Guys, I published a new Pride and Prejudice novella, called "Do you love me?" You can find it here:
Laura-Moretti/e/B07B3W5Y9R/ref=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1
(The book was edited - not by me - by someone who knows what she's doing.)

Also... This is the last chapter of Slices of Life. Thank you for all your great support, it was so wonderful. I am so grateful to you all. :) :)

x-x-x-x-

Elizabeth is waiting for him near the concrete pillars. He walks to her directly, no words are needed, he takes her in his arms and they hold so tight - every pretense gone - Wickham and "casual" and awkwardness, none of it matters, it never did - everything's so clear.

-xx-

In each other arms.

-xx-

"I have a meeting, here, in the airport," he explains, later, when they let go. "Tomorrow morning at 7. I thought I would spend the evening with you, then come back here tomorrow, but…"

Empty halls, people hurrying off. Almost midnight already.

"But, considering…" Looking at Elizabeth. Hesitant. "I thought I'd stay right here, in a hotel, if…" She is already smiling.

"… If you would stay with me."

-xx-

Inside the airport. The hotel, luxurious. Their room, on the 14th floor, everything's modern, clear, wood and metal, like Sweden, (the imaginary Sweden in Elizabeth's mind). Like Pemberley. They hold hands in the elevator, then it's not enough so Darcy let his suitcase fall and they kiss during 14 floors, Elizabeth is so happy (her back against the mirror,) also so scared, she feels fragile, as if everything could just vanish, as if it is not quite real.

The doors open, they both jump. (Darcy is nervous, she can tell.)

They walk to the door. "You should always come get me at the airport," he says.

She smiles. "I will."

"Is that a formal pledge?"

"Do you need it in writing?"

"Mrs. Reynolds will mail you the contract."

Keycard. They're in the room. It's big. It must cost a fortune – Elizabeth looks around, she's Cinderella. This is Darcy's world – her studio, it was hers – it's fine, she likes both, but – vulnerable, again.

He gets rid of his coat and jacket. Elizabeth watches him – twenty years ago, he would have worn a tie, she realizes – not now of course, not in the start-up scene – still, so, so strange. She's dating someone formal. A business man. This is – alien – Alice in Wonderland.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asks. (Oh yes, he's nervous.)

Thirty seconds later. Elizabeth is sitting on the bed. Darcy is on a chair. Both drinking glasses of water.

Elizabeth pours a little water on her fingers, just a little, and throws droplets on his white shirt.

Darcy, bewildered. "What – exactly are you doing?"

She does it again. "Your shirt is wet," she declares. "Better get rid of it."

He blushes. He actually, honest-to-God blushes. How could she ever think that man cold? He stands up, he does get rid of his shirt, his color, a little high, his voice, steady:

"The situation is clearly unbalanced. You are fully clothed."

Her turn to blush. (Silly – she initiated it – still.) He sees her embarrassment – but doesn't comment – she slides her top off, he's watching her silently.

"Your turn," she orders.

He doesn't obey – instead he leans down to kiss her – awkwardly, tenderly – she puts her arms around her neck, whispering, "You must be so tired," – "I am," he answers, before proceeding to divest her of her clothes – no reason she should not reciprocate – somewhere in the process Darcy succeeded to dim the lights (many modern sophisticated dimmers and switches), they take their time – then limbs and kisses and passion – planes leaving and landing in the dark – distant, muffled thunder on the other side of the double glazed window.

Silence.

"There is a law," Elizabeth breathes afterwards, laying in the darkness, in Darcy's arms. (Their legs, absurdly intertwined.) "No planes between 1 and 4 am – I think. To protect the nearby towns."

"U-hum," is Darcy's articulate answer, but maybe it rouses him from the sands of sleep, because he adds, "Tomorrow morning. I'll have the meeting, you stay in bed. Then I will come back and order breakfast."

"Most perfect plan I ever heard."

"Um." He sleeps.

Six. Darcy's alarm rings. Awfully early, Elizabeth thinks. It's pleasant though – pleasant and strange – to wake up in a strange room, in strange sheets, with a strange man – with this man. Hints of dawn outside. Planes. Reality's floating.

Darcy stirs, sits on the bed, his back to her. Elizabeth sits up too, she is seized by a wave of tenderness – she takes him in her arms, he leans back upon her chest – she kisses him everywhere, on the neck, on the shoulders, it's not sexual, it's – being half asleep, in love, not wanting him to leave – they stay unmoving for a few moments – another plane, roaring, Darcy turns in the relative darkness to try to look at her – everything just shifted, Elizabeth knows. The music of their morning just changed drastically because of her – everything turned more intimate, more real.

