If he did decide the song wouldn't work, at least he could still save face.

As William crossed the empty hallway, he heard the clod of pointe shoes break the silence. Someone was in his studio. Frowning, he checked his watch. It was half past five, late, but not late enough that all of the dancers would have gone home. William approached the door to Studio B and peered through the thin strip of window on the door. His stomach lurched.

Inside was Elizabeth, slowly marking through a series of steps and turns. Her legs walked through the dance, but her arms and face performed full-out. He noticed her fingers closed stiffly, her arms rigid as she danced. It was the characteristic posture for the Doll variation in the first act of Nutcracker. William smiled, feeling a warm pride tingle through him. He could claim no credit for Elizabeth's getting that role, but it satisfied him nonetheless. Now that she was more conscious of her dancing, it showed to everyone, ballet mistresses and artistic directors alike. William and Lucas still weren't speaking, but he heard enough from Charles to know the old man was impressed.

He could have watched longer, but his CD was inside, and he would have to interrupt her to retrieve it. Knocking softly, he pushed open the door and was met with her surprised countenance, which quickly morphed to embarrassment.

“Sorry,” he said, “I just need to grab my music.”

“Oh, no, that's okay,” she replied, as he walked in the studio. “I'll be out of here in a few seconds.”

“No, stay. I can work in another studio.”

“Really, it's fine. I've been in these shoes too long anyway. My toes are killing me.”

William looked at her, and then chuckled. Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows. “What?”

“We've made a real 180, haven't we?”

“What do you mean?”

“Arguing over who can be more courteous to the other.”

While he'd meant it as a joke, Elizabeth's face fell palpably. She recovered with a weak smile and then turned and shuffled towards the side of the studio to grab her water. Feeling awkward, William tried to bring back a lighter atmosphere.

“Congratulations, by the way.”

She took a long sip of water and then smiled. “Thanks. I don't know what Lucas was thinking, though. I'm not up for this role.”

“He wouldn't have cast you if he didn't think you could dance it.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “I can't get any of the turns when my arms have to be as stiff as poles the whole time.”

“You don't turn with your arms.”

“I know,” Elizabeth said, with a lopsided smile, “but I cheat. I can't help it.”

William considered her words with a smile of his own. “How's the ankle?”

“Better. The Pilates is really helping, I think.”

“Good, then you should be able to plié more. That should get you around for the turns.”

Elizabeth grinned. “You and your pliés.”

“It's all in your supporting leg.”

Placing her water down on the floor, Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. “Let's see about that.” She walked to the center of the room and picked up dancing from the middle of the variation. Preparing for the series of turns that ended the solo, she called out, “Okay, here's your plié.”

William smiled and rolled his eyes, but then watched in self-satisfaction as Elizabeth landed each turn crisply. She seemed surprised herself. After the series finished, she looked at him in mirror and grinned.

“See? I told you. It's all about the plié. And the supporting leg,” she joked.

“Ah, now I get it.” He returned her quip with equal ease.

“You should listen to me more often, William.”

He raised his lips in a soft smile of acknowledgment. “I've already figured that out.”

Blinking twice, Elizabeth stared at him, searching him, and he willed his expression to open to her, so that she would find whatever she was looking for. She returned his smile.

“So,” she began, “when are you starting this company of yours?”

Disappointment bit at him. He didn't like that she had steered their conversation away from where he wanted it to go. “Well, I have to finish out my contract here. Then I'm thinking about going down to Miami for a few months, to spend some time with G. Maybe I'll hold auditions next spring.”

Elizabeth nodded. “That's...great. You must be excited.”

“I am.” He didn't sound convincing. Once again, Elizabeth grew quiet. He waited for her to speak. Moments later, she smiled and went back to retrieve her things.

“Well, we're going to miss you,” she said, flinging her towel over her shoulder. “Who else is going to scare us all into submission?”

William felt his heart crack. This was the part where Elizabeth was supposed to burst into tears, confess her love for him, and beg him not to go. Instead, she was once again teasing him at his expense. He couldn't return her jab this time. He merely shrugged.

When Elizabeth realized she would get no reaction from him, she sighed and chuckled once. “Okay, well, the studio's all yours.”

“Thanks. Sorry to interrupt you.”

Elizabeth waved his apology away and then left the studio with a soft good-bye. William listened to the sound of her retreating pointe shoes for as long as he could, and then closed the door, hollowed with solitude. Looking around him, he sighed, rubbed his eyes, and muttered a curse. Melancholy seeped through him like water through a bag of strong, dark tea.

His feelings from before paled in comparison to this powerful, coursing ache. If Elizabeth had been intriguing several months ago, as the surly, head-strong dancer in his piece, she was intoxicating now, as the bright, teasing woman. William stood in the center of the studio for several ageless minutes, regretting. Then, he decided no matter how big of an idiot he was, he would never finish his piece if he kept on with those thoughts. He paced to the stereo and turned on his music.

The slow piano introduction only served to heighten his melancholy. Staring at the wall, he let Billy Joel's song waft through him, thinking of how perfect everything had seemed when he'd heard it with her. Her suggestion had hit something in him, like a spark on gasoline. Everything about this song was Elizabeth.

Pacing to the middle of the room, William let the music take him. The steps came, finally. He only paused to scribble them down in his notebook. His movements were languid and blue. But, that was what he felt. Instead of fighting down his heartache, William let himself steep in it. Before, it had been lust. Now, it was sadness. But, both times, it was all because of Elizabeth.

When William next looked up at the clock, it read 9:23, and he had finally finished his piece.

**
“Okee dokee, ladies and gents. That's all for this week,” announced Sir William. “Have a lovely weekend, soak those feet, and we'll see you back here on Monday.”

The dancers offered light applause for the artistic director and then in a whirlwind of voices and laughter, gathered their things to leave.

“So, are we still on for tonight?” Charlotte asked Elizabeth, as she pulled off her leg warmers.

“What time?”

“The place opens at eight. Band starts at eight thirty.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Might as well. I'm not doing anything else tonight.”

“Gee, Lizzy, way to make a friend feel loved.”

“You know I love you, Charlotte.”

“Lyd, you coming?” Charlotte asked, turning to Lydia.

“You know I don't do bands.”

“Yes,” interjected Elizabeth, “Lydia doesn't listen to anything that doesn't have a synthesizer in it.”

Beaming because it was the truth, Lydia nodded. “I'm going to a rave in Jersey City.”

Charlotte wrinkled her nose. “Raves are so nineties.”

“I know. But the DJ's yummy.”

The trio gathered their things and walked to the door of the studio.

“Liz, does Jane want to come tonight?”<br />
“She can't. She's off to Charles' ranch upstate.”

Lydia sighed. “I wish I had a rich, cute boyfriend who owned real estate.”

“I'd settle for just a boyfriend,” Elizabeth said.

They left the studio behind and moseyed into the hall, where several other dancers lingered. As they neared Studio B, Lydia frowned and made a face.

“Ugh, I hate this song.”

Charlotte perked her ears up to listen. “What! I love this song! Just because it doesn't have a synthesizer.”

Laughing, Charlotte looked to Elizabeth to join in on the jibe, but the latter's face had gone completely still. Several company members were huddled around the narrow strip of window of the door to Studio B, gazing in to William Darcy's rehearsal, curious at his choice of music, at long last revealed. Elizabeth furrowed her eyebrows in concentration, blinking rapidly.

“Lizzy? You okay?” Charlotte asked.

“Hold on,” she said, “I want to see this.”

Pushing her way over to the door, Elizabeth rose onto the tips of her pointe shoes to glimpse into the studio over the heads of the dancers in front of her. Her heartbeat stilled.

Over the one-month course of William Darcy's rehearsals, Elizabeth had never wanted to look in. It stung too much, seeing her sister in the center of the studio, where she should have been. Unlike most of the company, Elizabeth absolutely did not care about his choreography. She didn't care about the mystery piece of music William had refused to let his dancers hear. She didn't care about any of it, because she cared too much. So, she had stayed away.

Now, as she stood on her toes, gaping as the dancers in his piece moved to “New York State of Mind,” the very song they had listened to that night in his BMW in Miami, Elizabeth felt like movement and even time had stopped. She watched as a group of dancers in the background of the piece moved inconspicuously like two crowds on opposing sides of the street, meeting in the middle.

...That feeling, when you're about to cross the street and there are a dozen people standing on your side, and a dozen on the other. That moment, when you meet in the middle of the pavement. That energy. That's New York to me...

