"Ready?" He smiles down at her in his perfectly awkward yet perfectly sincere way. Their joint hands hover between them.

This is it - the point of no return, for real.

"Hm mm," Lizzie squeaks.

Her boyfriend-for-rent rings the doorbell, the window shades gets pulled back, Mom's eyes grow rounder than Lizzie's ever seen them, and the door flies open three seconds later.

"Lizzie! And you must be William!" Hugs - of the bone-crushing variety - quickly follow.

"Hi, Mom." Lizzie chuckles, barely.

"Mrs. Bennet." Will, to his credit, manages to say with the simple nobility of a modern CEO.

The unfolding of the next two hours live up to Lizzie's expectations, in every single way. Jane, as usual, is an enthusiastic angel. Mom won't stop screaming. Dad greets Will with a handshake and a nod (Lizzie has to admit the simple greeting made her calm down just a bit). And Lydia - the incomparable Lydia - won't stop pestering Darcy with questions.

"What's a guy like you doing with my sister, again?"

Lizzie holds her breath and peeks at Will.

"I assure you I am hard pressed to find anyone as lovely and professional as your sister." His reply isn't perfect, but he says it in the earnest way he says everything - and it works.

"She's literally never dated a looker before."

"A looker?"

"Someone who, you know, puts up with her even when he looks way out of her league." Lydia loses herself in her own laughter, and Lizzie squeezes Will's hand and shrugs it all away.

More introductions follow that afternoon. Jane's husband Charlie and their two adorable kids arrive right before dinner, the two munchkins shedding snow all over the hallway with impunity. Lydia explains loudly that her fiancée is only absent tonight and that he will be with everyone at church first thing in the morning. The Gardiners pull up a half hour after Charlie, and the decibel level in the small, three-bedroom home grows a hundred percent.

"You okay?" Lizzie squeezes Will's hand, when Uncle Gardiner finally leaves him alone, and right before Lizzie can't avoid kitchen duty any further. She's worried for him, and the hand-squeezing has been her only connection with him all day.

He smiles at her like he doesn't mind.

They've practiced this - the holding hands, the safe words. And he's nothing if not professional, right?

"Your family is lovely, Lizzie." He smiles gently.

And there is no way that is the truth.

"You don't have to lie to me." She whispers in his ear. With her smile, they probably look like they're trading mushy sentences. But then at least Mom would leave them alone. "I know they're impossible."

"They're very warm."

"And stifling."

"And enthusiastic."

"Too much so."

"The children are cute."

"Until they flick their dinner in your face."

"An odd way to make use of food, I see."

"They're nothing if not creative."

They look at each other - and laugh.

And it feels good to laugh.

It feels good to have someone who knows you in your other life - and steps into this version of it with no hesitation. It feels good to know that her two worlds can collide without catastrophic results. It feels good to have someone with her - to laugh with.

And a small corner of her heart starts whispering - that maybe she's finally letting down her guard because it's no longer just pretend for her.

Maybe after all the talks and preparation - all the practice and discussions - she's actually managed to make herself a real relationship, with a real boyfriend, who is currently smiling at her in a room full of her real family.

And she doesn't even know anymore if she should be panicking or doing a victory lap.

"Lizzie!" Mom hollers from the kitchen.

"You sound wanted," Will says.

He doesn't even say it suggestively, but her cheeks warm all the same.

"Seems so." Lizzie smiles. She gives him a hug. He returns it. "I'll see you later."

"I shall be sure to flick the food in your face if I dislike it."

She laughs all the way to the kitchen.


"I like him, Lizzie. You two seem perfect for each other." Jane sounds motherly and sweet - as she always does.

Lizzie turns away from her sister to watch her father and her boyfriend in deep conversation. It started an hour after dinner, over something about a long and forgotten book series Lizzie used to see on Dad's desk. Will, apparently, has read that series - and the two men have been talking ever since.

The fireplace hums. The children, having eaten and flicked and played their fill, are dozing off one by one on the much-abused carpet.

In the corner, the tree hobbles proudly over the giant pile of presents.

It's been a long time since Lizzie has enjoyed Christmas Eve.

Who knew this night could turn out so well?

"Thanks, Jane."

"I always knew there would be someone special for you - after all those years."

"I'm not that old, Jane."

"No, you're not." The older sister smiles warmly at the younger one. "But, you know, I've found love so young and it's wonderful and I - I just can't help wishing the same for you."

"I have found - "

"I know." Jane clasps a hand over Lizzie's. Here on the carpet, just a few feet from the fire, it almost feels as if they're both teenagers again.

It's warm, and familiar, and so heart-achingly domestic that Lizzie can almost cry.

"And I am so happy it's with someone so perfect for you," Jane concludes.

