From Pemberley to Manhattan [COMPLETED]

Chapter 10

Nat

"I'm late!" When my digital watch informed me it was past nine thirty, that was my first thought on that Sunday morning.

The apartment was completely silent; Sunday was the busiest day for almost everyone in my family. It was the day Dad's restaurant most profited, its never-ending customers driving Anna (Dad's hostess, besides being Bobby's girlfriend) crazy. Mom rarely came home from the MET before eight P.M. on Sundays. Bobby generally spent his mornings and afternoons practicing soccer with his former teammates from Columbia University.

Hating to stay at home alone doing nothing, I always used the last day of the week to complete the tasks I'd been delaying. It generally meant doing laundry, finishing papers, answering e-mails, checking our bookstore inventory.

When one thought about it, having the family's businesses (yes, in the plural, since our family owned both a restaurant and a bookstore) established in the same building where we lived transformed us all in workaholics. We literally lived in our workplaces.

I was showered and ready before ten, and rushed to the kitchen. Having a chef dad meant our kitchen was modern and massive, and our storage had everything we could have wished for. And more.

I came to a halt in the dining room, realizing I was not alone, as I'd mistakenly believed. Darcy sat at the table, calmly reading the New York Times, the glass doors to the balcony open, letting in the warm breeze of New York.

We'd had a great time at the party, but I had to remind myself I was in a so-far-so-good relationship. I'd been dating this great detective who worked for the Special Victims Unit of the NYPD for the past six months. We'd met at the self-defense class, but he'd been very respectful, only asking me out when the class was over. This weekend, he was working double (or triple, maybe) shifts because of a new case, so he hadn't been able to make it to Mom's party.

You're happy with Doug, Nathalie. The nice Nat repeated to the bad one. This Darcy was a total stranger. Yes, his voice made Thor sound like a little boy. Yes, his grip during the dance almost made me have a heart attack at twenty-four. Yes, his classic beauty was so sexy. Yes, his lips were totally and absolutely kissable. Yes, my body totally fit into his when we were dancing. Imagine how we'd fit in–

Control yourself, Nathalie Estevez Brown!

"Good morning, Miss Brown", Darcy offered me a devilish smile. Or what I thought was devilish. For normal people, it probably was simply a polite smile. "Did you sleep well?"

Oh, that voice... "Yes, thanks." I was wearing my yoga pants and a blue tank top. Nothing sexy. Still, he was looking at me as if I were all dressed up, prepared to go to the Oscars or something. I had to break the moment. Quickly. "So, what are you doing here all by yourself?"

"I am waiting for breakfast to be served." He took an impatient glance at the antique clock with a pendulum on the back corner of the room to indicate he didn't appreciate the wait.

The guy never left his part, which was fine for me, because he was funny. Chuckling uncontrollably, I walked to the kitchen, "Come on, sir. Let's find you some breakfast."

Our kitchen was almost as spacious as our living room, which was considered enormous by city standards. We lived in a building inherited by our Grandfather decades ago. Its three floors were divided into three very comfortable apartments. He used to rent the two first floors, living with Grandma and Mom in the penthouse.

A few months after he passed away, Grandma decided it was time for a change. She'd always wanted to have a restaurant with Dad, who cooked at her favorite diner in town. That and the dream to own a bookstore that only sold rare books made her renovate completely the ground floor of the building so she could turn it into those two businesses.