Over You (A Mr. Darcy Valentine's Romance Novel)

  Over You

  A Mr. Darcy Valentine’s Romance

  H. M. Ward

  L. G. Castillo

  Laree Bailey Press

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. CHAPTER 1

  2. CHAPTER 2

  3. CHAPTER 3

  4. CHAPTER 4

  5. CHAPTER 5

  6. CHAPTER 6

  7. CHAPTER 7

  8. CHAPTER 8

  9. CHAPTER 9

  10. CHAPTER 10

  11. CHAPTER 11

  12. CHAPTER 12

  13. CHAPTER 13

  14. CHAPTER 14

  15. CHAPTER 15

  16. CHAPTER 16

  17. CHAPTER 17

  18. CHAPTER 18

  19. CHAPTER 19

  20. CHAPTER 20

  21. CHAPTER 21

  22. CHAPTER 22

  23. CHAPTER 23

  24. CHAPTER 24

  25. CHAPTER 25

  26. CHAPTER 26

  27. CHAPTER 27

  28. CHAPTER 28

  29. CHAPTER 29

  30. CHAPTER 30

  31. CHAPTER 31

  32. CHAPTER 32

  33. CHAPTER 33

  34. CHAPTER 34

  35. CHAPTER 35

  36. CHAPTER 36

  COMING SOON:

  MORE FERRO FAMILY BOOKS

  MORE ROMANCE BY H.M. WARD

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: L.G. CASTILLO

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR: H.M. WARD

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 by H.M. Ward

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form.

  LAREE BAILEY PRESS

  First Edition: February 2016

  ISBN: 978-1-63035-100-7

  CHAPTER 1

  I sprint down the hospital corridor, dodging patients, other visitors and a delivery guy with an enormous bouquet of flowers. My heart is pounding so hard I’m afraid it’ll crack my ribs. There’s not enough air, and the stitch in my side brings tears to my eyes, but I don’t stop—I can’t.

  The overhead fluorescent lighting casts an eerie glow on the sterile decor, and the sound of the bulbs makes my tired eyes twitch. I focus on the sound of my footsteps, rhythmic and reliable. He’ll be okay. Things won’t end here today.

  Seven hours ago, I was in Texas, about to eat dinner. My only worry was studying for the graduate school admissions test I planned to take next semester. But that was before my sisters called to let me know they were rushing our father to New York City's Mt. Sinai Hospital. They didn’t say much, only that I needed to travel as fast as possible.

  When I walked away from New York, it seemed like a good idea. I wanted my own life, my own space, and two thousand miles in the middle made it impossible for my mother to meddle. I didn’t expect this. I never thought my dad could slip from this world before I returned home.

  Turning the corner, I see an information desk and a friendly looking nurse. She's a little older than me—late twenties, early thirties at the latest—with bright violet eyes and a stethoscope slung casually around her neck.

  "Excuse me," I pant, "can you please point me in the direction of room 651? I'm David Bennet’s daughter, Beth."

  She reaches up and squeezes my hand reassuringly. "It's down the hall to the left and around the corner. You’re a good daughter flying up here so fast."

  "Thanks," I say, grateful for her kindness. I take off down the hall at a quick clip. I increase my speed when I’m away from the nurse’s station and round the corner without slowing. I see the tall man in the dark suit just seconds too late.

  We collide and I bounce backward. I tilt dangerously, preparing myself for an ungraceful landing, but he reaches out for my elbow and pulls me to his chest, steadying me.

  His bright blue eyes gaze down intently into mine and—just for a moment—I forget why I'm here. Those eyes hold a lifetime of pain and a wealth of secrets. For a split second, the depths of his torment are reflected in those twin blue pools, and I sense a kindred spirit in him, like he understands my fear of loss all too well.

  He blinks, clears his throat, and sticks his hands abruptly in his suit pockets, letting me fall away from his chest and out of his spell. "Darcy. William Darcy."

  “Beth,” I say my name instinctively, as a warning bell goes off silently in my mind. “Elizabeth Bennet.”

