Author's Note: Thanks so much to everyone who commented, subscribed, and favorited. Your support means a lot, and I really appreciate it. This story, like LBD, is now coming to an end. I hope you enjoy this final segment. And one more thanks to my fantastic beta reader, Kyrie Anne. This story wouldn't be the same without her.

Lizzie fell asleep wondering if she would want Darcy just as much in the morning, and when she wakes up, her first thought is that that answer is an unequivocal yes. Last night made onething clear: they are very physically compatible. It's all the other stuff she's still not sure about.

Her sleep was fitful, and she wakes before dawn. After trying without success to fall back asleep, she gets up to start her day. She's ready to go a little past six.

If Darcy is half as anxious as she is right now, he's probably awake, too. And since the most logical way to solve her current dilemma is to spend more time with him to see how things go, she decides to go ahead and call him.

His voice is rough when he answers. "Lizzie?"

"Hey—did I wake you?"

He clears his throat. "No. I—I woke early."

"Me too. Do you want to get some breakfast together? I promised I'd treat you, after all."

There is silence for a moment, and Lizzie winces, wondering if he read too much into her comment. I promised I'd treat you? What the hell was she thinking?

"Um. Yes. Breakfast would be . . . good."

He sounds just as confused and awkward as she feels. This is going to be one big breakfast of awkward.

"Okay," she says.

"Okay," he repeats. "Uh—would you like to go to the hotel restaurant? Or order room service?"

Lizzie wrinkles her nose. The words room service should not be so full of innuendo. He probably didn't intend it. God—this morning is off to such a good start.

"Or maybe there's a Denny's nearby."

"Certainly. Denny's would be good."

Yes. Yes. Get out of this hotel and into a public place where the hormones can't take over, again. This is exactly what Lizzie needs. She'll be seeing George in just a couple of hours. She needs a clear head, right now, and being alone in a hotel room with Darcy again will leave her anything but clear-headed.

When she steps out of her room, he's already there, waiting for her, wearing a button down, a tie, and suspenders. He says that his phone has located a Denny's less than two miles away, and Lizzie smiles. Perfect.

William orders an All American Slam with hardly a glance at the menu, and Lizzie raises an eyebrow at him.

He sighs. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, I have in fact been to Denny's before. Several times." Though it has been a few years since his last visit. But Lizzie doesn't have to know that.

"So it's not all fine dining and personal chefs, after all?" Her voice has a teasing tone.

William taps his finger on the table, thinking. The issue of their economic disparity clearly troubles her far more than he'd anticipated. But that seems simple in comparison to the fear that kept him awake most of the night—the thought that she'd wake up regretting what had happened. Or worse, that she'd start to believe he took advantage of her in her tipsy and emotionally vulnerable state. Fortunately, neither seem to be the case.

"Money doesn't have to be an issue between us if we don't want it to be," he says, knowing he's oversimplifying. But he is genuinely convinced that the disparity between them is just a minor stumbling block. Surely open and honest dialog will be enough to work through it?

"Who said anything about money?" Lizzie says, putting on one of her exaggeratedly disingenuous faces.

William gives her a pointed look. "I'd like to think I know you well enough by now to understand your subtext."

She looks down and takes a deep breath. "Fine. Yes. It's been bothering me a little."

By which he's pretty certain she means "a lot."

He frowns as he ponders the various lines of reasoning he might take here. "I . . . appreciate the way you spoke up about this at the hotel. You reminded me that I've . . . developed certain habits based on my economic standing, and that those habits don't always accommodate or respect your needs. Please allow me to apologize for that. And also feel free to speak up whenever something I do or say makes you uncomfortable. I value the opportunity to learn and improve, and your honest communication has already been invaluable in that respect. I hope that further honest communication will be enough help our—" he hesitates, not certain what word to apply to their relationship, yet, "—our friendship continue to grow."

"Yeah," she replies. "I think you're probably right about that. As ironic as it is, given my field of study, the biggest thing I've learned about myself over the past year of doing my videos is that I'm not always very good at communicating with the people in my life. Sometimes I forget that talking to the internet isn't the same as talking to real people. And you've been on the bum end of that deal a few too many times. I'm sorry."

"No need to apologize," he says immediately. He's never desired an apology from her. Yes, admittedly, her videos were a bit humiliating. But he understands exactly why she thought of him the way she did, and exactly why she chose to use him as a topic for discussion on her vlog. He doesn't hold it against her.

She shakes her head. "You might not need to hear it, but I need to say it."

"Well. Then. Thank you."

"You're welcome." She nods, looking satisfied. "And as for the money thing, I'm sorry about getting hung up on that. I guess, after all you're spending on this Lydia thing I feel—indebted. I mean, I heard you talking to my dad about letting him pay some of it back, but it still—feels odd. I don't like feeling indebted to my friends."

He's not surprised that this is the crux of her difficulties. "I understand. But I don't quite know how to solve that problem."

"I don't either." She looks down at the table and toys with her flatware. "Maybe I'll just have to get used to it. I mean—I'm grateful. Don't get me wrong."

"I don't."

"Good. Because I will always be grateful for this. I just . . . I don't want to be . . . dependent. On anyone. I've been dependent on my parents for way too long as it is, and I don't want to just switch that dependence to someone else, you know? I need to know that I can stand on my own." She looks at him imploringly.

His heart races. This isn't just a conversation about "friendship." No—this is Lizzie's way of telling him that she understands just what's at stake, here. She knows exactly what he wants from her—the dreams he's had of building a life together. Of sharing a future.

It's good to know that she finally understands. He only hopes that he understands her, in return.