"I am sorry," she breathes. "About everything. What I said in Hunsford Pub – the texts – my attitude – you know."

Silence on the other side. Then, "It's cruel, what you are doing. Telling me this just before my meeting."

Elizabeth doesn't know if he's joking or not. His voice is a little hoarse, but he just woke up, so she apologizes in a whisper – they kiss, he showers, he leaves.

-xx-

The sun rises.

Planes.

Elizabeth cannot sleep. She rises, she showers, she gets dressed. She's nervous – she goes for coffee downstairs in the lobby, Darcy is there, talking with a man in a private small conference room, behind a glass door. His back to her, thank God – he'd think she was stalking him – maybe she is. Elizabeth stays there standing in the hall for a few seconds before realizing there's a coffee machine in their room – she feels dumb – a text.

Darcy.

** I am the one who should be apologizing. What I said that night in the pub was – unforgivable – I don't know what came into me. **

How is he doing this? Elizabeth looks discreetly. In the conference room, the man, showing something on his laptop. Darcy, pretending to look at it, casually putting his phone back on the table.

It feels like she's spying, like she's cheating. She runs back to the elevator, she runs back to the room. She sits down.

A text. Darcy.

** I wanted to apologize a thousand times. But I also wanted you to forget all about it, so I didn't dare raise the topic. **

Elizabeth hands are shaking. She doesn't know how she should answer, serious, light-hearted.

A text. Darcy.

** I think we should talk. We never really did. About what I said in that pub – some of it is still valid – but I'd rather t **

The text stops there. Elizabeth closes her eyes – imagines the conference room, Darcy sending the text by mistake – the guy turning to him – Darcy having to pretend to listen – he had no answer from her – three texts and no answer, certainly he believes she's still sleeping, but – the mere idea that he could be waiting – it makes her sick – except she doesn't know what to write – apart from the obvious – but the obvious would be throwing herself at his mercy – she thought she was brave – but clearly -

-xx-

He comes back ten minutes later. Finds her sitting on the bed, her phone on her lap, very pale.

He sits beside her. She tries to smile.

"That must have been quite the productive meeting."

"I am an expert at nodding at all the right times."

"Your text," she asks, still going for a smile – it doesn't really work. "The last one. 'I'd rather…' I'd rather what?"

"I'd rather talk to you in person."

He takes her hands in his. She waits.

"What I said in the pub that night," he whispers, finally. "When I told you – how I fell in love with you – how it drove me crazy. How I thought about you, all the time. It's still true."

Elizabeth cannot talk. Cannot look at him.

"Thank you," she breathes, at last.

New pause. He laughs. (Not a real laugh.) "Not exactly what I was expecting. But – still better than, you know – last time."

"I was such a fool," Elizabeth explains in a strangled voice, "I almost missed something great, something beautiful, except I didn't, thanks to you, thanks to your obstinacy, to your… to your love," she continues, tears in her eyes, for an unexplained reason – then she is terrified again. "I – I didn't miss it, right?"

His voice is strained, too. "You didn't."

"I am sorry," she breathes, after a while. "I am so – so bad at this. I know my reaction is underwhelming…"

"It's fine," he whispers. "I will take it."

-xx-

"Are you out of your senses, Lizzie? Moving out – for a man?"

Her father, pacing his study – a tiny room, at the far end of the Bennet apartment – Elizabeth spent a lot of time there, reading, daydreaming in the battered green armchair, while her dad was on the computer – a military alliance, Elizabeth and her father against the world.

Now – the alliance is broken.

"Explain this to me, please," Mr. Bennet asks. "You are going to live in Pemberley?"

"In a student apartment," Elizabeth explains. Her voice, steady. (Practicality, rationality: the best way to convince her father.) "The rent is very low," she continues, "and Mary can have the studio at last. It's her turn – you know Lydia and Kitty are driving her crazy…"

(Just this morning:

Kitty, in a sing-song voice: "Wickham was clocked and locked!"

Lydia: "Shut up you're so mean! I hate you!"

Mary: desperately trying to study musicology.)

Her father doesn't care one straw about Mary. "Nice try, Lizzie, but you are not fooling me. Your mother tells me there's a man – Pemberley's owner – is he the reason?"

Practicality. Rationality.

"Edward and Madeline have offered me a job – it's better pay, more responsibilities – it's related to my field, and now that the Gardiner's Foundation is in Pemberley – with no commute, I can spend more time studying. But," Elizabeth adds, after a pause. "Yes. There's a man. And yes, it's about him. I mean, it's also about him."