  He looks around nervously as if he'd rather be anywhere else right now, but he doesn’t leave. He runs his hand through his dark hair and then glances at me again.

  Darcy. Why does that name sound familiar? Wait a minute!

  "William Darcy of Darcy Biopharm?" I take a step forward, poking his surprisingly muscular chest right in the middle of his expensive designer tie. I’m normally not so aggressive, but this man is a shit, I know that for certain. "What are you doing here? Putting my father in the hospital wasn’t enough? Did you come to pull the plug, too? Or just kick him while he’s down?"

  Darcy blinks and takes a step back. "I had little to do with it. Maybe you should ask your father what he’s been hiding.”

  “Don’t insinuate you know my father better than I do.” I glare up into his face and narrow my gaze to thin slits. My fingers twitch at my sides, wanting to ball up into fists so I can clobber this monster.

  William Darcy has a strong reputation for being a heartless dick. He destroys without remorse, completely calloused from the inside out. His calm exterior irritates me. “Miss Bennet, I suggest you—”

  "What? Take advice from you? No, thank you." I push past him without giving myself a chance to feel guilty for my manners. Fuck him. I wish I could say it to his face. As I start to rush away, I round and walk backward for a moment. “And don’t show your face here again. You're not welcome.”

  “It’s a free country, Miss Bennet.”

  “Kiss my ass, Mr. Darcy.”

  CHAPTER 2

  "Beth, thank God you're here," my older sister, Jane, cries as I enter the hospital room. Her blue eyes look as tired as I feel. She rushes across the room, throwing her arms around me in a hug. "The doctor is just about to tell us if Dad can go home."

  "I still don't see what all the fuss is about," Dad says in a weak voice from the hospital bed.

  "You passed out at your meeting with William Darcy. It’s a damn good reason to fuss since he hates you and the feeling is mutual," my baby sister, Mary, says from her perch in the window. She looks like a raven in a tree, her dark, Goth-style clothing contrasting vividly with the stark white window facing. "I imagine he prefers people consciously listening while he talks."

  “Manners, Mary,” Jane echoes mother, but more sweetly. Mary rolls her eyes.

  "Technicalities," Dad says lightly. "Sit with me, Beth. I'm happy to see you, but you shouldn't have flown all the way here on my account." He shoots a sideways glance at Mary, who shrugs in response.

  "She was long overdue for a visit. If she doesn’t fly home every six months or so, she’ll be wearing cowboy clothes and talking with a twang. Nobody wants that, raht, Beth?” Mary smirks, trying not to laugh as she does her worst Texas accent impression.

  No one in my family understood why I chose to go to school so far away. It was a necessary evil. I needed to figure out who I am and how I fit into this world. I couldn’t do it with certain people present. Okay, not people.

  My mother
.

  She’s like gravity—you can’t escape her downward pull unless you leave for outer space. Texas might as well be outer space to my family of pedigreed New Yorkers. I like it, though. People are always nice, going out of their way to help a stranger, and no one hurries anywhere for any reason. If you walk slowly on a city sidewalk in New York, you get shoved to the pavement and trampled. Nothing moves slowly here. The city is always breathing, beating, pulsing like a rave, with no end in sight. In comparison, Texas is quaint and charming, a respite from the energy of the life the rest of my family lives.

  I sit down on the bed next to Dad and take his hand. It feels lighter than usual, and his skin is yellow and paper-thin. All of him is paper-thin—when did he change so much?

  Dad licks his dry lips and glances at me disapprovingly. "Stop looking at me like that, Elizabeth, it's just a virus. The doctor is going to get me some elephant antibiotics, and I'll be as good as new in no time."

  Before I can respond, the door opens, and my mother breezes in with a doctor in tow.