Elizabeth swallowed hard, feeling her pulse pound in her throat, her fingertips, her chest. Aware that her fingers were trembling, she could do nothing to stop them. She simply watched. Jane spun in the fingers of her partner, extending a graceful leg, reaching for him, and then pulling away. Elizabeth bit her lip, suddenly understanding.

She had believed Catherine Boroughs insane, but, Elizabeth thought sardonically, the old biddy had been right.

Who convinced Darcy to go modern, who convinced him to cast your sister as the lead in his piece? You must have woven quite a potent spell over him, Miss Bennet.

In a surge of realization, like a light bulb exploding in its socket, Elizabeth understood now the desperation in Boroughs' voice during that tête-à-tête.

This piece, it wasn't about Jane, at all. It wasn't about a salary or a contractual requirement. William Darcy didn't do pop music. Elizabeth's jaw fell open as she saw Jane tumble gracefully to the floor and roll. William Darcy didn't do rolls. He didn't cast haphazardly. There was a reason why he had chosen Jane, and suddenly Elizabeth knew that the reason wasn't Jane. There was also a reason William had chosen this particular Billy Joel song, and that reason wasn't to experiment with contemporary dance.

Idiot, Elizabeth thought, cracking a crooked smile at her stupidity. As many times as she had read his letter, as well as she thought she had memorized it, how could she have forgotten that crucial line that came bubbling up in her memory now.

You won't believe this, but your dancing inspired my choreography like no one ever has. It was something mythical and special.

The reason, for everything, was her.

The song and William's rehearsal finished, and the curious group of dancers edged away from the door. Elizabeth remained, chewing on her lip, staring into the studio. The first dancer in William's piece flung open the door and exited with a tired sigh. The rest of the dancers followed. Elizabeth saw Jane approaching her, too, but she stared past her sister to the man in the center of the room, whose eyes had landed on hers as soon as the door had opened.

Elizabeth gazed at William, the length of a studio separating them. He looked to her openly, holding her eyes and refusing to look away. Still stunned by her revelation, Elizabeth could do nothing but blink in response. She couldn't even smile.

Jane reached Elizabeth at that moment. “Hey, Lizzy. Whatcha doing?”

Pulling her gaze away from William, she looked to Jane. “Nothing.”

“Ugh, I'm pooped!” Jane linked her arm in her sister's, and greeted Charlotte and Lydia, who stood further back against the wall.

“So, he finally revealed the music,” Charlotte said.

“Yeah, unexpected, isn't it?” answered Jane. “Ow, my legs are killing me.”

Perhaps the girls continued to talk— Elizabeth couldn't be sure. Her thoughts were stuck on the music, the dancing, the way William had stared at her, and the conclusion to which, Elizabeth was certain, they all pointed.

He still loved her.

Of course, if she thought rationally, Elizabeth might have concluded that he had just plagiarized a few of her ideas. Or, perhaps he needed a change from the stiff, classical stuff he always choreographed. But, in her gut, Elizabeth knew this was one of those times when reason seemed too outlandish to be possible. He still loved her, or at the very least, she could make him love her again.

The quartet had reached the stairwell, echoing with the laughter and chatter and footsteps of nearly a dozen dancers. Jane released Elizabeth's elbow, and they descended they stairs. With every step down, Elizabeth felt pulled further back.

No, she should wait, Elizabeth chastised herself. She should reserve the weekend to think, to strategize, to analyze this revelation more fully. It wouldn't be prudent to run back there and throw herself at him. That would be desperate. Yet, despite all of the protests of her brain, Elizabeth's body stopped half-way down the flight of stairs. Jane nearly crashed into her.

“Lizzy?”

Spinning around, Elizabeth grabbed the banister on the other side of the wall and strode up to the landing.

“I'll see you at home, Jane.” She was about to bolt up the next flight of steps when Jane called out to her.

“Lizzy!”

Elizabeth paused, holding up a line of dancers attempting to pass her on the way down.

“I'm not going to be here this weekend,” Jane said, exasperated that her sister had forgotten again, for nearly the third time since she had told her on Wednesday.

“Oh,” answered Elizabeth. If Jane expected an elaboration, she was to be sorely disappointed. Elizabeth merely turned on her heel and charged up the flight of stairs.

“That girl forgets her water bottle more than she remembers it,” said Lydia, shaking her head.

“She forgets everything lately,” grumbled Jane.

“Well, she'd better not forget that she promised to go see this band with me tonight,” Charlotte added.

Unfortunately for Charlotte, Elizabeth had completely forgotten.

Chapter 27

After the last of the dancers had left and the halls quieted, William paced to the chair at the front of the studio. He sighed into it and cast his head back against the mirror, closing his eyes and simply breathing, simply trying to calm his chest after that look.

Remembering Elizabeth's face, his heart began beating furiously again, strangely excited and fearful at the same time. She had seemed astonished, yet she had seemed to know. William had seen the understanding dawn in her eyes. Everything about her had been calm, except for the thoughts mirroring themselves in those wide, hazel eyes. Her surprise surprised him. How could she not know his feelings? And yet, if there was one thing at which the two of them excelled, it was misunderstanding the other.

The sound of vigorous footsteps broke his reverie. Opening his eyes, William sat up straight in the chair when he saw Elizabeth standing at the threshold of the studio, clutching the door frame. Her chest moved in a light pant, and she had a curious half-smile on her face.

“Hey,” he said, in a trite greeting to cover a surge of nervousness.

“Hi,” she said, slowly and brightly. She stayed there, saying nothing else. William licked his lips and waited for her to continue. She wore the look of someone wanting to say something, and William's heart jumped at the thought of what it might be.

“Are you finished for today?”

He shook his head and stood. “I still need to smooth a few things out in the pas de deux.”

“Oh.” Elizabeth wrinkled her forehead and looked down to the floor. Her breathing still came rapidly. Then, she raised her eyes, leaned into her hip awkwardly, and cocked her head to the side. “Can I help?”

William did not answer, wondering if he'd heard correctly.

“I mean...I know I'm not in the piece, but...”

“Sure,” he answered.

When she closed the door to the studio softly behind her, William's face went molten, and his heart rocketed to his throat. He turned sharply away, walking to the stereo.

“I like your choice of music,” commented Elizabeth. He couldn't see her face, but he heard the lightness in her voice.

He attempted to answer calmly. “You're about the only one.”

“Am I?”

“Lucas detests it, and I haven't heard the end of it from Charles.”

Elizabeth laughed. “I thought Charles liked whatever you did.”

“No. Actually, it turns out he has a mind of his own.” Cuing the music, William faced her again and smiled. “You really don't have to do this.”

She smiled. “It's okay. I want to.”

Swallowing hard, William stared at her for a long moment. He forced himself to think rationally. She isn't here to throw herself at your feet. Calm down. Calm down. But, with her face flushed from more than exercise and her eyes almost wild in their brightness, William was having a difficult time restraining the speculations of his heart.

He approached her where she stood in the middle of the studio. “All right. If you don't mind, there's a transition after this particular lift that your sister is having trouble with. I think it needs re-working.”

Elizabeth nodded perfunctorily. “Okay.”

They stared at each other, each too awkward and nervous to move. William cleared his throat. “It, uh, begins in a fish dive.”

“Oh. Oh, right.”

Elizabeth skirted in front of him and popped up onto the tips of her pointe shoes. William braced himself, knowing the feel of her smooth back under his thumbs would once again do things to him that he couldn't control. The lift went well enough. Held with her nose merely a foot from the wooden floor, Elizabeth asked, “Now what?”

“Okay, you're going to kick your right leg back and around. I'll pull you back up so that you're facing me.”

“I'm sorry, I don't understand.”

“I'll be carrying you. Like, uh, like a man carries a woman over the threshold.”

Elizabeth let a silent moment pass before she answered. “Oh. Got it.”

Inhaling, she prepared to be hurled up and around. The first attempt failed, as William figured it would. They tried again. Elizabeth dived into the first pose and then used her downward momentum to flip herself up and around, grasping William's neck tightly when she was at last safely in his arms.

“Yes, something like that,” murmured William, still holding her, trying to ignore the berry stain across her cheeks and chest. “Then, you kick up and back, and with that leg, piqué back into an arabesque.”

A simple enough request, Elizabeth performed the series and waited with her leg held behind her for her next set of instructions.

“This is where Jane has problems. She's supposed to drop to the floor, roll, and essentially finish in the same pose just on the other leg. I think the momentum of the roll gives her trouble.”