"That is just wrong," her father protests, pacing the study again – a feat, because the room is awfully narrow. "That is – a terrible mistake, Lizzie, a strategic error, as well as a moral one…"

Elizabeth is getting flustered. "Dad, why – how come you never said that to Jane? When she began to date Bingley – or now – when she's practically moved in at Netherfield already…"

"Because Jane sincerely loves Bingley! And – I have to admit – sure, his constant optimism is seriously grating, but still, he's a good guy…"

"So – what? Jane won't seduce a man for his money, but you think I would?"

"Yes!"

Elizabeth is stunned.

"Sweetie – I didn't mean – I phrased that wrong," her father stammers when he sees her expression. "It's just – you are more ambitious than your sister. Which is good! You are smart, you think things through, but…"

Elizabeth massages her forehead. So that is what her father thinks of her. Because, she realizes, he doesn't know her, not that well. Because she is really a coward. Because – (practicality, rationality.) Because she hides her emotions.

"Well, no. I am not with Darcy for his money," she says, her voice slightly trembling. "I… I love him."

That doesn't go well. Her father goes full cynical mode. He accuses her of being like Lydia, silly and stupid, Elizabeth doesn't really listen, so many thoughts – all at the same time. Things she vaguely knew, things she explained to Darcy even, but they didn't – they didn't really compute before – yes, feelings scare her, or, at least, expressing them does, and this is her dad's fault – this is her parents' marriage's fault – feelings are Mrs. Bennet's realm, and she hands them so badly – damn, I am screwed up, Elizabeth thinks, Mr. Bennet is still ranting – Elizabeth has her second revelation – her father will miss her – terribly – and this discussion – that what it is all about, really, and her third revelation is – obviously – if she loves Darcy, she should tell him, not her dad.

"I am sorry," she interrupts. "I have to go."

-xx-

So she tells Darcy. Through text. (Darcy is back in Sweden, for three days only.) Then she tells him face to face, when she goes get him at the airport – and their night after that – well – not unpleasant.

-xx-

Walking in the street, leisurely. She and Darcy. Holdings hands.

(They're holding hands all the time, except in Pemberley, or in Pemberley's vicinity. Darcy has to look respectable there.)

The movers have come. Everything Elizabeth owns, in a small truck, direction Pemberley, direction a rather large one room apartment, white walls, huge windows. The movers have to stop somewhere first, so – she and Darcy – they have the afternoon free – time, stretching before them.

The sun is out. It's pretty cold. A few black buds, showing on sycamores' branches. Blackbirds. People hurrying toward the subway.

"Look," Elizabeth smiles. "There. That café. It's where I sat when I sent you the text. The first one, the one that started everything. It was raining…"

"This is a pretty pathetic looking place," Darcy comments.

"Oh my God you are such a snob."

Challenge and amusement in Darcy's eyes. He leads her to the café, they sit down (on the patio – under the awning,) they order expressos, they're awful, so bitter, Darcy smiles victoriously, point proven, he raises his tiny cup to her with a smirk.

The sun is almost warm – and this moment – Elizabeth will remember it forever – both moments, the beginning and the end, the first text and the really bad coffee – she turns to Darcy and kisses him on the cheek, on the jaw, she puts her head on his shoulder – that look on his face – that's the one he generally gets, after her tender gestures – disbelief – like he's not used to affection – maybe he's not – considering his childhood.

"So why did you do it?" he asks, after a while. "Why did you send that first text?"

"Bored – and still angry at you, I bet."

Darcy, unfazed. "You're such a romantic, it warms my heart."

"Well – actually – it was more complicated than that," Elizabeth realizes, after some thought. "It was more… You were so fervent, when you talked to me – I was… curious. At the beginning, I was leading you on," she says, quickly (to bury her sins.)

A memory of old pain, flitting in his eyes. "I know."

A pause. He takes her hand again. A few seconds pass before she continues, in a low voice, "I was looking for passion, I suppose. I just didn't understand it at the time."

It is dangerous, what she just admitted. She feels – naked. But Darcy simply answers:

"I would ask that, starting now, all passion of a romantic nature would be directed towards me."

"Fine."

"Is that a formal pledge?"

"Yes," Elizabeth answers.

He holds her hand even tighter. "Good. Well." A pause. "You got what you were looking for, of course." He hesitates. "You realize that, right?"

They're not looking at each other.

"Yes."

"Excellent. As for your side of the deal…"

"Do you need it in writing?"

"Mrs. Reynolds will mail you the contract."