He thinks for a moment longer before responding. "I understand the desire to . . . stand independently. To make your own success. When my parents passed away I could have lived quite comfortably off the investments in my trust fund. I didn't have to step forward and take over the company. But my parents' decision to move the company into the digital realm—to take on new technologies and new enterprises—it excited me. I wanted to take their vision and make it my own. I wanted to build on what they'd begun. To grow it. To expand it. I wanted to build something for myself—not just to live off of what they left behind. Is that similar to what you're feeling?"

"Yes." Lizzie smiles brightly. "Exactly. I've been a little nervous about grad school ending and having to find a job, but ever since I started these shadowing projects back at Collins and Collins, I've seen how great it can be to get out there and make your own way. I see what Charlotte is accomplishing, and—and," she gestures to him, "I see what you've done at Pemberley, and I think, that's what I want. I mean, I don't expect to build something like your company, but for the first time in my life I really feel like I could get out there and do something."

The light in her eyes makes his spirit leap and the excitement in her voice is infectious. "I have the utmost confidence that you will find what you're looking for, and that you'll make it extraordinary. I believe in you, Lizzie."

Her mouth hangs slightly open and she shakes her head a little. "I . . ."

Before she can continue, the waitress arrives.

As they eat, William wonders whether the flush on Lizzie's face is from embarrassment at his praise (he really feels that way, but perhaps he overdid it, a bit) or frustration at being interrupted before she could respond. He never gets a chance to find out.

His phone starts to ring when they are only halfway through their meal. The sound of Hall and Oates' classic "Private Eyes" fills the air, and he fumbles to answer. It is Harris. There are signs of movement in the house where George spent the night. If they want to be certain to catch him before he leaves, they need to come soon.

"Very well. Text me the address. We'll be there as soon as possible," says William.

Lizzie flags down their waitress to ask for the check before he even hangs up.

"So it's time?" she asks, breathlessly.

He nods. "It is."

Lizzie's stomach flips a few times as they head out to the car. She's been imagining what she would do or say if she saw George again for the past week, but now that the moment has arrived she feels at a loss. So she tries to distract herself.

"Seriously, with that ringtone?" she says as Darcy opens the car door for her. (She's noticed that he likes to do all sorts of old-fashioned gentlemanly things—from opening doors and pulling out chairs to defending the honor of his friends and family. She's always liked men with a chivalrous streak.)

He frowns a little while they both get into the car. "It's been a long week. I haven't slept well. And late one night, when I had a little insomnia, I started playing with ringtones. It . . . seemed apropos at the time."

He speaks in the robotic tone that used to bother her so much, but now she realizes it's how he speaks when he's nervous or embarrassed. She smiles at him. "It sounds like something I would have done."

He raises an eyebrow and looks at her.

"Now I'm curious about what my ringtone is," she adds, teasing.

He looks forward again and tucks his chin as he pulls the car out of the parking lot. That one really got to him. Maybe she'll have to dial his number sometime today, just to find out.

She breathes deep as they drive and tries to get her thoughts in order, mentally reviewing the questions she needs to ask. With the burden of her promise to Lydia weighing her down, she knows that this confrontation won't be nearly as satisfying as she once hoped.

"So," she asks, "how exactly is this going to work?"

Darcy is quick to respond. "Harris is a registered process server, so I'm going to give him the court documents, and he'll make the initial approach to the townhome where Wickham spent the night. Once Wickham comes to the door, Harris will serve him with the papers, and then give us a little space. At that point, if Wickham lets us talk to him, we'll talk. And if he doesn't . . . well . . . I'm not certain."

Lizzie nibbles on the inside of her bottom lip as she thinks. George won't refuse to talk to them. She's seen the videos. She knows how arrogant and manipulative he is. He'll try to talk his way out of this—she knows he will. "Do you know what you're going to say to him?"

"I have some ideas," he says. "I've tried working it out in my mind. But it's hard to know exactly what to say in such cases until you actually face them."

"Yes." Lizzie nods. "That's pretty much where I'm at, too." She shakes her head. "I'm not exactly scared of him. No." She clenches her hands on her thighs. "I'm not scared at all. Just—anxious. And confused. I used to really like George. And now, to see him again under these circumstances . . . it's just . . . surreal."

"I understand," replies Darcy in a soft voice. "When I found him with Gigi it was like something out of a bad dream. I didn't want to believe what I was seeing with my own eyes."

"Were you . . ." Lizzie swallows, and then plunges forward with one of the questions she's been wanting to ask for a long time, ". . . were you and George very close, when you were friends? How did all that work?"

Darcy's knuckles look white as they grip the steering wheel. "Our fathers were very close, and we spent quite a lot of time together, as boys. He's two years younger than me, but I was very shy as child, so it was comfortable to be friends with him, because our families spent so much time together. His mother left when he was very young, and my parents wanted to help, so they gave him scholarships to attend the same prep schools that I went to, and we would play together in the evenings and over the summer."

Lizzie can hear the discomfort in Darcy's voice as he recounts the story, but she doesn't interrupt. She's too fascinated by this hidden piece of the history he shares with George.

"When I entered high school, I finally overcame enough of my shyness to find some good friends, and at that age the two year difference between us seemed more significant, so we drifted apart. When he finally followed me to high school, I tried to mentor him. I helped him prepare to try out for the swim team and tried to introduce him to some of the academic clubs I belonged to, but he showed little interest in them. Though he was only fourteen, it was clear that his interests lay primarily in partying and girls. He'd changed, and I didn't care for the changes. Over the next few years I watched him learn to manipulate everyone in his social circle—to take advantage of them using his charm and wit. And I also saw the way he took advantage of my parents' generosity." He shook his head. "For their sake, I tried to remain friendly with him, but all true friendship between us had already ended. Then . . . his father died of a heart attack during his junior year of high school. I'd already left for Harvard, so my parents took him in. They let him live in the house, and promised to continue to fund his education through college."