Elizabeth's lips parted into a bright grin. “Ah, well, then it's good you have help from someone experienced in the finer points of flailing around on the floor.”

“How fortunate.”

“But I will tell you that it's nearly impossible to drop into a roll from standing on pointe. Unless you intend to ruin Jane's ankle along with her knee, this time.”

“No, I didn't have those intentions.”

“What if she pulled back, rolled off of her shoes, and had Dan pull her forward a bit into the roll? That would spare her legs and also give her a bit of momentum for the next transition.”

Considering the suggestion, William nodded slowly. “Let's try it.”

It worked. Such a simple change really, yet it made the entire phrase fluid and right. Or, perhaps it wasn't the step. Perhaps it was Elizabeth that made it right. Jane's movements, while supple, lacked the nuance of her younger sister's dancing. Elizabeth did just the right thing with her fingers, her wrists, her chin, her feet, and those vivid, hazel eyes which moved with her body as if they were appendages themselves. William realized then that, in choosing Jane, he had cast better and more principled, but that he had still not made the right choice.

“Well,” he said, “let's try this one more time and then get going. The last place I want to spend Friday night is a dance studio.”

Elizabeth tittered uncomfortably. “Right. Well, I guess you have big plans for the night.”

Something in her voice, the false cheeriness, perhaps, or the whiff of desperation, gave William pause. He answered cautiously. “No, not really.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Ah. I see.” Nodding, she moistened her lips and lifted the corners, making her cheeks apple. “All right. Let's try this one more time.”

With his back to her, William cued the music, breathing smoothly and deeply to calm himself. He sensed that Elizabeth had not come here to dance. He wanted to imagine what she had come here to do, but he wouldn't let his mind wander far into the deep. It might crush him, to have her leave with nothing more than a cheery good-bye. For the first time since he had been fired, William didn't regret leaving Elizabeth behind. He wasn't normally one for self-sacrifice, but then again, William didn't think his emotions, or his libido, could take much more of her.

The troublesome phrase neared, and William turned away from the stereo and towards Elizabeth, who had her eyes fixated on him. He cursed himself. He was too old for his heart to skip upon the mere sight of a woman.

“Ready?” she asked, with a small smile.

William nodded. “Let's go from the dive.”

He counted out the music and Elizabeth stepped into the phrase, with a succinct piqué. They danced close, far closer than William danced with Jane, or any other dancer of his past or present acquaintance. Their bodies were inches apart, and William longed to slip his hands around her waist and press her to him, as he had in his last piece. Elizabeth's movements were in-time to the music and still as supple as ever, yet William sensed a hesitance in her body. She held his gaze in the mirror, and he spied that reluctance, and something else there as well.

Then, Elizabeth plunged into the dive and, with his assistance, flipped herself around, the weight of her back and knees falling into the crooks of William's elbows. Her hands encircled his neck, bringing them closer. The phrase should have continued into the next arabesque, but Elizabeth stayed, her nose a breath's length apart from his. She raised her eyes. The music continued.

They were so close. William's gaze dipped to her mouth, contemplating a kiss, but he stopped himself. Perhaps she had stopped because she had forgotten the steps, perhaps her ankle hurt...but, no. Elizabeth drew herself closer to him, her eyes dipping to his lips. He felt the warmth of her breathing on his mouth. They were so close—almost touching—and then, they were.

Elizabeth's lips moved softly, hesitantly under his, and everything in William froze. She pulled away soon after, her eyes flitting down in embarrassment.

“I'm going to put you down,” William murmured. Elizabeth nodded, her face turning red. She looked away, and whispered, “Sorry,” once her feet had touched the floor.

“Don't misunderstand me, Elizabeth,” said William, weaving a hand around her waist and pulling her to him. “I just didn't want to drop you.”

She turned her face up to him in surprise, and William seized the opportunity to take her lips again. They came up for air some time later, panting, wild-eyed, flushed. With the task of breathing out of the way, they dove back into each other. Elizabeth rose up on the tips of her pointe shoes to reach his mouth, pressing the length of her body into him. William relished the pliancy of her breasts against his chest, her hands cupping the sides of his face, and her lips opening eagerly under his. Once the music had faded and the room went quiet, they parted.

Breathing hard, Elizabeth looked up to him, eyes glittering. “That's not going in your piece, is it?”

William could barely find his voice. “No.”

“Oh.” She seemed pleased by that answer. “Want to come over for dinner?”

“Sure. When?”

“Tonight?”

“Sounds good. Let me get my stuff.”

“I'll go get changed.” Elizabeth tore herself away from him, her eyes dancing with disbelief and delight.

“Meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes?”

She nodded, and answered with the widest, happiest smile he had ever seen on her face. Watching her go, William turned towards the stereo and stilled. He saw a person in the mirror, beaming, eyes crinkled and light, goofy with joy. It took a fraction of a second for William to realize that it was him. He chuckled, shook his head, and simply let it be.

**
In retrospect, Elizabeth realized she had made a hasty, foolish, and irrational decision.

How was fifteen minutes enough time to pretty herself after eight hours of dancing? She should have said twenty.

“Dammit!” she cursed, trying to run a comb through her wet hair. She was now at—she checked the clock on the back wall—seventeen minutes and counting. Knowing how William hated tardiness, Elizabeth sped up her pace. Just a dab of lipstick, a spray of body splash, a comb to get the tangles out. Lurching for her dance bag, she stubbed her toe on the bench.

“Ow, fuck!” Throwing her dance clothes into her bag, she tossed the strap onto her shoulder and sprinted from the dressing room, up the stairs, and into the cool evening air. William stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the rail. His clothes, his posture, his air of calm all unsettled Elizabeth further. Looking at him, she couldn't believe she had kissed him. It all came slamming back to her. But, there was no time for recriminations now.

“Sorry,” she said, breathing heavily from her run, “I'm late.”

“That's okay,” William said, giving her The Look—the one that she had thought so many months ago was an expression of his disapproval. The one that she realized now was exactly the opposite.

“Is my place okay?” she asked.

“Your place is perfect.” His voice made her stomach weak.

“Cab?”

He nodded, and they hailed one. Once inside, they sat in an awkward, expectation-heavy silence.

“So, what do you plan on making?” asked William.

“Making?”

“For dinner.”

“Oh!” Elizabeth bit her bottom lip. She hadn't gone grocery shopping in a week. The only food they had in the house was a variety of condiments and cereals, leftover pizza, and three eggs in the fridge. “Um...well. I hadn't thought it through that far.”

Unexpectedly, the comment made William smile. He said nothing, however. The remainder of the cab ride was spent in silence. Elizabeth tried to form a mental picture of the state in which she had left the apartment that morning. Cringing, she remembered that her bra and underwear from the day before were still crumpled in a pile on the floor in her room. Neither she nor Jane had done dishes in two days. She hadn't dusted the coffee table in months.

Instructing the taxi driver which building was hers, Elizabeth dug through her bag to find her wallet, but William had already snapped a crisp ten dollar bill from his. He handed it over with a command for the driver to keep the change.

Elizabeth fumbled nervously for her keys and opened the door to her building. As she climbed the stairs, she realized for the first time how dingy and unimpressive it was. Uneven tile, fluorescent lights, grimy walls, no elevator. She remembered William's palace and was suddenly gripped by nervousness. He continued to say nothing.

Reaching the third floor, she looked back at him and smiled timidly. He smiled back.

“Well, here it is. I'm warning you, it's not much,” she said, unlocking her front door and letting them both in. As Elizabeth feared, they walked into a scene of several days' worth of bowls and mugs piled haphazardly in the sink. Elizabeth winced.

“Jane and I don't get much time to clean,” she explained. William merely smiled and shrugged.

“Okay, so let me give you the tour. You've already seen the kitchen...unfortunately. And this is our living room.”

“It's very...blue.”

“Yeah, Jane painted the walls when I was on tour.” Elizabeth wondered if she shouldn't have mentioned tour. William looked around noncommittally.

“And this is the bathroom...that's Jane's bedroom. Down there is mine. And that's about it. It's small.”

Nodding, William looked around, shoved his hands in his pockets, and said nothing. Elizabeth felt an embarrassed burn rise from her chest to her neck and face.

“Uh...make yourself at home. I'll be, uh, right back.” About-facing, Elizabeth scurried into her bedroom, shut the door softly, and then raced around the room, hiding her dirty clothes and straightening the clutter on her dresser. She cursed herself and truly regretted bringing him here. They should have gone out to dinner! To one of those fancy places that he liked, as opposed to Chez Rat's Nest, also known as her apartment.

