Page 56 of Stuck

None of my previous boyfriends had affected me the way Darcy did; this was something entirely new. It felt good. To use one of Kitty’s favourite phrases, he made my heart roar and my lady parts purr. And in a plot twist I had not seen coming, I was beginning to suspect that he might like me back.

There’d been a fleeting moment in the hospital when I could have sworn he was tempted to kiss me. The feeling was definitely mutual, but it couldn’t happen while he thought I was dating his best friend—or while I was on the verge of passing out, which was why I’d let Bingley bring me to the car instead of dropping the truth bomb there and then.

It didn’t matter, anyway, because Darcy would like me a whole lot less as soon as he found out what we’d been doing. If I could go back in time, I’d never agree to go along with it. I could not for the life of me work out why Bingley had felt the need to lie to him in the first place. He’d implied it was because Darcy was an exacting, judgmental kind of guy, who was perpetually horrified by Bingley’s chaotic relationships—but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The more I got to know Darcy, the more I saw of his generosity and patience, his intelligence and composure. I couldn’t think of anyone less likely to punish Bingley for the pickle he’d got himself into at that first investors event. He was more likely to have gone out of his way to help him resolve the situation with the minimum amount of fuss and a pep talk to boot.

So, yes, I was mad at Bingley—for putting me in this position and for continuing to hide behind his stupid lie, but most of all, I was furious with him for underestimating Darcy, who deserved so much better.

My anger and Bingley’s questionable driving conspired to finish me off, and when we arrived home, the nausea I’d been fighting since I first looked at the jagged laceration on my hand bubbled over. I puked in the flower border outside the front door, which was the icing on the cake of my crappy week. I didn’t hang around to let Jane fuss over me. Back in our flat, I cleaned my teeth, fumbled my pyjamas over my injured hand, and was asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

“Morning, sweetie,” Jane said when I walked into the living room the next day. “How’s your hand?”

She was sitting at the little table in the corner, eating a bowl of cereal and reading an interior design magazine. It annoyed me intensely for some reason. Perhaps because it was so normal, as though nothing was amiss in her world, whilst I had been kept awake all night by the throbbing in my hand and was still completely tangled up in her boyfriend’s web of lies.

My sister was wonderful in many ways—she was kind and unflappable and gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. But she also had a tendency to see the world through rose-tinted glasses, and at that moment, her inability to see the damage Bingley’s deceit was going to cause was grating on my very last nerve.

I grunted like a cavewoman and walked past her into the kitchen to boil the kettle. I needed tea.

She followed me, standing in the doorway and watching me with concern. “Do you need more painkillers?”

“No,” I barked before adding churlishly, “Yes,” because my hand did actually hurt.

She disappeared and reappeared a minute later with a box of co-codamol. Popping two pills out of the blister pack, she placed them on the counter in front of me and peered closely at my face. I poured the milk, feeling petty for not offering to make her a cup now and annoyed that she’d managed to make me feel like the bad guy.

“Is it just your hand, or is there something else?”

“It’s just my hand.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Why did you bother asking, then?” I snapped, even more irritated.

She frowned as though she wasn’t sure whether to be offended or worried.

I shook my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m tired.”

“That’s all right⁠—”

“And I need Bingley to tell Darcy the truth already! I don’t want to lie to him anymore.”

Understanding overtook her face, swiftly followed by guilt. “He’s going over to speak to him this morning.”

A sigh so loud it came out as more of a growl escaped me without volition. “Thank you!” I glanced at her. “Darcy’s really nice, Jane. We shouldn’t have done this to him. He’s going to hate that we lied.”

She paled a little, and I comprehended that Bingley hadn’t been alone in getting distracted by their relationship, because she of all people should have realised this sooner. I took my tea into the living room and curled into the corner of the sofa. Jane returned to her seat at the table but sat facing me.

“I’m sorry our argument delayed him coming clean.”

“That’s okay,” I said resignedly. It was impossible to stay angry at Jane for any length of time; it was like kicking a puppy. “Are you two back on track?”

“Yes, mostly.”

“And his family?”

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “We’ll call that a work in progress. But Bingley was firm in his support of me—of us. He wouldn’t hear a word said against our relationship. Whatever you said to him at the gala worked wonders.”

“And you don’t mind that his family aren’t welcoming?”