He squeezes his lips together and falls silent for a moment before continuing. "I didn't like the way he used the tragedy of his father's death to gain special favors. Not just from my parents. I know for a fact that he used his story of woe to successfully seduce several girls who should have known better. And Gigi idolized him." He pauses again, gritting his teeth, and Lizzie feels his pain.

The story of George's life almost makes her want to feel sorry for him. But others have had lives with just as much tragedy—like Gigi and Darcy. They never used their losses to try to manipulate or take advantage of others. No. That was just George. His past was no justification for what he'd done. "You don't have to tell me the rest. Gigi covered the essentials."

Darcy nods silently, and Lizzie begins to realize that when he told her family that he feels responsible for George's actions, he wasn't lying. After all their history together, it's understandable that he still thinks of George as one of his problems. As one of his mistakes.

They drive in silence until they park across the street from the townhome where George is supposed to be staying.

Lizzie's stomach churns as she steps out of the car, and she wishes that she'd skipped breakfast.

A short, swarthy man with a bushy mustache steps out of a nearby parked car and walks up to shake Darcy's hand. Darcy introduces him as Harris, the private investigator.

"He's been in there since late last night," says Harris. "It's just a friend's house—no girls, so you won't have to worry about that awkwardness." He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks on his heels.

Lizzie is grateful for the news. Having some other poor girl hanging off of George's arm would make her task almost impossible.

Darcy hands over the paperwork to Harris, who shuffles through it and makes a few notations on a clipboard before heading up to the townhome door.

Lizzie's stomach continues to roll around inside of her as she waits for someone to answer the door. She and Darcy stand together in the street, looking up at the porch from a slight distance. Too close and not close enough all at once. She reaches out and grasps Darcy's hand to steady her nerves.

He glances down at her for just a moment and squeezes her hand lightly before looking back up at the door.

It swings open to reveal a shirtless and sleepy looking guy in his twenties. The man frowns when Harris asks for George, and turns to yell, "Wicks! Come here. Some guy wants to talk to you."

The shirtless guy steps back into the house and Lizzie sucks in a deep breath through her nose as she clenches her teeth and squeezes Darcy's hand.

Then he appears.

George is wearing jeans and a gray t-shirt that Lizzie's seen on him before, but now it looks like a costume. She knows who is really inside those innocuous clothes.

George rubs his eyes and yawns as Harris hands him the documents and asks for a signature. After a confused frown, George signs, and only then glances up to notice Lizzie and Darcy.

She holds her breath and watches as his mouth hangs open. "What the . . . ?" Then he glances back down at the papers and starts flipping through them.

Harris walks back down the porch steps and nods at Darcy as he passes. Darcy nods back.

Lizzie wonders how they can look so nonchalant about all this, when she's going crazy on the inside.

"You're suing me?" George exclaims. "And you came here to gloat about it?!" He stares at Darcy, aghast.

Darcy lets go of her hand and meets George's gaze. "Essentially, yes."

"This is seriously fucked up—even for you." George steps to the edge of the porch, but doesn't come down.

Darcy steps up onto the sidewalk. "I wanted to be here to make sure you understand that you will never be permitted to hurt anyone even remotely connected to me ever again. Is that clear?"

George rolls his eyes and scowls before turning his gaze to Lizzie. "So I guess you're the one who talked Lydia into this? She never would have done this on her own."

"It wasn't me," replies Lizzie, stepping up beside Darcy. "It was Gigi." She takes grim satisfaction at the range of emotions that flash across his face. Why was she so nervous about this? Now that she's here she can see how small and powerless he really is. He's nothing.

George narrows his eyes. "I see what's going on here." He points at Darcy. "He has you ganging up on me. He's obsessed with me, you know?" His eyes meet Lizzie's again. "His parents always liked me better than they liked him, and he can't get over it. He won't stop until he ruins me."

Lizzie rolls her eyes at George's blatant attempts at manipulation.

So George changes tactics. "So—you and Darcy, huh? I never thought you'd turn out to be a gold-digger. You Bennet girls sure get around."

Lizzie sees red. She's halfway up the four porch steps before she realizes that she's moved.

"Don't you dare insult my sisters. Ever. For any reason. You have no right to say or even think anything relating to us. Got it?" Her words come out in a snarl.

"This isn't my fault!" George replies, deflecting her words. "Do you think I wanted to do this?"

This is the question she came here to ask. She raises her hands at her sides. "I don't know, George. I have no idea why you did this. Lydia—she wants me to ask you why. Why did you do this to her?"

George squeezes his lips together and shakes his head. "I didn't plan this, Lizzie. You have to believe me. When I ran into her in Las Vegas, I hung out with her because I like her. She's a fun, sexy girl. I didn't have some nefarious plan in mind, no matter what Darcy might have told you. But after she left I ran into some guys I owe money to, and they were hassling me, so I needed to get out of there. And Lydia seemed to want me around, so I followed her to lay low for a while." He holds her gaze. "Lizzie—I really care about Lydia. I do."

"If you really cared about her you wouldn't have betrayed her trust like this. You wouldn't have tried to exploit her for money." Lizzie can't hide the bitterness in her voice, nor does she want to. He's still on the porch, a couple of steps above her, and she hates the way he's looking down her. But she doesn't want to get any closer. She can't stand the thought of even coming close to touching him again—unless it's with her fist.

"These guys are serious," he says emphatically. "They wanted to hurt me, Lizzie. I had to get the money somehow. I was desperate. When they tracked me down in your town, I panicked. And I knew a guy in the video company—"

"Of course you did," Lizzie mutters under her breath.