“Ugh,” she groaned, running her hands over her face. She had not thought this through. Counting to ten and breathing deeply three times, she opened the door and strode down the hallway, expecting to find William sitting uncomfortably in her living room.

He was standing, however, leaning one arm against the wall. Turning his head towards her approaching footsteps, he grinned. Elizabeth stopped in her tracks, speechless at the unexpected greeting.

“I love your choice of artwork,” he said, rapping his knuckles against the tack board where Jane and Elizabeth hung their calendar, reminder notes, important phone numbers, and...

Elizabeth's mouth fell open, and she went crimson.

“Oh, God!” she cried, dashing over to the board and ripping down the slightly crumpled magazine clipping of Perfection by Hermes.

William laughed. “No, I like it! You should keep it up.”

“Oh, God. Will you shut up! Oh my God, I'm literally going to die of embarrassment.”

“No, I like it!”

William darted his hand out, trying to snatch the photo from her. Elizabeth scurried aside and hid it behind her back. Grabbing her arm, William tried to wrest it from her. Elizabeth screeched, laughed, and backed up against the wall, to prevent him from seizing it. He then pressed both hands on either side of her head, effectively trapping her. She grinned lopsidedly and giggled.

“Elizabeth,” he teased, with a warning tone, “give me the picture.”

“And if I don't?”

“Good things await you if you do. Trust me.”

Arching an eyebrow, she produced the cutout from behind her back. “You'd better make it worth my while.”

William plucked the page from her hand, balled it up, and threw it off to the side. Elizabeth looked on in dismay. He then wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to him.

His breath tickled the wisps of hair around her ears as he whispered, “I have the negatives from that photo shoot at home.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth murmured, feeling her breath catch in her throat. William traced his lips in little kisses along the line of her jaw, and then, their mouths were on each other's again.

Being pressed up against the wall worked to Elizabeth's advantage; her legs had gone rubbery and weak, her head was spinning, and if it weren't for the solid mass behind her, she probably would have collapsed onto the floor in a heap of molten desire. William's fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt, floating lightly up the skin of her stomach. Sucking in her breath, Elizabeth groaned into his mouth. For no apparent reason, he pulled away. William took a step back, looking to the ceiling, his chest heaving furiously.

“What's wrong?” Elizabeth tentatively asked.

He inhaled and then exhaled slowly, finally looking at her. “Nothing. I, uh, think we'd better eat dinner.”

“Oh.” Disappointment pounded her in the gut. It took her a moment before she could speak. “Um, okay. What do you want?”

Rolling his eyes heavenward, William sighed. Then, he looked back at her, his eyes boring into hers, the color in them unmistakable—he wanted her. William was giving her a choice: They could calmly eat dinner, calmly chit-chat about the weather or work, and then calmly say their good-byes for the evening. Or, they couldn't.

Elizabeth chose the latter.

“Fuck dinner.”

William agreed wholeheartedly, seizing her by her lower back and pressing her to him. Seeing an opportunity, Elizabeth jumped into him, wrapping her legs around his waist. They kissed messily, too excited by the other to concentrate on balance. William pulled away again.

“Bedroom,” he grunted.

“That way,” she pointed, before crushing her lips down on his again.

Once there, William set Elizabeth down gently, before sweeping his shirt off in one fluid gesture. Elizabeth bit her lip, running her eyes across him lasciviously. Touching him with the tip of her finger, she traced it down the groove of muscle in his abs. He sucked in his breath.

“Later,” he commanded, stilling her hand. With the same gracefulness he had used to remove his shirt, William took off hers. He eyed her with a similarly greedy look with which she had stared at him. Taking her face in his hands, William kissed her gently, which didn't last for long. Soon, his hands moved from her cheeks, to her neck and collarbone, and then lower, to cup her breasts, making Elizabeth moan.

Mid-kiss, William's hands snaked around to unclasp her bra. Maddening seconds later, his hands still fussed with the silky material. He broke away, frustrated.

“Okay, how do you get this thing off?”

Elizabeth giggled. “It hooks in the front.”

“And when were you planning on telling me that?” he asked crossly.

Arching an eyebrow, she replied, “I like to see you suffer.”

He arched his eyebrow in response. “I'll have to remember that for later.”

With the dastardly bra finally out of the way, Elizabeth and William fell onto her double bed. Soon after, no clothes remained. His mouth began a slow descent from the column of her neck to her collarbone and lower. Kissing the soft underside of her breast, William delicately took a nipple in his mouth and rasped it with his tongue. Running her fingers down the length of his solid torso, Elizabeth closed them around the base of his arousal and gently caressed him, making him moan even as his mouth was enclosed around her. They were hot and numb with lust, touching each other frantically, with mouths, with hands, with the entire lengths of their bodies. Soon they reached the point where even those ministrations were futile and frustrating, and they took the final plunge into each other.

Elizabeth had fuzzy memories of the last time they had been together. Now, with him on top of her again, inside of her, Elizabeth wondered how that could have been, when this time, she sensed everything as keenly as a night animal. William's skin smelled faintly of spicy, exotic cologne. Elizabeth inhaled long, trapped by the scent. Her fingers clutched his skin, as hot and clammy as hers. With each thrust, her brain was hurled into blinding lucidity. She arched into him, wild, out of control.

Elizabeth heard herself gasping, crying out in time to the rocking movement of his pelvis. She squeezed her eyes shut, engulfed by blackness, and only opened them when William groaned in her ear, “Stay with me, Elizabeth.” She felt everything about William—his strong torso, his hungry lips devouring her mouth, the timbre of his voice panting words into her ear, his heavy breathing, the slick of perspiration on the hard planes of his shoulder blades.

William slowed his rhythm, bringing Elizabeth back to him for a kiss that reached the depths of her mouth. Then, his tempo changed—sharp, swift—signaling that the final coda was near. Clutching his neck, Elizabeth succumbed, with William soon following.

Moments later, they were panting, spent, and silent. William rolled over and gathered her into his arms, stroking her hair, and placing soft kisses onto her dampened forehead. They stayed that way for a long while, with no sound between them except for their breathing. He was stroking her hair, less out of affection and more out of nervous gesture. Gazing up to him, Elizabeth saw a worried look cross his face. He looked down to her and smiled, a troubled, half-hearted smile. Elizabeth propped herself up on an elbow and looked to him quizzically.

“I have to ask a question,” he said then, his voice filling the silence of the room.

“Yes.”

“What was that?”

Grinning lopsidedly, she replied. “Do you not know?”

He shook his head.

“Well, you see, William, when a man and a woman like each other a lot, they want to be close. And they touch a lot and then the man gets excited and his...”

“I know that much,” he said, laughing. His face grew serious thereafter. “Is this...Do the man and the woman like each other a lot? Or, is this just sex?”

Elizabeth grew serious. “I don't know. The woman does like the man. A lot. But. She also realizes that they have a lot of unresolved issues between them. Up until now there's been almost nothing between them except misunderstandings and prejudices, and those aren't the best beginnings for a healthy relationship.”

William sighed and rubbed his eyes. Seeing his reaction of despair, everything in Elizabeth went tender.

“But, the woman isn't stupid. She knows that the past is the past. Despite it all, these two could be good for each other. The girl isn't so dumb anymore, and the guy has a lot of good things going for him, too.”

William cracked a weak smile. “Yeah? Like what?”

“Um, let's see. He's kind, even if he comes across as a little severe at times. He's upright and honest. Loyal to the people he loves. A creative genius, but never satisfied with less than perfection. Plus, he's loaded and has connections to all of the major players in the New York dance world.”

William threw his head back and laughed. “You left out the great sex.”

Elizabeth shrugged nonchalantly. “I've had better.”

Then, William reared up and pinned her under him, making Elizabeth giggle. “That's a lie, and I don't like liars.”

“And what are you going to do about it?”

“I intend to force a confession from you,” he said, grinning wickedly, inching his hand down to part Elizabeth's legs.

“You don't intimidate me, William,” giggled Elizabeth.

“Ah,” he said, as his fingers stroked the inside of her thighs. “But I had no intention of intimidating you, Elizabeth.”

A little later on, William got his confession, screamed loud enough for all of the neighbors to hear.

**
The food came sometime around nine. They ate on the living room floor, spreading out boxes of Chinese food on the newly dusted coffee table. They were still dazed from what had just taken place, and thus, not much was said between them. Yet, a question gnawed at Elizabeth. Hesitantly, she placed down her cashew chicken and cleared her throat.