  She’s speaking in overdrive, running her words together. "Now, of course, he'll be going home tonight! Don't be silly, Dr. Wade, a man heals best at home in his own bed." The doctor opens his mouth to speak, but she talks over him. "Dear me, no, we won't hear any more about it. Imagine! Expecting us to sleep here? Overnight? No one could get any proper beauty sleep in a place like this—the noise, the sheets, the sick people! No, Dr. Wade, you'll write us the necessary prescriptions, and we'll be on our way." Her gaze lifts, and she notices me. “Elizabeth, how nice to see you.”

  Translation: How could you run out on your family!

  She smiles tightly and tips her head to the side.

  Translation: I’ll deal with you later, and you won’t like it.

  I skip the pleasantries, which also irritates my mother. "Mom," I begin, "if the doctor thinks Dad should—"

  "Nonsense," she interrupts in a tone that means there will be no discussion. "David will be happier at home, won't you, dear?"

  Dad nods silently from the bed, suddenly mute. I hate it when he does that! He just sits back and allows Mother to steamroll him. He openly adores Mother, but she’s much less affectionate toward him. Their relationship is so one-sided. I sometimes wonder how they got married at all.

  Dr. Wade finally finds a moment of silence large enough to voice his concern. “Mr. Bennet, I strongly suggest you consider staying here this evening for observation. It’s only one night. I know it’s not the Ritz, but I’m sure you understand.” His eyes bounce from my mother to my father, as if deciding what to do, then he begins scribbling furiously on Dad's chart.

  What the hell is going on here? There’s more to this story, a lot more.

  "Girls, would you give us a moment, please?" Mother gestures to the hallway with one hand.

  “Mom, let us stay.” I’m not ready to act like nothing is wrong. That’s all we ever do—smile, nod, and talk about the weather. I’m sick of it.

  Mother shoots me an icy glare. “No slang, Elizabeth. Call me Mother or nothing at all. I asked nicely, and won't repeat myself a second time.” She clasps her hands tightly on the rail of Dad's bed, narrowing her gaze dangerously at me.

  “Come on, Beth. Mom doesn’t want us here.” Mary takes my hand as she walks by, tugging me away from Dad.

  Reluctantly, we shuffle into the corridor, the door shutting resolutely at our backs and muffling everything said behind it.

  "What’s going on? Why didn't you tell me Dad was sick?" My eyes flash accusingly from Mary to Jane.

  "We didn't want to distract you from school.” Jane blushes and looks at the floor before continuing. "Dad insisted nothing was wrong. He was going to work, attending meetings, and gone for most of the day. He seemed more stressed than usual, even a little run down, but we thought he just needed more sleep. He hasn't had seizures until today, and we texted you the instant he was on his way to the hospital."

  "Beth," Mary says, her eyes staring straight into mine, "we don't know any more than you do right now. I promise. I’d tell you everything. Mother is, well, Mother.” She rolls her eyes. “And you know how Daddy is. He takes pride in being able to care for us. This experience must be weird for him.”

  I sigh and lean back against the wall, sliding down until I hit the floor. Mary and Jane join me, all of us staring blankly at the gray wall across the hallway. One minute turns to two, two minutes turn to five.

  Mary rests her head on my shoulder. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Likewise, Little Lamb.” Old nicknames stick, even after years apart.

  Mary smiles, and I see a moment of peace on Jane’s face. She may be my older sister and have her shit together in front of everyone else, but in front of me, there are no walls. She tells me everything. The truth is, Jane struggles with such a massive amount of pressure she's usually doped up on Xanax to cope with it.

  She’s the eldest daughter, the most talented of the three of us, and swiftly passing prime age for a first marriage. The thought makes me want to puke. Who plans a first marriage with the expectation there should be a slew of others after that?

  Not me.

  I want love, marriage, and forever. One man, one love, one life, and a shoe full of kids. Needless to say, the odds of my becoming a spinster increase daily. Prince Charming must be trapped in a tower, somewhere, unable to get free and waiting for rescue. Maybe a dragon ate him, and I’ll never find him. I'm not even certain what I'm looking for, just that I don’t want to settle for the first eligible bachelor my mother suggests.