"—and when I mentioned my relationship with your sister to him and show him her follower count and her stats and stuff, he told me a tape could bring in big money. Enough to make my problems go away." George hits her with his best puppy-dog eyes. "I was in serious trouble. I was desperate. I needed that money. I didn't want to hurt anyone. Really."

Lizzie squeezes her lips together and shakes her head. It's just as bad as what she thought. Lydia was nothing more than a means to an end, for him. He didn't see her as a person—just as an object to be used and tossed aside. "Well, you did hurt people, George. You hurt them a lot."

George suddenly perks up. "Hey—wait—we can still make this right. The video company paid me enough up front that combined with selling my car, I was able to pay off my debts. My slate is clean. Those guys aren't after me anymore, and the tape doesn't have to go up. Your lawsuit will block it. Just—drop me from the suit. I'll make a fresh start. I'll find a way to make it up to Lydia. Really—I care about her. I'll—I'll find a job and settle down. I'm ready to start over. Lizzie, please, just get this fanatic to drop my name from the lawsuit." He points at Darcy again, anger flashing in his eyes.

For a moment, Lizzie had almost sympathized with him. But that final expression on his face tells her all she needs to know. He'll say anything—do anything—to protect himself. And say anything and do anything to hurt Darcy. Nothing else matters to him.

Lizzie's not sure if she's ever met a clinical sociopath before, but she's pretty sure she knows one now. And now that she realizes what he is, she knows in her heart that he'll never really change—no matter how many second chances he's given.

She takes a deep breath, calming her anger. Anger won't do any good, here. "No, George. We won't drop the suit. You need to face the consequences of your choices."

He shakes his head, a look of disbelief in his eyes. "No. No way. This is bullshit. Lydia would never do this to me. I'm going to call her and talk to her. She'll change her mind."

"She signed the papers, George," says Lizzie, suddenly nervous. "She made her decision."

He throws his hands up, the court documents flapping in the breeze. "But the tape is stopped. This stops it. You both know I'm broke. You can't do this to me."

Out of the corner of her eye, Lizzie sees Darcy move closer to stand on the step just behind her. "Yes, we can," he says in a soft, controlled voice. He places his hand lightly on the small of her back, and Lizzie feels stronger immediately.

"Haven't you already done enough?" George pleads. "If it hadn't been for you I'd still be with Gigi, and we'd be happy. How many times do you have to ruin me?"

"I think your memory of the end of your relationship with my sister is faulty, if you believe you'd still be together." Darcy is in full-on robot mode, and Lizzie thinks it means that he's struggling to control his emotions. She can't blame him.

"It's time to accept responsibility for the consequences of your actions," Lizzie says firmly, doubting that the true meaning of her words will ever make it past George's wall of self-centered defensiveness.

"I could say the same for you," George spits back. "If you hadn't bad-mouthed me all over the internet, maybe I'd have had other options. And you treated Lydia like shit. Maybe she wouldn't need rescuing if you hadn't been such a bitch to her in the first place."

Lizzie's jaw drops. "Now you're actually blaming me? To my face? You're blaming me?" She's never wanted to strangle someone more in her whole life. The nerve—the audacity!

She's still fumbling for a more articulate response (other than slapping the smirk right off of his face), when Darcy takes her elbow and says, "This conversation is over. You should find a lawyer. My legal team will be contacting you early next week."

"Fuck you," George snaps.

"I assure you, the feeling is mutual," replies Darcy.

He gently but firmly leads Lizzie away from the porch. A part of her wants to yell at him for being so damn controlling, but she also knows that continuing the argument with George would have gotten them nowhere.

As they approach the car, George shouts one final barb after them. "After all the money you're spending on this, Lizzie better be a fantastic fuck. She never let me get past second base."

Lizzie freezes. It's as if she can hear a train rushing in her head. Her heart pounds. She clenches her fists. "I am so going to kick his ass."

She begins to turn, but Darcy tightens the grip on her elbow. "Get in the car, Lizzie. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing your anger. It's what he wants. Don't give him what he wants."

Lizzie squeezes her eyes shut and trembles for a moment. Darcy is right. She knows he is. And she hates it.

With a huff of frustration she breaks free of his grip and stomps around to the passenger side, letting herself in. She sinks into her seat, staring away from George, and Darcy gets in and starts the car. He pulls away from the curb, and Lizzie doesn't look back.

William seethes with anger. He drives without thinking, following the roads and responding to traffic signals without any thought as to where he is going. All his brain has room for right now is his rage. His utter disgust at George's pathetic rationalizations and vicious attacks. If Lizzie hadn't been there, he very well might have resorted to physical violence. Even now he feels the urge to slam his fist into something.

After a few minutes he collects himself enough to say, "I am . . . very sorry for the things he said to you. I'm sorry you had to hear that."

Lizzie shakes her head. "Why are you apologizing? It's not like you could control what he said."

"I just—I feel like someone ought to apologize."

"Okay," she says quietly. A moment later she frowns. "God. I've got to call Lydia."

Before he has time to ask if she'd like some privacy, her phone is in her hand. A few moments later, Lydia answers her call.

William feels somewhat voyeuristic listening to this private conversation, though he can only hear one side.

"We just did it," says Lizzie.

A pause.

"No. I'm sorry. He was—god, Lydia. I'm sorry. He was pretty awful." Another pause. "No. He said . . . he didn't plan it. Not from the start. Did you know he had some loan shark thugs after him? Well, he did. And he came to town to hide out from them. The video was his oh-so-brilliant fast-money scheme to pay them off. I'm so, so sorry."

William frowns and clenches his teeth during the next long pause. He can only imagine what Lydia is feeling right now. He has a pretty good idea that it won't be too far different from how Gigi felt after George left. William wouldn't wish that on anyone.