“Perhaps it's wrong of me to ask this, so let me know if you don't want to answer.”

William nodded.

“Um, okay. Why...why wasn't I cast in your piece?”

Tilting his head, William looked at her in confusion. He set down his chopsticks. “You said you didn't want my attention. That day...in the studio. You said you didn't want me singling you out.”

Elizabeth flushed. “Yes, but you said that I inspired you.”

“You did. You do. But...I just couldn't bear your hatred again.”

“But I didn't hate you! Couldn't you tell from Miami?”

William shrugged and stared down to the floor. “Elizabeth, I had imagined so much before. I couldn't be sure...and you were just so...silent.”

“I was hurt! I wanted to be in your piece, and you had chosen Jane instead.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “I only chose Jane for you! I wanted to redeem myself. Don't get me wrong, your sister is an excellent dancer. But she's not you.”

Elizabeth smiled then.

“But that's not the whole truth, either. I also felt guilty about taking away her promotion.”

“You didn't take it away. Boroughs did.”

William shook his head. “No. I convinced Charles to throw away his principles. Jane deserved that promotion, not Anne. I convinced him to make a wrong decision. I needed to prove to myself that I had stronger convictions than that.”

“But you didn't have to get yourself fired over Jane,” Elizabeth insisted gently.

William stilled, his whole face tensing. “How do you know about that?”

“Catherine Boroughs told me.”

“Catherine Boroughs?”

“We had, uh, an altercation a couple of weeks ago.”

“An altercation? What does that mean?”

“She pulled me into her limo and accused me of sleeping with you to get Jane a better part.”

“She did what?” he asked coldly.

“You heard me.”

William frowned deeply, his eyes narrowing and growing fierce with anger. He stood sharply and walked away.

“William?”

He had gone to his bag on the other side of the room, pulling his cell phone from within. Elizabeth leapt up.

“Who are you calling?”

Putting the phone to his ear, William ignored the question. Elizabeth heard the phone ringing. “Anne? Put your mother on...”

She wrenched the phone from him. “Hi, Anne. He'll call you back.” Elizabeth hung up the phone and glared at him.

“What the hell!” she yelled.

“Boroughs thinks she runs this city! She has no right to tell you or any...”

“I know that! That's why I told her to fuck off!”

William stared at Elizabeth, speechless for a moment. “You told who to fuck off?”

“Boroughs!”

He blinked. “You told Catherine Boroughs to fuck off?”

“Yes, that's what I just said.”

“And what did she say back to you?”

“Oh, I don't know. How I was going to hell for fucking the choreographer or something like that. I told her it was none of her damn business what I did in my personal life and that was that.”

“When was this?”

“Two weeks ago. Right after you'd announced you were leaving.”

Then, William laughed. “That must have been why she called me.”

“She called you? What did she say?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. I hung up on her.”

Elizabeth smiled, feeling just how similar they were in all of their dissimilarities. “Come on, our food's getting cold.”

They returned to the coffee table, William staring at Elizabeth with a look she could only describe as goofily impressed.

“What?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I have no words.”

Elizabeth smiled triumphantly and bit into the edge of the second egg roll she had ordered that evening.

**

William woke up with a stiff back. Dazed, he looked over his surroundings—avocado walls plastered with pictures of dancers and New York City, neatly arranged clutter on a white wicker dresser, ivory curtains on a window that looked out to a neighboring building. Rolling onto his side, he smiled down at the woman next to him. Half of her face was hidden in the pillow, her bare shoulder peeking out of the sheets, her breathing slow and even. He remembered the night before, still disbelieving what had happened.

She liked him. A lot. That's what she had said. They had stayed up talking until two in the morning, ironing out the many misunderstandings between them. He had told her everything—why he had chosen Jane, how Catherine Boroughs had been furious and threatened to withdraw her money unless he reneged, how he had refused and been subsequently fired by Sir William, desperate to keep Boroughs' money with the company. Elizabeth had seethed with rage at the idiotic artistic director, but as William had told her of his dreams for his new company, she calmed and listened eagerly.

They had stayed up later, laughing at their stupidity, kissing, and making love one more time before, truly exhausted, they had fallen asleep naked on her bed.

That had been only six hours ago, William realized, checking the clock. Yet, he not merely felt awake, he felt alive. He ran his fingers across the smooth strands of hair falling over Elizabeth's shoulder. Moaning softly, she sighed deeper into the pillow. William kissed her exposed shoulder and slipped from the bed, donning his clothes.

He wondered briefly where Jane was and then remembered Charles had mentioned something about his parents' ranch that weekend. William grinned like a cat. Silently leaving Elizabeth's bedroom, he pattered down the hall, sizing up his weekend now that Elizabeth would be in it.

The clock on the microwave read 8:21. Elizabeth might sleep for another hour or for another three hours. He realized he knew next to nothing about her daily habits, but now, hopefully, he would be afforded the chance to learn. Suddenly, he realized she would be sizing him up as well, and he didn't exactly paint a pretty picture. William was still wearing yesterday's clothes. He hadn't shaved. Nor did he have a toothbrush. Frowning, he rubbed his stubbly chin and realized he was in no condition to begin his first day of being with Elizabeth.

Calculating the driving distance between Spanish Harlem and the Upper West Side, William figured it would take him thirty minutes tops to get home, get a change of clothes and some toiletries, and get back to Elizabeth's apartment.

Grabbing his bag, William made for the door and then realized that Elizabeth might wake up and think she had been deserted. He returned to the living room, grabbing a sheet of paper from a notepad, and began penning a quick memo detailing his whereabouts. Just as he signed it “Love, WD,” he heard a loud thud from Elizabeth's room and a subsequent cry of curse words. William set the pen down, peering in the direction of her bedroom curiously. Suddenly, she flung open the door and charged out in a mismatched t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, and sneakers half on her feet. Elizabeth beelined to the kitchen area, completely oblivious that he still stood in the living room.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered to herself. “Where are my fucking keys?”

William looked to the coffee table, where Elizabeth's keys lay next to the remote.

“On the coffee table,” he replied.

Elizabeth's mutterings went silent, and she raced back into the living room, her hair wild around her face and her eyes wide.

“I thought you left!” she cried.

He shrugged. “I'm here, as you see.”

Elizabeth's shoulders slumped visibly and she rubbed her face, groaning into her palms.

“And where were you off to so early this morning?” he asked.

“I was off to chase you down!” she yelled, not from irritation, but from diminishing fear. “I thought you'd left.”

William was about to protest that he wouldn't have left her alone, when he realized that was what he had, in effect, done after their first night together. She looked at him with hurt eyes.

“But you're about to leave.”

“I have to go home,” he explained.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, her face going glacial. “Fine. Leave. Bye.” She turned and disappeared back into her room.

Unable to help himself, William laughed. What a talent they had for misunderstandings! Following her to her room, William leaned against the door frame and raised an eyebrow at her. She sat on her bed, staring catatonically at the floor.

“Aren't you going to ask why I'm going home?”

“No doubt I did something in my sleep that wasn't up to your rigorous standards.”

William laughed, producing a glare from Elizabeth. “Well, maybe. Either that, or I didn't want to spend the rest of the weekend in the same dirty clothes.”

Elizabeth snapped her eyes over to him, glancing at his clothes. She opened her mouth to reply, but didn't, simply blinking mutely. Then, she groaned and flopped back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. “Oh God, I'm so stupid!”

“No,” chuckled William, “I should have told you where I was going.”

Uncovering her face, Elizabeth frowned at him pathetically. “Any other normal person would have asked! Why do I always do this? Are you sure you want a girlfriend who's this stupid?”

It was the first time any mention had been made of the word “girlfriend.” William's heart lurched at the word. “I'll take whatever you can give me, Elizabeth.”

She half-smiled. “So are you saying that I'm stupid?”

William laughed and joined her on the bed. “No, I'm saying that being with you is going to do wonderful things for my interpersonal communication skills.”

“That's so romantic.”

“I try.”

Elizabeth sighed. “Communication skills, huh?” She smiled sheepishly up at him.

William returned the smile. “Would you like to come home with me? We could grab brunch, maybe take a walk through Central Park, then come back here?”

Her eyes brightening, Elizabeth nodded and bounded up from bed. “Do I have time to get ready?”

“Of course.”

