If anyone had tried to tell Lizzie a week ago that she'd be hanging out with Darcy and would actually be enjoying herself, she would have told them that they were crazy. If Lizzie had told herself that she'd spend a whole day sick in bed, texting the Pemberley CEO back and forth … Well, she would have asked Jane if she was crazy …

But that's exactly what had happened, and now here she was having an extremely relaxed dinner with the man she had once called a robot. Only there was nothing robotic about him now.

Darcy sat on the couch next to her, with his feet resting on the edge of the coffee table, picking at the last parts of his dinner. He was completely relaxed – wearing jeans, a dark coloured shirt and, in what had to be a first for Darcy, he was barefoot. His hair was rumpled too and Lizzie couldn't help but notice that this Darcy, both in looks and personality, was the polar opposite of the Darcy she had met so many months ago. While Darcy was completely at ease this evening, Lizzie was an absolute bundle of nerves.

She had spent hours (yes, hours!) preparing herself for dinner this evening. Lizzie had applied minimal and natural looking makeup that drew attention to her eyes, rather than her red nose that had been attacked by too many tissues over the past few days. She dressed in a simple, yet flattering dress, which she had worn with ballet flats. She had pinned top section of her hair back, leaving the rest of it to cascade over her shoulders. She wanted to be prepared for whatever Darcy had planned.

Lizzie had expected Darcy to go all out, and to have them eat in the dining hall with vast amounts of distance between them as they sat across the table from each other. She had envisioned it to be an awkward event, which had disappointed her because she felt differently about Darcy after this morning's events, and the text messages they had exchanged all day.

But Lizzie had never been able to predict anything that Darcy did, and she was relieved to find that he had thought of something more relaxed and low key. Lizzie and Darcy had eaten dinner on the couch, while watching movie adaptions of classic novels and dissecting them accordingly. She was grateful for this – the very thought of the dining hall situation exhausted her, and she had to remind herself that she was still sick and not to over-exert herself, lest she take a turn for the worse.

"So?" he said, putting their plates down on the coffee table in front of his feet.

"So what?" she asked playfully.

"How did you enjoy your meal?" he replied, blushing slightly.

"I was really nice, thank you." She replied, "Would you like me to give it a star rating, or would you prefer if I gave you a tip at the end of the evening?"

Darcy chuckled and shook his head in amusement.

In truth, Darcy's cooking was amazing. For some reason, she had assumed that because he had a chef, he either didn't know how to cook, or wasn't very good at it. It was just another way that Lizzie had underestimated him. She really did have to stop judging people before she knew them completely. That being said though, she was enjoying finding out about all of Darcy's hidden secrets, and all the ways she had been wrong about him.

She had learned more this evening than just whether or not he was able to cook. She learned that he was fluent in four different languages (and had tried very hard not to swoon when he had quoted a verse from Shakespeare's Henry V, in French nonetheless), and that he liked things well ordered because that is what his father had taught him. She had learned that while Gigi was considered the best musician in the family, that he also played the piano brilliantly. She had learned that he was athletic (which explained a lot about his figure) and even though he had great potential in the sporting field, he elected to follow in his father's footsteps and take over Pemberley after his parents passed away. She had learned that he enjoyed reading novels that challenged him, both intellectually and emotionally. Darcy was a man of many talents, most of which went under the radar due to Gigi's accomplishments. But Darcy wasn't resentful towards his sister at all – if anything he appreciated the fact that Gigi's talents drew the focus away from his own. Darcy was a complex man, and Lizzie found herself trying to piece together all the snippets of information he offered her throughout the evening, in an attempt to finally understand who he was as a person.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked her, picking up their plates to take them into the kitchen.

"That would be great," she replied, smiling.

"I believe that wine has excellent medicinal properties. Would that be suitable?"

Lizzie grinned. She had also learned that he never said anything in a simple manner, which she found entertaining and … endearing. (That emotion had caught her off guard earlier. But Lizzie was learning that being in denial had a tendency to complicate things unnecessarily.)

"Yes, thank you."

Lizzie watched him walk out of the room towards the kitchen before standing up to stretch her legs. She was exhausted, and her headache had returned, but Lizzie was enjoying herself far too much to call it a night.

She studied the books that were neatly lined up across the bookshelf, and rubbed her arms to fight off the chill of the air. She pulled out an old, weathered copy of Moby Dick and opened it to the first page. As she scanned the page, looking for what edition the book was, her eyes fell upon a handwritten note on the title page.

"My dearest William,
Always remember to follow your heart as well as your dreams.
With love forever,
Mum"

Lizzie felt goosebumps sweep across her skin, and she carefully returned the book on the shelf before returning to the couch. How terrible it must have been to have his world shattered and drastically altered when he was so young. Lizzie suddenly felt awful for being so hard on her parents, especially when she was in the company of a family that had none. It was true that her mother drove her up the wall, but at least she had a mother. Darcy walked back in with two glasses of wine, and looked concerned after seeing the expression on Lizzie's face.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, handing her a glass.

"Yes, " she replied, smiling and shaking herself out of her thoughts. "Absolutely."

Darcy sat down next to her, slightly closer than he had before and studied her face.

"You're a terrible liar," he observed. Lizzie winced. Nothing got past this man. Throwing caution to the wind, she spoke.

"I just read the note from your mother inside your copy of Moby Dick," she confessed, "Sounds like she was an amazing woman."

Darcy smiled sadly, before taking a sip of wine. He didn't reply.

"I'm sorry Will, I didn't mean to be nosy. I was just seeing what edition of Moby Dick you had and I saw your mother's handwriting."

He looked at her suddenly.

"You called me Will," he commented.

Lizzie froze, before meeting his eyes. He wasn't angry; rather his eyes had softened slightly.

"Is that ... I hope that's ok?" she asked shyly.

"Absolutely," he replied, "I would like that."

They sat next to each other in silence, sipping their wine. Their shoulders touched and sent shocks through Lizzie's skin. She wondered what was running through his mind – his expression was somewhat distant, though not agitated in any way.

"So," he said finally, "I think I'll take the tip about my cooking, rather than receive a star rating. It's always nice to know what to improve on."

Lizzie's heart raced at his words. Despite his words, she knew he was talking about much more than just cooking. For the second time that evening, she mustered up every ounce of courage with in her, and turned towards Darcy.

"A tip then," Lizzie said slowly, trying to feign being calm. Blushing slightly, she finally met his eyes. "Don't change anything else."

Darcy suddenly leaned in and kissed Lizzie gently on the lips. Once she got past the shock, she responded to his kiss, her hand gently resting on his face. They broke apart seconds later, both with flushed cheeks. Lizzie smiled up at him, catching an expression in his eyes that she had never seen before. There was a lightness in them, which Lizzie was captivated by. He smiled back at her, before gently resting his hand upon hers. Their fingers intertwined, and Lizzie had to control her racing thoughts.

"You still like me?" she asked him uncertainly.

"I never stopped," Darcy replied, "I couldn't."

"Even after everything I said?" she asked in disbelief.

"I don't care about that," he said, "This is what matters. Lizzie, I have never stopped loving you and I wouldn't have wanted it any other way."

Lizzie didn't know how to respond to that, so she leaned in, and kissed him again. Her hand rested on the back of his neck, as his arms wrapped around her. Their kiss was fueled by passion, and forgiveness, and Lizzie found herself never wanting this moment to end. This man, a total mix of contradictions, had managed to capture her heart, much to Lizzie's surprise.

There was one more thing that she learned about William Darcy that evening. She learned that he was an excellent kisser.