"Hello, sweetheart. Why the long face? Is your migraine back?" Mom removed her apron and dropped a sniff-kiss on my forehead.

"No, it's gone. I'm just, err, preoccupied by my Creative Writing assignment." My head bowed down with a cry. I had yet to overcome my writer's block, unless I wanted Ms. Favreau to put me on her Need Personal Mentoring list. I shuddered at the idea of being locked down with her during office hours.

"Good. Could you please set the table for two?"

"Where are Dad and Ames?"

"She went out for lunch. Your father is in the garage, trying to repair the vacuum cleaner."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know. It didn't start when he attempted to hoover the stairs."

She switched on the television in time for the summary of this morning's news. A jewelry store had been robbed in Ottawa. The Minister of Finance was quitting the government to open a sugar shack. A celebrity got their nudes leaked.

Uninterested by the headlines, I played with my food, moving the sautéed rice from one side of my plate to the other.

As Mom helped herself to a second serving of lok lak beef, I blurted out, "How did you know that Dad was the one?"

She gulped down her spoonful before answering. "What makes you think that your father is the one? Maybe we are unhappy together. Perhaps I have a mistress and two gigolos on speed dial."

I rolled my eyes, unfazed by her joke. "Mommy, please. You guys are so lovey-dovey that Hallmark movies pale down in comparison."

"Why are you asking? Is it for your assignment?"

"Yes," I replied, instead of, "I have a crush on a guy with dreamy blue eyes; however I eavesdropped on him telling his BFF that I was flat-chested, so I confronted him but couldn't extort apologies because my drunk neighbour interrupted us, and by the way, the guy is not real."

A smile curled up Mom's cherry lips. How she had managed to keep her lipstick intact in spite of the sauce was beyond my comprehension. "Remember that episode of The Big Bang Theory? The one in which Penny and Leonard wondered if they should jeopardize their friendship and go on a date?"

"When Sheldon explained that, for Schrödinger's cat, the only way to know was to open the box? That's how you knew: by snogging Dad?"

"Yes." She giggled like a teenager, a silly grin livening her face up.

I sighed, my fork poking at the yolk of my sunny side up egg. "So, all I have to do is kiss him?"

"Kiss who? I thought this was for your assignment."

My hand twitched and the yolk broke. I watched it run down the diced meat, pondering if I should vent to my mother.

Mom shrugged and patted my forearm. "You know, kitten, even after that first blissful moment, our relationship hit a few rough patches. And still does to this day. If love was a smooth business, no one would ever write songs about it. Or books. Or movies."

The lock of the garage door clicked inside the kitchen, warning us of Dad's return.

"Darling?" His voice was unsure, with a trace of guiltiness.

"Yes, honey?"

A cloud of dust preceded my father while he made his entrance in the living room, coughing and sneezing. His salt and pepper hair contained more salt than usual. Way more salt. A similar layer of dirt caked his face, crumbling down to the floor as he managed, "We need a new vacuum cleaner."

Figures.

Mom gave me a pointed look as she got up, shooing Dad back outside. "That's today's rough patch for you."

My belly full of lok lak beef and my head full of motherly advice, I plopped myself down on my bed to browse through my Pride and Prejudice novel. Darcy would leave for London tomorrow, then Elizabeth and he were due to meet again at Rosings, in March. I counted on my fingers. Four whole months in the virtual world.

Of course, only a small number of scenes were relevant to the plot and would thus be depicted by the Bridge, but still. With all the classes and workshops required for my English Literature BA degree, assuming I could play up to five hours per week... Urgh, that wouldn't do.

Surely the device could handle a round trip to Hunsford Parsonage, then bring me back to the day following the Netherfield ball?

With shaky hands, I applied the disc to my temple.

"Yo."

I gasped and turned around. "Ames. When did you come back?"

"A minute ago," she answered, leaning on the doorframe.

"Where were you?"

She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, before burying her hands in her pockets. "Brunching with a couple of classmates. They've been inviting me for a while. Thought I could give it a try."

"Good for you."

"They're in a band. Looking for a rhythm guitar to broaden their horizon. I might audition."

"Great."

The Bridge fell off, sweat having compromised its adherence. Amy stared at it, following the excruciatingly slow swirling motion down to my lap. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing," I cried out, guilt written all over my face.

An awkward silence stretched between us until she pinched her nose blade. "You know what? This doesn't concern me. I stumbled upon Mom and Dad necking on the couch. I don't need to picture Darcy and you making out."

She grabbed the knob and retreated to the hallway. "Just remember to put on a virtual condom."

"I wasn't--"

The door slammed shut, cutting my protestations short. Cursing under my breath, I placed the disc back and leaned against my pillows.

As soon as I was materialised in the Longbourn breakfast room, Mr. Collins entered it, greeted by Mrs. Bennet's unctuous welcome.

"Oh, hell no."

Three pairs of shocked eyes widened at my fervent exclamation. Mary choked on her hot chocolate, spluttering cocoa on her cold rolls and handkerchief. Mr. Collins knocked over a candelabra, while Mrs. Bennet raised a hand to her chest, stuttering, "Lizzy, what is the meaning of this?"

"Sorry, Mom. I have to go somewhere." Turning to Collins, I added, "Don't worry, sir. I'll be back in a jiffy. Then you can make your dreadful proposal."

"God gracious." He sat down and missed his seat, falling flat on his backside.

"Oh, heavens! Mary, my smelling salts. Quick." Mrs. Bennet fanned herself with a napkin, unmindful of the bread crumbs she was scattering on her lap.

"Bridge, could you please take me to Hunsford Parsonage, the day Darcy proposed to Elizabeth?" With an apologetic wave, I took my leave, and the chaos dimmed to the quiet tranquility of an unknown drawing room.