“Great, I'm going to take a shower,” she said, breezing past him. He followed her with his eyes. Suddenly, she stopped in the doorway and turned, smiling coyly. “Wanna come?”

William smiled back in assent of an offer he couldn't refuse.


**

Idly stroking Elizabeth's waist as she dozed in front of the television, William finally began to feel his own content exhaustion from the events of the weekend. It was Sunday evening, normally the night he sprawled into his leather recliner, listening to Coltrane, in his plush, finely decorated den, reading The New York Times.

That night, he lay cramped into a sofa, barely big enough for one, much less two, watching a fuzzy episode of The Simpsons. Yet, William wouldn't have traded that moment in a small, cluttered Harlem apartment for anything.

That weekend, he had discovered the joys of small beds, cramped shower stalls, and eating meals on the living room floor. Despite priding himself on his orderliness and punctuality, William had found the utmost pleasure in waiting for a woman he adored to get ready in the morning.

If he had been charmed by the small part that he knew of Elizabeth before, William was now captivated by the promise of seeing the more intimate goings-on of her life. He had listened, fascinated, as she'd bubbled on the phone to Charlotte, apologizing for her suspicious absence on Friday night. Elizabeth talked to herself often and hummed. William liked watching her brush her hair, the almost erotic way she cast her head back, the look of pure bliss that swept across her face as the brush went through her hair. She smiled and chatted with cashiers at the deli, almost unheard of in his circle of New York natives.

William called New York home. Except for summers in Miami, and the few years he had spent choreographing in various cities, he had never lived anywhere else. He felt he knew every nook and cranny of the city, every cafe, every bench in Central Park. Yet, being with Elizabeth that weekend had made him see his city differently. William had been so aware of Elizabeth's every expression and reaction that he felt as if he were experiencing New York through her eyes.

They had lazed on the Great Lawn in Central Park after brunch on Saturday afternoon, making out, something he would have never done months ago. Elizabeth had forced him to take the subway back to her apartment and teased him relentlessly the entire way there, laughing as he gawked like a tourist at the train evangelist, making his way down the aisle preaching redemption. They had made spaghetti together. Rather, Elizabeth had done most of the cooking. William just made the garlic bread and then stared at her with puppy eyes as she chopped onions and garlic like a cooking show hostess.

And, of course, there had been sex—the gut-shaking, seeing-stars kind and the whispered, reverent kind, too. William's knees still burned from their last go on the carpet several hours ago, the consequence of which, now had Elizabeth dozing on the couch, curled into the shape of his body, breathing slowly. Her hair fell over his forearm, and she smelled like green apple body lotion. In her t-shirt and sweatpants, she was the sweetest thing he had ever laid eyes on, and it made him smile like a cat on a sunny windowsill.

William heard a key turn in the lock of the front door. Moments later, the door opened, and he heard a loud exhalation followed by the lugging of bags.

“Lizzy?” Jane called. “Oh my God, I have enough apples to last us until next year.”

Elizabeth didn't stir, and William didn't want to wake her. Kissing her hair, he bid farewell to their enchanted weekend, but glowed with the anticipation that there would be many more to come. He heard Jane heft up a plastic bag onto the counter, the sound of hard apples thudding against each other.

“And, Charles' place was so nice. They had horses and everything. Oh, thanks for doing the dishes. I'll do them next time.”

Still, Elizabeth did not awake. William wondered if he should wake her, or at least answer on her behalf.

“Lizzy?” Jane called out. William heard her footsteps on the tile before she appeared in the doorway of the living room. Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

“Oh! Mr. Darcy!” Her face took on a tinge of bafflement as she saw the choreographer curled up so intimately with her sister on the sofa. William merely smiled, put a finger to his lips, and then pointed down to Elizabeth.

Still frowning in confusion, Jane nodded slightly. She stared at the scene for a few seconds longer and then retreated to the kitchen. William let her go, figuring all of the explaining could come later. Right now, he had only a few minutes more of a sleeping Elizabeth to enjoy, and he intended to enjoy them thoroughly.

Chapter 28

William sighed in frustration, stared down to the carpet, and then swept the red, lacy bit of fabric from the floor. Frowning, he strode down the hall, down the stairs, and into his den, where Elizabeth reclined with her feet on the arm of his leather sofa, with Austin dozing blissfully on her stomach.

“We have a problem.”

Lowering the crossword puzzle of Thursday's New York Times, Elizabeth peered curiously at William. He waved her underwear in his hand.

“You didn't say that last night when you were taking them off of me,” retorted Elizabeth, with a fine arch of her eyebrow.

William sighed. “You know it's a pet peeve of mine...”

“Oh, no,” Elizabeth cried, in mock-horror, “something in William Darcy's life isn't tidy and in order. The world has begun to spin backwards on its axis!”

Rolling his eyes, William walked into the den and stood over Elizabeth. He hooked a finger under her impertinently raised chin, and lowered his face down to hers.

“Little girl, do you know what the consequences are of not cleaning your room?”

“Ooh, yes, please,” moaned Elizabeth.

Glancing quickly down to the crossword puzzle, William smiled devilishly. “48 across—Derbyshire.”

“William!” Elizabeth cried. “I told you to stop doing that!”

“Next time, pick your underwear up off of the floor,” William said, straightening himself.

“Next time, I won't even let you take them off of me.”

“Empty threats.” William laughed, walking to the door.

“You won't be saying that when you're forced to sleep in an empty bed!”

Chuckling to himself, William strolled out of the den, his irritation dissipating. Staying mad at Elizabeth was an exercise in futility, and he had learned to give that up a long time ago. Crossing the hall and going back up the stairs, William returned to their room. He paused. They didn't even live together, but it was their room. Since when had it ceased to be his? With his hands on his hips, he scanned the master bedroom. Perhaps since she had painted the wall behind the bed the same avocado color as her bedroom. Since she had bought him the fabulous purple orchid sitting on his nightstand. Since they had gone to Saks together and bought colorful throw pillows. Since she stayed over so often that two drawers in his armoire had become filled with her socks, t-shirts, and jeans and a corner of his bathroom counter had become occupied by her moisturizers and makeup. And since he started finding her panties strewn on the floor.

He was just nearing the point in their relationship where the sight of her lacy underwear, either on or off, didn't turn him into a slavering sex-fiend. Things had been good from the beginning, but especially since the New Year, William and Elizabeth were finally growing comfortable with each other.

It had taken a while, however. Their first meetings at work after their weekend together, especially, had been awkward situations, with two of William's core principles warring against another. He hadn't known how to reconcile his distaste for disguise with his staunch demand for professionalism. How should he have faced Elizabeth in the halls? Should he have kissed her or nodded coolly? Both had seemed wrong.

On Tuesday, he knew they would meet. On Monday, he strategized. William had decided on a warm nod and smile. That would communicate enough to her without being sappy or inappropriate.

And then he had seen her, walking down the hall, laughing with Jane and her chatty friend, Lydia. Elizabeth didn't notice him at first, but when she did, the words died on her lips, and she smiled at him. Jane stared smugly, Lydia strangely, and he, like a fool.

They had greeted each other shyly, and then Jane, angel that she was, had pulled a slack-jawed Lydia away.

“What are you doing after rehearsals?” he had asked her, feeling very much like a cotton-mouthed teenager.

“Having dinner with you,” Elizabeth grinned.

“Great. Five thirty, then?”

“Five thirty it is.”

Then William realized the fatal flaw in his strategy: He didn't want to nod, he wanted to kiss her. And so he did. Right there, in the hall, in front of all of the company. The dancers around them stared in incredulity. William didn't care, and Elizabeth didn't seem to, either. That evening at dinner, she told him that the gossip had reached the locker room before she had.

**
William smiled and shook his head. What had he been doing? Nodding, he remembered that he had come upstairs to search for his bow tie and cummerbund. Now that Elizabeth had all but moved in and replaced his things with hers, he didn't know where he kept anything anymore.

He heard the doorbell through the bedroom intercom. Seconds later, Elizabeth, who refused to use the expensive room-to-room intercom system, bellowed from below, “I'll get that.” William frowned. It was Saturday morning, and they weren't expecting anyone. Leaving the bedroom, William stood on the landing to the stairs, listening for who was at the door. He heard Elizabeth open it and gasp.

“Oh my God, Jerome, what are these?” Jerome was the ancient doorman, who had worked in the Darcy Building since William's boyhood.

“Card's addressed to you, darlin'. They were just delivered.”

“Oh, wow. Thank you.”

“You have a good day, now.”

