Page 23 of Written in the Stars
Brendon gaped at her. “Blasphemy. It’s got Sandra Bullock and Hugh Grant. Rom-com royalty. Don’t let me catch you saying that sort of thing again or else I’ll sit on you and force you through a remedial rom-com marathon.”
She took a sip of her sparkling water and mock-shivered. “Oh, the horror.”
“I, for one, think it’scu-te”—he drew out the word, turning it into two obnoxious syllables—“you’re reading Oh MyStars. Taking an interest in your partner’s job and hobbies is important, Darce.”
Spare her the touchy-feely mumbo-jumbo,please. For starters, she wasn’t relationship illiterate, and two, there was nothing cute about it. Elle was not her partner. Partner in crime perhaps, but Darcy’s perusal of Elle’s Twitter account had nothing to do with caring about astrology and everything to do with preparedness. Like studying for an exam. Clearly, all this astrological malarkey meant something to Elle. If Darcy wanted to sell this relationship, she needed to understand what made Elle tick. If such a thing could even be pinpointed. So far, the verdict was out, the inner workings of one Elle Jones less of a neat little package to be unwrapped and more like a clown car full of increasingly random and terrifyingly endearing quirks.
Darcy took a sip of water. “Right. I was doing—that.”
The waitress swung by the table, dropping off her coffee before taking Brendon’s drink order. As soon as she was gone, Brendon leaned in, resting his elbows on the table, and gave her his best shit-eating grin.
“Speaking of Elle.”
Darcy took a long, slow sip of her coffee and stared at him over the rim. “What about Elle?”
He rolled his eyes. “Darcy.”
She smoothed the linen napkin on her lap and cocked her head. “All right. Should I start with how you did the one thing Iexpresslyasked you not to? Not even twelve hours after you promised you wouldn’t go blabbing to Elle, what did you do? You ran your mouth, in front of hermotherno less. You toldher I wassmitten, Brendon. Do you know how mortified I was when Elle told me?”
She had been, just not for the reasons he might think.
“She tattled?” Brendon had the decency to look sheepish for a whole two seconds before his expression shifted into a gloating smirk. “Come on. Tell me this won’t make for the greatest toast at your wedding one day.”
Wedding. It was almost Pavlovian how the word inspired a visceral reaction, chills racing down her spine, a cold sweat breaking out along the nape of her neck, her molars clacking together. “Slow the fuck down, Brendon. Elle and I aren’t getting married.”
How she managed to string together complete sentences when her throat was narrower than her coffee’s stir straw astounded her. She counted it as no small miracle that she could even say the wordmarriedat the moment.
Brendon snagged her cup of coffee, taking a sip before his whole face screwed up at the taste. And he called her a snob.
“You don’t know that.”
She did. But she couldn’t say that. Not without calling her own bluff.
“Quit trying to marry me off like I’m some Regency spinster in one of your favorite Austen novels.”
“Your nameisDarcy.”
“And I might be a single woman in possession of a good fortune, but I’m not in want of a wife.” Once upon a time, she’d wanted that. Look how it had gone. No, thank you. “You’re putting the cart in front of the horse. Elle and I aren’t even officiallytogether. We’re testing the waters. Getting to know each other. Don’t get your hopes up, is what I’m saying.”
The waitress dropped off Brendon’s Arnold Palmer and took their orders—salmon salad for Brendon and steak carpaccio for Darcy.
What with how Brendon was going around telling everyone, Elle included, that she wassmitten—God, she detested that word—she’d oversold herself. This, walking it back, was all part of the plan. Make Brendon think she was trying with Elle, putting her heart out there, eradicating any and all belief on his part that she was scared to fall in love. But she had to hold back just enough to make their eventual split believable. It was a balancing act, appearing cautiously optimistic without making excessive promises.
“I can’t believe you right now.”
Darcy’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
Brendon slouched in his chair. “You’ve got this great thing started with Elle, you’re in the midst of the magical time at the beginning of a relationship when you’re supposed to be on cloud nine thinking anything’s possible, and yet here you are, being a total downer.”
“Brendon—”
“No.” Brendon shoved his chair back, metal legs squealing, and sat up straight, leaning his elbows on the table. “You’re self-sabotaging right now, Darce. I know it isn’t always easy to break the habit, not with—with what’s happened, but you’ve got to stop seeing a dead end around every corner or else you’re going to turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy. And the only person you’re going to have to blame is yourself.”
Darcy traced the rim of her coffee cup with her pointer finger, pausing to rid the porcelain of her red lipstick smudge. If she was avoiding Brendon’s eyes, it was completely coincidental. “I’m not self-sabotaging. I’m getting to know Elle and she’s—she’s more than I bargained for,” Darcy conceded, letting Brendon make of that what he wanted.
Never before had Darcy ever seen someone’s face look quite so much like the human equivalent of the heart-eyes emoji. Like drippy ice cream on a hot summer’s day, Brendon melted in his chair, shoulders slumping as his whole face screwed up, lips pressed together to no doubt keep fromawing. “Darcy.”
Darcy had to bite the tip of her tongue to maintain her glare. “I swear on all that’s holy, if you so much as make a single joke right now or butcher a playground nursery rhyme about trees and kissing and baby carriages, I’ll let myself into your apartment and use your comic book collection as kindling. Capiche?”