"I'm so, so, sorry. But you're going to be okay. I'm here and Jane is here and you have Dad and Mary. We'll get you through this. I'll be home later today." Lizzie pauses again. "He . . . he might try to call you, to talk you into backing out of the lawsuit. No. No. I understand. Just . . . don't answer, okay? Get Jane to take you out. Leave your phone behind. Or better yet, go change your phone number." Lizzie shakes her head. "Yeah. Maybe that's a little extreme. I just worry about you. I love you. Okay. See you later today. Bye."

Lizzie sighs and rubs her eyes after hanging up. She looks exhausted.

William's heart is tight in his chest. He wishes there was something he could do to ease her pain, even if just a little.

"Lizzie, is there anything you want? Anywhere you want to go?" he asks.

"Um. . ." She fidgets with her hands in her lap. "Where are we?"

"I have no idea," he confesses. "My mind hasn't really been on the drive."

"Look! We're right by the beach. Let's go there. I haven't been to the beach in a few years."

William quickly makes the turn into the public parking lot adjoining the beach and pulls into a space. "Are you sure you want to go the beach? The weather is hardly ideal."

"I'm sure," she says, already unbuckling her seatbelt. "I think a little sea air is exactly what I need to wash the taste of that conversation out of my mouth."

William follows her out of the car and onto the beach. It's a windy, overcast February day, and Lizzie's lightweight top hardly seems adequate to keep her warm. But she seems determined, so he voices no protest.

She walks far onto the beach and stops just beyond where the steady waves roll onto the sand. She folds her arms for warmth, and stares out at the ocean, her ponytail waving in the wind like a banner.

He stands beside her and tries to ignore the irksome flapping of his tie. In many ways, Lizzie is still a mystery to him. He has no idea what she's thinking, and therefore has no idea what to say to her.

An occasional jogger or dog-walker passes by, but, other than the ubiquitous seagulls, they are largely alone.

After a few minutes at staring at the relentless waves, Lizzie speaks. "George will never change, will he? He'll never really learn anything from all of this."

William sighs and nods. "I'm afraid you're right. I've hoped, many times, that he would mature out of this kind of malicious behavior. But I gave up believing it would ever happen after the incident with Gigi." He can still remember the look on George's face that day. The way he'd stared into William's eyes, silently taunting him throughout Gigi's brave, hopelessly naïve speech. "After he took my check and left, and I saw what it did to Gigi, I wished that George had turned down the money. I would've hated having George in my life like that, but at least Gigi wouldn't have felt so used. Like she was an object that could be bought and sold, and nothing more. Maybe she would have been better off if I'd never offered him that money." The wind picks up and the sound of the water beating against the sand fills his ears.

"No. She wouldn't be. George is a manipulative, emotionally abusive douche bag. Who knows what kind of damage he would have done to her if you hadn't stepped in when you did?" Lizzie's opinion is firm, and it helps reassure him. He's second-guessed his actions that day for two years, now. He's still not entirely comfortable with it, but having Lizzie's support helps.

Lizzie looks down and kicks at the sand a few times. "Did Gigi tell you about her arrangement with Lydia?"

Her words seem strangely ominous. "What arrangement?"

"She promised Lydia that she'd pay all of George's legal expenses. It was the only way Lydia would agree to sign the papers."

William chokes and sputters. "She . . . I can't . . . this is . . ." He closes his eyes and clenches his fists at his sides. "If George ever finds out the money came from Gigi, he'll take as a sign that she still cares for her. He'll try to worm his way back into her life. I know him. I know what he'll do. How could she do this?"

Lizzie rests her hand on his arm. "Hey—she was just trying to help Lydia. Don't get mad at her."

"I'm not mad. I'm just concerned. You know how persuasive George can be."

"I do. I'm worried, too. But there's got to be something you can do? Some way to keep him out of all of our lives for good?" Her grip tightens on his arm. "Maybe a restraining order, or something?"

William nods, glad that she can still use logic in the face of all their tumultuous emotions. "Yes. Absolutely. I'll contact Tilney first thing on Monday about the possibility of restraining orders. Lydia would have to be involved again—"

"I'll talk to her," says Lizzie. "I'll make sure it happens."

"Good. Good." He nods, feeling as if he can breathe again.

After all that George has done, surely they can obtain restraining orders for Gigi and Lydia? Tilney will know how to make it happen.

Lizzie leans against his side. "God, I hate everything about this situation."

"As do I," he says, though it's not entirely true. He'll never regret the time he's spent with her.

As if echoing his thoughts, Lizzie says, "Well—I'm glad for the time we've had together. The circumstances just make it less enjoyable than I would have wanted."

Her words are enough to lighten his spirits considerably.

After a few more moments of silent contemplation, Lizzie says, "I'm going wading." She promptly pulls away from him and sat down to remove her shoes and roll up the legs of her jeans.

"Are you sure? It's February, and the wind is quite bracing." He hates stating the obvious, but she seems ready to defy logic and freeze herself.

"I know. It'll be just the thing to shock me out this depressed funk," she replies. "Come on. Do it with me."

William has no desire to wade into frigid water, but when Lizzie jumps to her feet and charges forward, emitting a high pitched exclamation when she hits the water, he feels compelled to follow.

Lizzie was right—the cold water does shock her right out of her depression.

She stands ankle deep in the chilly water and lets the incoming waves strike her mid-calf, just below her rolled up jeans. The ocean reminds her that no matter how bad she felt this morning—no matter how horrible George is and how much he hurt Lydia—life will keep on going. Eventually, everything will be okay.

After a few moments, Darcy splashes up beside her, his pants carefully rolled up just under his knees. He wears a slight frown, and he picks his feet up and down gingerly while his wind-driven tie continues to flap around his face. She's not sure if she's ever seen him so awkward and uncomfortable since that October night when he sat staring at her camera for a few moments after she'd proclaimed her hatred for him and then told him about her videos.