“Yes. Yes, you, too.”

Nearly bursting with curiosity as to what had produced such a reaction from Elizabeth, William descended the stairs and made his way into the foyer to find Elizabeth, her torso, mouth, and nose hidden behind a mountain of lilies. From the shape and light of her eyes, he could tell she was beaming.

“From G!” Elizabeth exclaimed.

William smiled. “That was nice of her. Is there a message?”

Setting the enormous arrangement on the kitchen counter, Elizabeth plucked a card from atop of the flowers and read.

Dear E,

Congrats x 1,000,000! Sorry I couldn't come tonight, but I'll see you and Dub soon for spring break.

Love,
Georgiana Inez Darcy (aka G)

P.S. Did you like the CD?

“That was so sweet of her. I should call to say thanks,” said Elizabeth.

“I'm sure she'd be happy to know you liked them.”

“Where should we put them?”

“Up in the bedroom?” William offered.

Nodding, Elizabeth grinned and lifted the arrangement. William followed her up the stairs and into the master bedroom, where Elizabeth sat the flowers on the dresser.

“All of this fuss being made over me,” giggled Elizabeth.

“You deserve it.”

Elizabeth shrugged. “Do I? I feel bad that Jane never got the same treatment.”

“She had bad timing.”

“And a less than god-like boyfriend,” she said, approaching William and slipping her arms around his neck.

“God-like?” he teased, flashing a smile.

“You haven't been chosen for the pantheon yet, Dub.” Elizabeth pecked William on the lips and then unraveled herself from his grasp. “And I have a hair appointment in thirty minutes. Eek! I'm so excited! It's like the prom I never went to.”

William couldn't suppress a smile. “Okay, Prom Queen, you'd better go before you're late.”

“Oh! Yeah. See you at seven.” Snatching her bag from the chair in the corner, Elizabeth kissed him quickly on the cheek before calling out her good-byes. William listened as she cooed farewell to Austin and then closed the door softly behind her. Sighing, he looked around his very green room and smiled. It was the first time in his nearly thirty-year dancing career that he was looking forward to a Netherfield Gala.

**
As her hair stylist pulled out another hot roller, Elizabeth smiled dreamily into the mirror. The night promised to be perfect. Perfect dress, perfect weather, perfect career, perfect boyfriend. The dopey grin hadn't left her face since she had awakened that morning.

For the past six months, since she had begun seeing William, everything had been perfect. The beginning had been strange—growing accustomed to the fresh wave of locker room whispers, the confused stares of William's upper-crust New York acquaintances, and her own amazement at dating a man whom she had idolized for years, loathed passionately for months, and pined for secretly for several more months thereafter.

In all honesty, in the beginning, she had not expected them to work so well together. Elizabeth had believed it would take tremendous effort to lighten him up and that their day-to-day lives would clash like French fries in a French restaurant. She had thought William could never withstand her teasing, her casual good humor, her propensity for the dramatic. But to her surprise, he adored best all of those qualities which Elizabeth had believed she would have to hide from him. William met her silliness with understated wit, her fits of exaggeration with reasonableness, and her bubbling eagerness with a sedate air of contentment. She made him laugh, and he made her think.
jgic. With choreography, especially, he often over-analyzed, lost himself, despaired. Elizabeth marveled that, with nothing more than a quiet embrace or stroke of his cheek, she could settle him.

It had surprised her when, in one of these moments of despair, days before the premiere of “New York State of Mind,” he had buried his face into the crown of her head and beseeched Elizabeth, “Be with me for the premiere. Be backstage with me.”

Nodding, Elizabeth had answered with a soft kiss to his cheek.

“The critics can hate it,” he added, his voice uncharacteristically tender and insecure, “as long as you like it.”

William needed her. He often jokingly begged her to give up Ballet Theater and to come dance with his company; he would make her prima ballerina and let her act like Caroline Bingley, if she wanted. Elizabeth understood, in spite of his teasing, that every time she turned him down, he was secretly disappointed. For the meantime, however, Elizabeth knew that she belonged in Ballet Theater. She wanted to find her bearings in the ballet world without the name of William Darcy pinned to her leotard like an audition number. And she was grateful because, despite how desperately William wanted her dancing for him, he respected those wishes and even encouraged them.

He had become her mentor, guiding her through variations and dance steps after-hours in the studio. William wanted her to succeed, not to live vicariously through him or to make her his token Tallchief or LeClercq, but because he loved her and wanted to see her happy. It was enough. William made her want to succeed, not only for the glory and gratification that she would reap, but to please him, as well.

And so it was to William that Elizabeth had first revealed the happy news, three weeks earlier.

She had sat in William Lucas' office, speechless, stunned. Finally, when reality sunk in, Elizabeth laughed. At seeing the corps girl's strange reaction, Lucas chuckled, too, and then sat back in his chair with a self-satisfied and expectant expression on his face.

“Elizabeth, love, do you not want to be a soloist?”

She had nodded her head furiously and laughed some more. “I do! But, this is so, oh my God, I can't believe...this is unreal. Thank you!”

Lucas had thanked her in return, embraced her, and wished her luck as she embarked for the upper echelons of the company. Leaving the office in a daze, Elizabeth had stayed a moment in the hall, collecting herself, wondering if this weren't some cruel practical joke orchestrated by Caroline Bingley. She looked down the hall, to one of the last doors, to an office newly vacated, which had been William's. No, suddenly Elizabeth had remembered how hard she had worked since returning to New York—all of that money spent on Pilates, all of those hours in the studio, alone or with William, practicing, refining everything. They had paid off. But, she had never expected that her return would come this soon.

She had shot down the stairs like a bullet. Down to the basement floor. Elizabeth had grabbed her wallet from her locker and sped outside to the pay phones. Dropping in some change, she had punched in William's cell phone number and waited for his voice.

“Hello?” he answered.

“Guess what?”

“El?” he asked in that endearment only he used. “Where are you calling from?”

“From the studio. Guess what?”

“What?”

“No, you have to guess!”

William chuckled and then paused. “You've been promoted to soloist.”

“Yes!...Wait, how'd you know?”

“Well, it's the second week in February, and there's no other reason for you to call me at this time of day,” he chuckled.

“I could have called to say 'I love you.'”

“You're not Jane.”

Elizabeth just laughed. “But can you believe it? Soloist! Lucas just told me. And they're going to announce it at the Gala!”

“That's great, El. Congratulations.” His voice was so calm, but she could sense the greater emotion behind his words. Elizabeth imagined that he was beaming on the other side of his cell phone. She beamed back, proud of herself, but more satisfied by the obvious pleasure in his tone.

**
“Big night, tonight?” the hairstylist asked, jarring Elizabeth from her reverie.

“Yeah. Work function.”

“Ooh, very nice. I thought maybe you were getting married, judging from that big smile on your face.”

Elizabeth bit her lip and grinned. “It's an important work function.”

The hair dresser nodded knowingly and smiled in the mirror. “Well, then. We're going to have to make you ravishing, aren't we? We wouldn't want to disappoint him.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Am I that obvious?”

“Just a little.”

“Actually,” explained Elizabeth, “I'm getting promoted.”

“That would also explain the smile. And so you're the guest of honor tonight?” The words came out slightly muffled as the hair dresser held three bobby pins between her lips.

“Yes, something like that. More like I'll be the guest everyone's scrutinizing the most tonight.”

“Some people make it a hobby to criticize and judge others, don't they?” joked the stylist.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “What else is there to do at a black-tie party?”

The woman laughed. “You've got that right. Don't worry, I'm going to make you gorgeous. Get everyone fired up and jealous of you.”

Elizabeth smiled. In the past year, she had done a commendable job of firing up choreographers, principals, artistic directors, billionaires, and nearly all of her colleagues without the aide of a gorgeous hairstyle. That night would bring her face-to-face with many whom she had no desire to see, mainly Catherine Boroughs. Elizabeth would be surrounded by William's bourgeois peers, who patronized her and made her feel unworthy of him. She had chosen a taller pair of heels that, for all of their cuteness, would kill her feet, especially given that she had developed a monster blister the day before in rehearsal.

Yet, despite it all, Elizabeth remembered the prior year's Netherfield Gala, with all of its promise, disappointment, and humiliation. She could remember it now and laugh, the time felt so far away. She had been a foreigner to herself then. A year ago, she had been indignant and foolish, but Elizabeth had come far since then, thanks to William.

“There,” the hair stylist proclaimed, holding a mirror behind Elizabeth's head for her to see the up-do, “how do you feel?”