Its windows were open, letting in the warmth of the early spring, along with the discreet scent of snowdrops. I peeked at the garden, blinking as timid rays of sun fell on my cheeks and chased away the coldness of Hertfordshire. What a difference these four months had made in the English countryside.

I was leaning on the window sill, trying to pick up a daffodil without falling head first into the Collinses' garden, when the doorbell startled me.

"Oh, dang it."

With a groan, I pushed up on my arms in order to welcome my suitor in a more proper position.

"Miss Eliz..." Darcy's eyes bulged off his face then darted to the ceiling.

"What?" I attempted to wipe any remaining dirt from my hands on my skirt, only for them to encounter my drawers.

Yelping in despair, I turned around and tugged at my petticoat, which was hooked to the sash window lock, offering my interlocutor a splendid view of my undergarments.

"It's stuck," I cried through gritted teeth.

"Lemme help you."

Eyes still trained to the ceiling, Darcy fumbled in my direction. While I kept my drawers closed with both hands and prayed that no breeze would choose this moment to refresh the room and my flustered buttocks, he managed to free my gown, dropping to his knees to help me fluff it back to my ankles.

Once I was decent again, I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding in. Should I rollback to avoid mortification?

Before I could make a decision, Darcy's steel blue gaze searched mine.

"Dearest Lizzy... In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Oh.

I dived into the ocean of his adoration, swaying under the strength of his devotion. His exalted compliments filled my chest with bubbly giggles that threatened to spill out when he took my hand to press a tender kiss in my palm.

Then he paused, and swallowed with difficulty. He described my mother's lack of composure. Lydia's childish behaviour. Mary's pedantic airs. Kitty's annoying laugh. And my father's leniency. His voice faltered when he concluded with my insufficient upbringings, whining about the inferiority of my status, but hey, he was a generous man, and prepared to ignore the numerous faults of our mismatched union.

"Oy." My forbidding exclamation interrupted his monologue.

He blinked, unsettled by my icy glare. "Yes?"

"Listen, buddy. I'm sick of your arrogant remarks."

His brows shot up while he gaped at me, his perfectly chiseled jaw hanging open. He got up, steadying himself with the wall. "What?"

I clicked my tongue against my teeth. "From the day we met, you've been nothing but a complete arse. No one likes you, Darcy. Your haughty manners have won you no friend in all Hertfordshire, but I'm sure you don't give a damn about Quaint Little Meryton and its country bumpkins."

His eyes fluttered to the entrance. I followed his gaze, and darted to a sturdy chair. Straining under the effort, I dragged it to the door and wedged its backrest under the handle. "There. No one will rescue you this time."

I thrust a menacing index into his chest. Wow, those pecs were toned. No, focus, Leah.

"I heard you gossiping with Bingley at the assembly."

The bright carmine of his ears confirmed his following my train of thoughts.

"What's wrong with small breasts? I love my titties. And you would be honoured to even catch a glimpse of them." I threw my hands up in the air. "Because they're freaking fabulous. "

With each of my assertions, Darcy staggered back, cowering away from my wrath.

"I won't discuss Wicked Wickham's revelations, for I am ninety-nine percents sure that they were a pack of lies."

"He's--"

"Tut tut. I'm not done yet. Now, about my family. Mr. Bennet's detachment will almost bring disgrace to his daughters, but he's a caring father, at least to Jane and Lizzy. And yeah, Mrs. Bennet is the cringiest female of the novel. I can however forgive her silliness when I look at her actions through the lens of mother love. Mary's the odd one. Her sisters are all happily paired up, and her parents don't pay her enough attention. I like her, to be honest, and think I could befriend her, should we meet in the real world. Kitty will improve upon her younger sister's departure, so her case is not desperate. As for Lydia, all I can say in her favour is that she was expecting Wickham to marry her."

I put my hands on my hips, nostrils flailing as I caught my breath. Darcy had regained his composure, and was leaning against the mantelpiece. His lips twitched, an admiring grin creeping up his features.

I barked, "What?"

The grin disappeared, and he stammered, the redness of his skin rekindled by my snapping address. "Am I allowed to talk, now?"

"Yes," I hissed.

He ran a hand through his hair, wreaking havoc in his already unruly hairdo. "Why are you telling me this?"

Right. I cleared my throat, remembering the reason for my fast-forward. "Imagine a cat locked in a box with a vial of poison."

"Schrödinger's cat? Oh." His gaze settled on my lips as understanding flooded through him.

I glided towards Darcy, my heart hammering stronger with his radiating presence. He smelled of spring and greenery. Of long walks under the protection of centennial oaks, and of poetry, read on a riverbank, with our feet relishing the lively current and polished stones. My fingers skimmed his ivory waistcoat, travelled to his silky cravat, and weaved together behind his neck.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, he placed a trembly hand on my lower back. The other one cupped my cheek, its thumb brushing my mouth in a featherlike caress.

He froze, hesitation stopping his face less than an inch away from mine. With a primal growl, I pressed on his nape and crashed my lips against his, at last closing the distance between us.

Zing.

Gone were my anger and resentment. Pure felicity had replaced them, sending delicious waves of passion through my body.

"The cat's alive," Darcy murmured, nuzzling my forehead.

Coldness succeeded to his body heat as he swayed towards the door, and removed the chair to unblock it. I blinked, unable to comprehend his sudden change of behaviour.

Without turning to face me, he declared, "Meet me at the Kondiaronk Belvedere at six."

My brows furrowed in confusion. Kondiaronk? As in the viewpoint overlooking Downtown Montreal?

His palm on the door handle, Darcy uttered one last sentence before leaving the Parsonage.

"And stop wearing the Bridge at nighttime."