Page 22 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

I don’t want to talk about my mom. Not in the TSA line. He knows most of the story already, anyway.

“Is it the trip?” he prods.

“What?” I ask him, confused.

“You know.” He gestures toward the line we’re standing in. “Traveling by yourself and everything?”

I’m at a crossroads here. If I tell him yes, I’ll sound pathetic. What grown woman cries over a vacation? If I say no, he’ll ask me more questions because it’s human nature to want to know these things.

“Yeah,” I say, deciding to go with the pitiful option because Amelia has already made me look that way to him, so it’s the easier answer.

“What are you worried about?” he asks.

I shrug. “Just the whole thing. Flying by myself ... and um, trying to navigate through a country I’ve never been to.” This isn’t a total lie; Ihavebeen worried about those things. My hands only recently stopped their shaking, after all. It’s just not a crying-level of worry.

“Have you been to England before?” he asks, his thick eyebrows rising.

I shake my head.

“Well, I’ve been,” he says, “and it’s pretty easy to navigate.”

“I’ll be fine.” I give him a smile without teeth. “I think I’m just tired.”

He nods like this is an acceptable answer.

We’re quiet after that, and it’s not long before we’re separated as we go through security. Once through, and I’m sitting on a bench putting on my shoes, Zane approaches me.

“What gate are you at?” he asks.

“B24,” I tell him.

He rubs his jaw, looking contemplative. “I’ve ... got something I need to do, but I’ll come find you,” he says.

“Okay,” I say, hoping he doesn’t because I really don’t enjoy the version of myself that I seem to turn into when he’s around. I’m all tongue-tied and weird. It’s a version of me from a long time ago, the awkward girl who didn’t know how to speak without tripping over her own words, and I don’t like it.

He never does come back, though. I spend the hour and a half before my flight scrolling through my phone, feeling anxious he might return and how I might act when he does.

When they call my boarding group—first class, no less (this really is the trip of a lifetime)—I hand my ticket to the agent and glance over my shoulder one last time before heading down the jetway. I get settled in, putting my backpack under the seat in front of me and tucking my phone in the seat-back pocket. There’s so much room up here, I know it’s going to be hard to go back to coach after this. Especially when the flight attendant asks if I’d like anything to drink before takeoff. I tell her not at the moment, and my gaze drifts to the empty seat beside me. I can’t help but imagine Derek sitting there, cracking jokes to calm my nerves like he always does. But he’s not here, and that empty seat feels like a betrayal. Freaking Derek.

But I’ll be fine on my own. Soon I’ll be at Pride and Prejudice Park, inserting myself into Elizabeth Bennet’s shoes—a real escape, which is just what I need.

I pull my phone out of the pocket, then turn the camera to selfie mode, take a quick picture of myself with a big grin and athumbs-up in my first-class seat, and then shoot it off to Amelia because I know she’ll be worrying right now.

My phone beeps a second later.

Amelia:Yay! Miss you already!

Now I’m imagining her sitting in the seat next to me, just as excited as I am, making everything better—because Amelia, even with her butting-in ways, somehow always makes things better. I miss her already too.

“Is this seat taken?” I hear someone say, and I look up.

I sputter something unintelligible before I finally utter one word: “What?”

Am I hallucinating? Or did I get on the wrong flight? Because how is Zane Porter on this plane right now?

“Wh-what are you doing here?”

ZANE

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