It still amazes her how much has changed since that night. And it amazes her that after everything she said about him and did to him, he still cares about her enough to wade into the cold ocean for her.

She smiles up at him. "I didn't think you'd come in."

"I'm still not entirely certain why I did." He wears a bewildered scowl that makes her want to laugh and hug him.

Her heart jumps.

William Darcy may not be the sort of man she ever pictured herself falling for, but as he stands there shivering at the onslaught of the waves, all for her sake, she can't deny that she really has fallen for him.

She's starting to wonder why she keeps fighting it—why does she dwell on the problems and the obstacles? Does she really need to figure out all the answers beforehand, or can they work them out later, together?

After seeing George this morning, the contrast between a truly good man and one who only pretends to be couldn't be clearer.

William is an undeniably good man. An honest man. A thoughtful man. An intelligent man. A sweet man. A man who can push her buttons—both good and bad—like no one else. A man with whom she feels completely safe. And a man who is almost certainly in love with her.

Why not take this chance?

She grips his upper arm and uses her free hand to gesture for him to lean in closer. He raises one eyebrow and ducks his head toward her.

As soon as he is close enough she cradles his jaw in her palm and stretches up to kiss him.

For a moment they wobble and Lizzie is afraid they'll tumble into the water, but then Darcy grips her hips with his hands and steadies them both. The first kiss didn't last long, but once they are stable, their lips meet again.

His kiss sends the same dizzying heat through her body as it did last night. It feels familiar and comfortable and new and exciting all at once.

After a few moments they part again, and she smiles at the gleam in his eyes. "I just wanted to see if that would be as good sober as it was buzzed," she says. After a short pause she adds, "And for the record, it absolutely was."

He smiles wide enough for his dimples to show. "Good."

A new gust of wind hits them and Lizzie shivers. "I think I've had enough of this water."

They slosh out of the surf and carry their dry shoes to a nearby picnic table. They sit on the bench, rest their backs against the table, and stretch out their bare feet to let them air dry for a few minutes. When Lizzie shivers again, William wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her close.

"I'm not glad about what sent us on this trip," he says, "but I am glad we got to spend this time together."

"Me too," says Lizzie. "Other than the whole George part, I think this might have even been better than a date to the theater."

His eyebrows knit and he slowly and deliberately says, "So—there would have been a date to the theater?"

"Yes," she replies. "Yes, there would have been."

"I am very happy to hear that."

He kisses her again—slow and deep, in a way that makes her heart feel ready to leap out of her chest.

They're in public, and Lizzie knows this can't get too intense, but the feeling of his fingers gliding up and down her arms and his body pressing against hers as his tongue slides into her mouth sets her whole body on fire.

After a few minutes William gently pulls back, resting his forehead against hers for just a moment before looking down into her eyes. His smile flashes across his face briefly before he dons a more serious expression.

"I don't want to ruin the moment," he says. "But I feel like I need a little clarification on the nature of our relationship."

Of course he does. Who wouldn't, in his position? She nods. "Okay."

He pulls back a little further, as if trying to assume a slightly more professional stance. "I—I feel that I need to tell you that I'm not looking for a . . . casual relationship. I don't want something born of nothing but the heightened emotions of our current situation."

"I don't want that either," she says quickly.

"I'm happy to hear it." His smile flickers back onto his face for just an instant before vanishing again. "Lizzie—I feel like you deserve to know: I still feel the same way I did in the fall. More strongly even than before. I want things between us to be serious, and meaningful, and if you still don't think that's something you want with me then—"

Lizzie silences him with a kiss. His words have confirmed everything she already believed, and they've only strengthened her resolve.

She trusts William not to hurt her. She trusts him to know just how special this second chance really is. For both of them.

She pulls back. "I want to be with you. Not just for a casual relationship, and not just because of heightened emotions. I've been falling for you ever since I saw you again at Pemberley. Maybe even since you gave me that letter. I'm not sure. It's been coming on so gradually that I didn't know it was happening until I was in the middle of it." It's scary to lay herself bare like this, but William did it first. Twice. She has nothing to be afraid of. She takes a deep breath. "I'm. . . not sure if I'm at the same place as you, yet, so I need you to be patient with me. But—I want to try this. I want to see where it goes. I want to be with you."

His smile is full of a disbelieving wonder that makes him look years younger. Lizzie feels lightheaded and giddy.

She watches him struggle to find a response several times before he gives up and kisses her again.

Another gust of wind tosses a few locks of her hair into both their mouths, and they pull apart laughing.

"Maybe we should head back to the hotel to check out," she says. "I did promise Lydia I'd come home soon. Though I wish we could stay."

"I wish we could stay, too. But your sister needs you. I'll get you home."

William can hardly believe what's happening. He keeps looking over at Lizzie as he drives, just to make sure she's really there.

Things like this don't happen to him. He still isn't entirely sure he deserves it. But he's going to take this chance and make the most of it. He won't let this relationship slip through his fingers.

"So what should I call you?" Lizzie asks, grinning at him. "It seems weird to keep calling you Darcy. So should it be William, or Will?"

"No one calls me Will," he says quickly. The only person who ever called him anything other than "William" or "Darcy" was his mother, who called him Willy. He hated that nickname growing up, but now he misses it.

"Can I?" Lizzie asks.

Will. He lets the word roll around in his brain a little. It feels a little strange, but not unpleasantly so.

"Very well," he says. "But only in private—just the two of us. In public I'd prefer to be called William."

"I think I can manage that. Will." Her eyes sparkle, and a thrill runs down his spine.