Admiring herself, Elizabeth grinned into the mirror. “I feel perfect.”

**
“Jane,” Elizabeth called from her room.

“Yeah?” answered her sister from hers.

“I need your opinion.” Elizabeth treaded to Jane's room, taking small, penguin-like steps to prevent stamping on the hem of her dress.

When Elizabeth reached the doorway of Jane's bedroom, she turned and looked over her shoulder. “Shawl or no?”

Jane gasped. “Oh, Lizzy! That dress!”

“Too slutty?”

“No, it's perfect. Oh, it's gorgeous. When did you get that?”

Elizabeth turned around to face her sister and grinned. “William gave it to me for Valentine's.”

“The man's got great taste.” Jane shook her head.

“It's my taste, actually. But, I can't afford my tastes and, fortunately, he can.”

Jane giggled. “You shouldn't joke like that. People might think you're only dating him for his money.”

“Like they already don't?”

Jane looked whimsically at her sister and sighed. “Aw, man. Why'd they have to promote me last summer? My timing sucks.”

Swallowing down a surge of guilt, Elizabeth frowned sympathetically. “Don't think like that. You have half of a year on me. I'd trade that for the Netherfield Gala any day.”

Jane shrugged her assent reluctantly. Going over to her, Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Jane's shoulders and squeezed them.

“Janey, it's just a bunch of rich people. They don't care about me anymore than they care about their next good cause. Besides, you look beautiful, as always.”

“Not as nice as you,” Jane pouted. “I'm going to give real meaning to the expression 'Plain Jane' tonight.”

Elizabeth laughed. “Aw, Janey. Tonight, you can feel what it's like to be me all of the time.”

Jane playfully rolled her eyes at her sister's silliness. Elizabeth kissed the top of Jane's head and was about to turn away, when the glimmer of a precious stone made her stop.

“What the heck is this!?” she asked, grabbing Jane's left hand.

Looking up, Jane colored and then laughed.

“'Plain Jane,' my ass! What is this?” Elizabeth repeated.

Jane sighed and turned to face her sister. “I really wanted to wait to tell you...”

“You're kidding! You're kidding, oh my Lord! Did he ask you to marry him?”

Jane nodded, with a huge grin on her face. “I wanted to wait...”

“When?” asked Elizabeth, her eyes glittering.

“Valentine's Day.”

“Valentine's Day! Valentine's Day? And you waited almost three weeks to tell me?”

“Well, you've been so happy, and I didn't want to take away from that,” Jane explained.

Elizabeth sighed. “Oh, Jane. No, that was wrong. You should have said something. We could have been happy together.”

Admired her ring, Jane smiled and whispered, “I've really wanted to wear it.”

“I would, too. Damn, that thing is huge!”

Jane only giggled. “Don't worry, Lizzy. We won't say anything until after tonight.”

“Jane, I don't think you could hide that ring if you wanted to.”

“Should I not wear it?”

“No, wear it. And if anyone asks, be honest. Oh, Jane, congratulations! I'm happy for you and Charles.”

“Thanks, Lizzy.” Jane squeezed Elizabeth's hand and smiled into her eyes. For a brief moment, the two sisters simply gazed at each other. Feeling suddenly teary, Elizabeth looked away first.

“Now, come on and get ready. The boys will be here in ten minutes.”

“Oh, crap. I haven't even put on my makeup yet.”

Elizabeth walked slowly back to her room, disbelieving, but happy for her sister. The past year had perhaps been just as hard for Jane—with her jilted promotion and subsequent rejection by Elizabeth—and she deserved her happiness. Elizabeth entered her room, closed the door, and put on a Chopin CD, something she always did when she needed to collect her thoughts. Jane married? The notion was so strange. Elizabeth still felt sometimes as if she were twelve years old, Jane thirteen, and that they were still dancing together in an unknown dance studio in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Elizabeth paced. She sat on the edge of her bed, but feeling unsettled, went to the window and peered to the small section of street not hidden by the opposing building.

It was not jealousy. Those days were over. Months ago, an announcement like this might have devastated Elizabeth—losing a sister, a roommate, a best friend to Prince Charming. But Elizabeth had nothing to envy. Leaning her forehead against the glass, she smiled softly, a bit sadly. She was happy for Jane, but felt like something had ended.

A knock on the door stole her from her thoughts.

“Are the boys here?” she called out.

The door opened. “They are.”

“William,” she said, turning abruptly, “I didn't hear you come in.”

“Jane answered the door,” he replied, his eyes roaming down the length of her body. “Christ, El. You look...”

William's words trailed off there, and Elizabeth laughed. “Any compliment will do.”

He smiled, his eyes looking bright and youthful. “That's the best gift I've ever given myself.”

Elizabeth laughed again. “Ah, your motives become clear. Are we leaving?”

“Apparently, Jane is still getting ready. What are you doing in here?” William said, pacing towards her. He looked around and frowned. “Chopin? What happened?”

“Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“Contemplating your big night?” Reaching out, William stroked her cheek.

Elizabeth smiled and looked out of the window. “Not really.”

“No? What, then?”

“My sister's getting married.” She turned her eyes back to him.

William nodded. “I heard.”

“You heard? When?”

“A week ago. Charles let it slip. They didn't want to say anything until after tonight.”

Elizabeth sighed in frustration. “So you were all in on it, then?”

“Not 'in on it.' They wanted to wait, and it wasn't my place to say anything.” William paused. “Are you angry?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, just surprised. My sister's getting married. Jane Bingley. That sounds weird.”

Laughing, William replied, “She might keep her name for the stage. Plenty of dancers do that.”

“It's not about the name, William.”

He sighed gently. “Didn't you ever consider the possibility that this might happen?”

“I did. I just didn't think it would happen so soon.” Elizabeth shrugged, her face taking on a tinge of melancholy. “I wonder when they'll have the wedding.”

“Charles told me they're thinking of having it before the fall season premiere.”

“Before the fall season!” cried Elizabeth. “So soon? Our lease on the apartment isn't up for another year! Crap.”

Then, William laughed. “Ever the practical girl.”

Accepting his criticism, Elizabeth chuckled in spite of herself. “Sorry, this is a lot for me to digest—Jane married, and me living with another roommate.”

“I'll try not to take that as an insult.”

Elizabeth stared at him. “What does that mean?”

“What do you mean 'what does that mean?' Why would you need a roommate?”

“How else am I supposed to afford the rent?”

“Elizabeth,” William said, in what she called his “Who's The Boss?” voice.

“No, William, I'm not letting you pay my rent.”

“I don't want to pay your rent.”

Elizabeth frowned and scanned his face. It took her several seconds to finally understand his meaning. When she did, her eyes widened. “You mean, live together?”

William nodded.

“I thought you didn't like it when I left my underwear on the floor and didn't clean my dishes.”

“I don't like it.”

“I...I just didn't think we'd live well together.”

William frowned. “Because you don't clean your room?”

Elizabeth nodded. “And don't do the dishes or the laundry.”

“Yes, you have a point. Forget it.”

Elizabeth punched him playfully in the stomach. He laughed, but quieted soon after. William searched her eyes, before raising his forehead in expectation.

“I love you, and the underwear and dishes I can get used to. Move in with me, El.”

Elizabeth considered his offer. “When?”

“Whenever.”

She licked her lips and stared up at him. Then, she smiled lopsidedly. “Are you sure? If I take you up on your offer, your entire universe may implode on itself.”

William enfolded her in his arms and kissed her forehead. “Like it hasn't already?”

Chuckling, Elizabeth kissed his jaw. She breathed him in, the scent of wool, of his cologne. Closing her eyes, she nuzzled the skin of his neck. “All right, then. I'll move in. But Elsa's going to really hate you for it,” she joked, referring to William's housekeeper.

William smiled and rolled his eyes at her. Saying nothing, he lifted her chin, smiled down into her face, and then kissed her.

“Hey, you two!” called Charles from the living room. “Stop making out. The limo's waiting.”

William and Elizabeth laughed and untangled themselves from each other.

“You're wearing my lip gloss,” giggled Elizabeth, rubbing his lips with her thumb.

He smiled down to her, a large, silly smile, and pecked her lips once more. Straightening his tuxedo jacket, he took Elizabeth's hand. “So, are you ready to be crowned queen of the evening?”

Smiling, Elizabeth grabbed her purse off of the bed and nodded. “I've been ready for ages, William. Come on, let's not keep them waiting.”

The End

 

 

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