  Jane, on the other hand, is too sweet and obedient to stop Mother from meddling in her life, always ready to please anyone except herself. It makes her miserable, but she can’t stop. It’s who she is, and why she needs Mary and me. We’re the defiant ones, acting as a buffer between Jane and mom.

  Jane leans forward and wraps her thin arms around her ankles. I think she’s lost weight. Her silky blonde hair falls forward, hiding her face. “Do you think he’ll be all right? Mother wouldn’t have kicked us out if he wasn't seriously sick.”

  “I don’t know,” my voice is soft, careful. “I haven’t seen him look that frail, ever.”

  Mary clears her throat and kicks her feet out, so we are all staring at her shit-kicker boots. “Beth, you haven't visited for nearly a year. The change looks more sudden to you. We see him every day. I noticed him changing a little bit, but I thought he was getting older. I didn’t see any more to it.”

  “And Mother acts like nothing is going on,” Jane adds softly.

  “Maybe she doesn’t know?” I ask.

  Mary snorts and looks me in the eye. “When has our mother not known everything? No, she’s fully aware of the situation and doing what she can to play defense.”

  “It feels more like keep away.” Jane has tears in her eyes. “It’s not fair. Dad is a good man—he shouldn’t have to suffer like this!”

  “What do you mean?” Mary leans forward and stares at her. “Dad’s not suffering. What are you talking about?”

  Jane has a natural ability to sense the emotions of another human being without trying. It's nearly impossible for her to ignore her family, and insanely difficult to hide things from her. “He is. Something’s wrong, but I didn’t think it was physical pain. I thought it was stress, but now I’m not certain. It’s hard to tell. I’m sorry, Beth, I should have called you sooner. I thought…” She sighs, and I know what she’s thinking. She doesn’t trust herself anymore, not since Xanax dulled her senses. She walks around in a trance most of the time.

  “Fuck it, I’m not going back to school this semester. I’m staying here. We’ll figure out what’s up with Dad, and, Jane, I love you, but we need to get you off the meds. They’re screwing with you.”

  Jane ignores my last comment. She sits up and drops her knees to the floor. “You can’t quit school!”

  "I’m not.” I shove in the two words before they freak out on me.

  Mary blanches. "Wha
t about Mother?"

  "I’ll deal with her. I’m not quitting. I’m about to graduate. I can finish the few credits I need online from here and study for the grad school entrance exam. I don’t have to be in Texas right now.”

  “I’d love for you to stay, but are you sure?” Jane looks at me with those big pale blue eyes, and I want to hug her until her head pops off.

  I smile. “I’ve already decided. Now, all we have to do is find out what’s wrong with Dad and play nice with Mother.”

  Mary snorts. “Is that all?”

  We sit silently, staring at the wall again for a few minutes, none of us speaking—none of us daring to wonder out loud if Dad will still be with us in a few months.

  CHAPTER 3

  “Elizabeth, may I have a word with you?” Mother's been increasingly cold since we left the hospital. By the time we walk through the door of my parents' Manhattan apartment, she’s an iceberg.

  We've just finished settling Dad into bed, and she's standing at the entrance to his study, a tiny bookcase-lined room converted from a walk-in closet. There's barely space for the desk and chairs crammed in the middle. To disguise the lack of windows in this room, Mother installed floor-to-ceiling draperies perpetually closed across one wall as if there were windows behind them to hide.

  I duck into the study and bite my lower lip. Mother is the main reason I left. We don’t get along well. She wants to conform to society, and I want to defy it. Societal conventions are an absurd set of rules we pointlessly hold ourselves to for no other reason than because everyone else is doing it too. It’s why sweet people like Jane pop pills to keep up with the breakneck schedules of other rich people in the city.

  I’d rather tell them to go to hell.

  Actually, I did that already, right before I left for Texas.

  Mother plasters a stiff smile on her face. She closes the door and walks past me to turn on the desk lamp. It’s sitting on top of a Bvlgari blotter made of hand-tooled leather. When did she get that? It had to cost over a thousand bucks. I don’t understand why Dad lets her spend money this way. It nearly ruined us once already.