He wishes he didn't have to take her home, yet. He doesn't want this to end. But it's not his place to push her, right now. Her sister needs her. That has to come first.

When they get back to the hotel they head to their rooms to collect their bags. William walks Lizzie to her door, and as she opens her door to step inside she pulls him toward her and stretches up for another kiss.

He still feels a thrill every time they touch.

He presses her against her partially open door and it swings wide. They laugh as they almost fall, stumbling back into her room.

"As long as we're here," says Lizzie suggestively, pulling him toward the bed. "We can spare a few more minutes."

William's heart is in his throat as he joins her on the bed, kissing her with the full fervor of months of pent-up longing. There's no alcohol clouding their minds this time. No confusions or misgivings. They can finally just be together, the way he's always imagined.

All the anxiety and frustration of the past week melts away as Lizzie sinks into William's embrace. She rests in the crook of his arm and he lies on his side next to her, their legs intertwining as they kiss.

Everything about this feels right. And she wants more. Much more.

She's tired of letting fear hold her back. She's tired of fixating on the lives of everyone else in her sphere instead of living her own. She's sick of hang-ups and worries and anxiety. She has hundreds of thousands of followers who believe in her. Maybe it's time to listen to them and to trust herself to make a big decision without second guessing. Maybe it's time to just go for it.

When his lips migrate to her jaw line, she says what she's been thinking for the past few minutes. "I want you."

He freezes and slowly pulls back to meet her eyes. His breath comes in quick gasps, as if he's been running too quickly. "Lizzie . . . I'm not certain if I understand . . . ?"

"I want to have sex. Right now. Is that clear enough?"

His pupils darken and his breath is hot against her cheek. "Yes. Yes. But you don't need to . . . I don't expect things to move this fast. Really—if you're doing this for me—"

"Ugh." She closes her eyes and shakes her head in frustration. "No. It's not for you. Well, not entirely for you." She meets his eyes. "Look, I've only been with two guys in my life, and I moved slowly with both of them. This isn't normal for me. But nothing that used to be normal feels right anymore. This past year has turned me upside down and inside out and I'm just not who I used to be. But I know who I want to be, and I know what I want, and I'm sick of waiting. I want to be with you. In every possible meaning of that word. I want it for me. I want it for us. I won't pressure you if you're not ready, but—"

That's when he takes her breath away with another kiss.

For the next few minutes everything is heat and touching and laughing as they pull at each other's clothes. She tosses his tie over the headboard, and her shirt ends up somewhere on the floor.

She grins and gasps as his lips make their way across her chest, his teeth teasing at her nipples through the lace of her bra. She tugs him back up and gets to work on his buttons when he freezes.

"Wait."

Lizzie frowns. "What is it?"

He closes his eyes, his expression suddenly serious. "I don't have any protection."

"Oh." All those high school health class slides come flooding back into her mind.

"I'm sorry," he says, opening his eyes and shaking his head. "I didn't expect . . . I didn't plan . . ."

"It's okay. Really," she caresses his cheek. "It's good that you didn't expect anything to happen. I like that. I didn't expect anything either. I'm no more prepared than you are. But, uh, one of us could go buy some, I guess?"

His responsibility and dependability are part of what she likes so much about him. The fact that those characteristics are still with him at a time like this makes her like him all the more.

"I'll go," he says quickly, sitting on the edge of the bed and fixing his shirt. He stands. "I won't be long. I saw a drugstore two streets over. It'll be fast."

He stares down at her, holding his hands out as if in supplication, like he worries that she'll be gone when he gets back.

Lizzie smiles at him. "I'll wait. Grab one of my key cards on the way out." She points to the cards sitting by the television.

He's ready and gone a few moments later.

Lizzie sits on her knees on top of the bed and brushes some stray strands of hair out of her face.

Wow. She can hardly believe she's doing this.

Her breath shakes as she pulls it in and pushes it out.

Her first lover was her high school sweetheart. They started dating the summer before her senior years, and she lost her virginity with him the night before their senior prom. (She'd insisted on the night before, rather than the night of, so she could actually enjoy her prom instead of stressing about sex the whole time.) They'd gone to the same college together, and kept on dating through to the beginning of their sophomore year. But, as often happens with young love, as they'd gotten older their interests and goals changed, and they drifted apart. They parted amicably just before Thanksgiving their second year in college.

After a long string of casual hang-outs and bad first dates, Lizzie's second lover came into her life toward the end of her third year of college. He shared her major and they became friends while working on a class project together. Over the summer they got internships at the same local television station, and their friendship blossomed into more. They started sleeping together a few weeks after the new school year began. She was head over heels in love, and for a time she began picturing a future together: one where they grew their careers side by side. As partners.

That dream only lasted until the spring, when grad school acceptance letters started coming in. Her boyfriend made it clear that he planned to attend school on the other side of the country—a school Lizzie couldn't possibly afford and couldn't justify getting loans for. He told her that he wasn't ready for a long-distance commitment, but that he hoped they could keep dating until he left. But Lizzie couldn't stand being with him, knowing that he didn't care about her as much as she cared about him. She ended things a month before graduation.

That heartbreak had led to a long dry spell that lasted for most of grad school. Right up until William and George.

The two men that had turned her world upside down.

Just that morning she had permanently (she hoped) ended her association with the one, and now she's on the verge of beginning the third sexual relationship of her lifetime with other, without ever having been on a single real date.

When she thinks about it too much, it seems insane. Ridiculous, even. But when she stops thinking with her head and lets her feelings lead the way, everything starts to make sense. It all feels right.

She doesn't want to think anymore. Not today.

She stands up long enough to remove the rest of her clothing, and then slides under the covers and sighs at the sensation of smooth, cool sheets against her bare skin. She lets a picture of William fill her mind, and slips a hand between her legs, touching herself just enough to stay warm and ready.