Lizzie doesn't know what to say - because what do you say in the face of a compliment so simple, so sincere, and so ironically misplaced?

"Thanks," Lizzie mutters.

Jane smiles.

And two hours later, when Jane's family has left and Lydia's chatting outside on the porch and Dad's declared that he's had way more than enough eggnog - Lizzie walks her boyfriend up the stairs towards the guest room down the hall. She winces at the house, at every bit of chipped wallpaper and every creaking floorboard. He acts the exact opposite - glancing at each corner around him as if he were in a museum built on some hallowed historical ground.

"Hope this is fine." Lizzie shrugs, when they finally reach the last room, the open door behind her.

"It's beautiful," Will answers after he glances in, surprising her completely.

"Will, it's just a guest room."

"It's very cozy, and spacious."

"They're not here anymore." She drops her voice into half its volume. "You don't have to pretend, you know?"

"And who says I am?"

He meets her eyes.

And there's light and laughter in his eyes than she hasn't seen at all from all the times she's met him as Pemberley's CEO.

Who knew he was a good enough actor to take all of that in stride?

"Goodnight, Will," she says, before she can say anything worse.

And, on impulse, she tiptoes to lean against the side of his face - and plants a kiss on his cheek.

She's almost shocked still when he kisses her back on the side of her face.

"Goodnight, Lizzie."

She slides down slowly back on her feet.

"See you tomorrow," she squeaks - and dives into the room next door.


"Presents!" Jane's kids are the first to run towards the tree while everyone else sheds their outerwear.

"How gracious of Pastor Ron to keep his message short this morning," Dad quips. He's the first to sink into his chair. "One can hardly expect people to be awake on Christmas morning."

"They sure are." Lizzie grins at the children, who are already two presents in each.

She folds herself onto the carpet next to the fireplace. She smiles up at Will when he follows suit next to her.

"This one's for Grandpa!"

"This one's for Grandma!"

"Aunt Lydia!"

The overenthusiastic little Santa Clauses promptly deliver any presents blocking the way to more of theirs.

Lizzie smiles when Mom settles into the middle seat of the couch.

"Should we start with the stockings?" There's a twinkle in her mother's eyes. It's a twinkle she hasn't seen in a long, long time.

Unpacked stockings yield candies and plushies for the kids, makeup and socks and mints for the ladies, and a mixture of snacks and cheap toiletries for the men.

"I'm sorry," Lizzie whispers, her hand over the plastic razor in Will's hand, when everyone else is too busy sorting through their own stocking spoils.

"It's fine." He sounds way more assuring than he should. "I know how to use one of these."

And she laughs. She laughs the way she did when he'd mentioned how much Pastor Ron looked like that guy in the newsstand across Pemberley Corp. She laughs the way she did when Jane's kids almost trampled Will on their way down the hallway just now.

And it's a kind of laugh that makes her eyes water, just a bit.

"Oh, you shouldn't have!" Mom exclaims, and Lizzie notices the beautiful set of painted china on her lap. "Thank you, William."

It takes her a second - then she whips her head around to look at her boyfriend.

"You?"

"You mentioned that she likes daises." He does a one-shoulder shrug.

Dad is next, and he opens a glistening collector's edition of his favorite murder mystery series.

Lizzie feels her breath shortening.

"Did I - "

"Yup."

Will's arm lands around her shoulder as Dad thanks him. And Lizzie leans into her boyfriend's shoulder with far more urgency than she's ever felt.

Is this her life?

Is this even real?

He was under no obligation whatsoever to try to give presents that are -

"Aunt Lizzie! This one's from your boyfriend!"

She looks up sharply at the delivery. A quick look at Will just earns her another apologetic half-shrug.

Slowly, she opens the present - to reveal the purse she's been eyeing every time she walked from Pemberley to The Mode. It doesn't look that personal of a gift.

But she knows it is.

And she even sees the telltale blue of a Tiffany box inside the purse - and is determined to keep quiet about that until later.

"Mr. Darcy!" Jane's eldest announces. "This one is yours!"

Then it's Lizzie's turn to look sheepish as he unwraps the vinyl record of his mom's favorite songs. He says, "Thank you." But the look in his eyes say much, much more.

"You didn't follow the rules," he whispers.

"Neither did you."

And she's about to kiss him when Lydia asks, artlessly loudly, "What rules?"

And they're stuck explaining that they meant to give gifts that were a certain price - at a certain place - and maybe in private - or something.

No one looks convinced.

But Mom does step in and say, "Oh, Lizzie, you should kiss him!"

And with Dad looking only partially disapproving, Lizzie does.


A/N: Apparently, calling wontons by their Chinese name all my life means that I have no idea how to spell them properly in English. Lol. Thank you to everyone who pointed it out. I hope you had as merry of a Christmas as Darcy and Lizzie did!