William moves quickly through his task at the drugstore, and manages to ignore the knowing smirk of the older female checker as he buys a single box of condoms and nothing more.

During his drive back to the hotel he glances at the clock on the dash and notices that it is only just ten-thirty in the morning. And his first kiss with Lizzie came slightly after ten-thirty last night.

It hardly seems possible that his life has changed so much in a mere twelve hours. Like something out of a fantasy he'd concocted in his mind. Yet the hum of the car and the beach sand still coating the floor mats and the rattle of the box of condoms in its plastic shopping bag remind him with perfect clarity that this really is his life.

Lizzie really is waiting for him.

She wants him. And she wants to be with him.

None of what has happened in the past twelve hours conforms to any of the patterns or standards that William once expected for his life or his relationships. And while on the one hand this degree of spontaneity makes him anxious, on the other hand, it makes him feel free.

He does his best to hide his small purchase in his hands as he walks through the hotel lobby and rides the elevator. He doesn't want the idle judgments of any onlookers to sully what is about to happen.

When he walks down the hall to her room, he takes deep breaths to steady himself, and resolves to be supportive and loving if she's changed her mind. Because there's nothing wrong with that. Really. He might need a cold shower, but he can handle it.

He steps inside the room and carefully slips the "Do Not Disturb" sign over the outer door handle before allowing himself to look at the bed.

After another bracing breath, he turns, still clutching his noisy shopping bag in both hands.

Lizzie is in bed, the covers tucked up under her arms—and her shirt is still on the floor.

William swallows and takes a few hesitant steps forward. "I'm back."

"I see that." She sits up, holding the covers against her chest. She smiles at him, and his heart feels ready to burst.

"I just want to make sure—that—that you haven't—" His voice trails off and his breath catches in his throat as she swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands, leaving the covers behind.

She stands before him, completely nude, and she is the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. "I haven't changed my mind."

His eyes remain riveted on her as she walks toward him, wearing only a shy smile that seems completely at odds with her actions.

It is only when she stands immediately in front of him that he begins to breathe again. "Lizzie—" He gulps. "—you are breathtaking."

"And you," she replies, stepping even closer as her smile grows more confident and playful, "are wearing far too many clothes."

She pulls the shopping bag from his hands and tosses it onto the bed before pushing his suspenders off of his shoulders and going to work on his buttons.

Together, they make quick work of removing his clothes. Once they stand face to face with nothing but air between them, William lets go of his last shreds of anxiety and doubt. This will work. They'll make it work. Together.

For a few minutes he loses himself in soft kisses, tentative caresses and whispered words. A fire builds inside of him, and soon he's ready for more.

Sweeping his hands under her rear, he lifts Lizzie until their eyes meet. She grins eagerly and wraps her legs around his waist. They share a deep, lingering kiss, and her teeth tug at his bottom lip as he carries her to the bed.

William takes his time. He won't rush this. He wants to show her with every touch and every kiss just how much she means to him.

He loses all track of time. Twenty minutes might have passed before Lizzie finally pushes him down and straddles him—or it might have been two hours.

She rips the condom packet open with her teeth with a wanton look in her eyes that almost undoes him, and he shakes as she rolls it over his shaft. When their bodies finally merge, nothing in his life has ever felt more right.

Sometime later, they lie on their sides, still savoring the peace and relaxation they've found in each other's arms. William wants to tell her how much he loves her. He wants to tell her that this is what he wants to do every day for the rest of his life.

But she asked him for patience. So he will be patient.

"I'm really happy," he says.

Lizzie meets his eyes with a radiant smile. "Me too."

It's William who finally prods Lizzie out of bed by reminding her that she promised Lydia she'd get home.

"I know, I know," she grumbles, as she stands up and walks to the bathroom to clean up. A selfish little part of her wants to stay here with William, to make the most of this unexpected privacy. But another part of her feels more than a little guilty for being so ridiculously happy when her sisters are still hurting.

She hopes they'll be happy for her. No. She knows they'll be happy for her. She only wishes they could be happy for themselves, too.

Once they're dressed and ready, Lizzie insists on driving. "I like driving," she says, "and you hogged the wheel the whole way here. It's my turn."

William simply smiles and nods and opens the driver's side door for her.

He keeps shifting his legs, and looks more than a little antsy when they hit the highway, but he's good enough not to complain.

Lizzie smiles at him and reaches out to squeeze his hand. "Do you think you can stick around for the rest of the weekend?" she asks. "I need to spend some time with my sisters, but I'm sure I can squeeze some time in for you."

"I fully intend to stay through the weekend. Possibly even through the week."

Her heart leaps. She's feeling possessive, at the moment. She wants all of him that she can get. "Are you sure?"

He smiles one of his real, dimpled, smiles. "Absolutely. I can telecommute. My company is very used to having me telecommute."

Lizzie laughs as she remembers all those months he spent at Netherfield, and how clueless she'd been that he'd stayed so long mostly for her. "Good. I like having you around, William Darcy."

"I like having you around, too, Lizzie Bennet."

There will be complications—there always are. Lizzie's sure they will still be moments of discomfort based on their economic differences. And she doesn't doubt that he'll still manage to offend her family on occasion—and they him. Her mother will probably insist on inviting him for dinner almost every night this week, and Lizzie won't hear the end of the I-told-you-so's from Charlotte and Lydia (and maybe even a few from Jane). It might take time for Jane to find a new job, and it will certainly take time for Lydia to finish recovering from the hurt George inflicted on her. Plus, Lizzie still has no idea what her final independent study will be.

But all those problems that would have plagued her mind just yesterday no longer feel like such a big deal.

Right now, cruising down the highway, holding William's hand, everything feels just right.

The end