From Pemberley to Manhattan [COMPLETED]

Capítulo 7

"Holy Cheetos! Where's Dad?"

Apparently, whatever Bobby had been doing upstairs was pretty amusing, since Dad had lost track of time as well. Mom had already asked after the two of them a couple of times. I did send them some messages about it, but their only answer was "We'll be there in five."

The last time Dad had typed that on his phone had been over half an hour ago.

Fanny's laugh brought me back from my reverie, "You and your weird cussing."

Yes, I had a funny way of swearing. Which, at the end of the day, wasn't cursing at all. At twenty and four, I was finishing my Masters, my thesis related to how the way we taught in schools could be determinant for our children growing up as tolerant citizens, instead of radicals.

Having graduated in IT with honors and having been a summer intern at Google made my parents expect me to begin a startup or something. However, I've always wanted to find a way to help the younger generations. That said, I believed technology, being an amazing way of bringing people together, could also be used by the educational system to help at least minimize cultural, religious, sexual and racial prejudices.

Back to my bizarre swearing. I was never a "perfect lady", if there was such a thing (and, if she ever existed, she must have been a pain in the lass). I never had a problem with that, never cared when guys looked at me in disgust and women judged me.

Nevertheless, wanting to become a schoolteacher made me care, if not for myself, for the children I'd teach and – I truly hoped – inspire. As soon as I'd made that decision, I'd made a huge effort to stop swearing. Nothing had worked. I was a cussing addict, and there was no professional help for people like me. No Cussing Anonymous or a No-Cussing Retreat.

The only successful method had been replacing the offensive term by a similar and innocent one. It had been my brother, Bobby, who had come up with it, one of his brightest moments ever.

Still, he was a pill.

"Your father's here, Nat. Wow, he looks great all suited up."

"Stop it, Fanny! I'm serious!" Remember how I told you about Fanny's brief crush on my Dad when we were younger (which made me want to puke green vomit on her every time she sighed when he entered the room)? Fortunately, it had ended soon enough. What didn't cease to exist was her endless jokes about it. She knew I absolutely hated them, and she found it hilarious. Ha. Ha. Ha.

Feeling my anger building up, I decided to concentrate on a more agreeable subject: the garden decoration for the party. Encased candles drifted on the water's surface, illuminating the fountain in a romantic way; the tables positioned around the fountain were decorated with white cloth and a vase with lilies, making the air smell delicious; white Christmas lights adorned the creepers on the garden's walls. It looked like fairyland.

"Uh-la-la!" She suddenly began smoothing her red hair, checking her own refletion on the water's surface for any flaws on her makeup; even though I considered her freckles adorable, she usually hid them behind layers of compact.

"Uh-la-la? Are we back in the sixties?", I snorted sarcastically. But her tone worried me; it generally meant there was a guy she found attractive in the vicinity. If that were the case, I'd be forced to spend the rest of the evening speaking to Mom's guests by myself. No. Way. "Don't even think about it, Fanny. You promised you wouldn't leave me alone."

"Oh, but you won't be alone. You'll be with your new BFF, Patricia." She gritted her teeth as she pronounced Patty's name.

Admittedly, at first I hadn't much liked the violinist myself. I'd had the impression she was an elitist snob. We'd met through a NYU friend who dated her for a couple of months. She was this petite and thin blonde, with sexy dark eyes and porcelain skin, and fair, shoulder long hair. That, combined with Thank-the-Lord-Almighty breasts and a sophisticated talent, made her Juilliard's princess.

I'd learned to admire Patty for her never ending determination to become a better musician. She could have used her beauty in her favor, but she never took her practice for granted. She desired to be recognized by her competence with the violin, not by her looks. That and the fact we took self-defense class together (which Fanny refused to take, by the way) made us develop a friendship the past year.

The closer we got, the more Fanny found flaws in Patty. No matter what I told her, or how much Patty tried to become her friend, Fanny claimed she couldn't shake the feeling Patty wasn't trustworthy.

Jealousy could be a powerful thing.

"Well, she's not here yet. I'm not even sure if she'll make it. She's been practicing hard this week."

"He's even hotter from up close." Fanny ignored my reply. "Why can't your brother just come over here and introduce my future one night stand to us?" Fanny didn't do the whole relationship thing. She had dates all the time. Occasional affairs. Rare relationships. Never (not ever, really) I-love-you type of boyfriends.

I turned my gaze to the spot she was shamelessly staring at, and finally found out the reason Dad and Bobby had been so delayed. He had alabaster skin, dark hair, piercing blue eyes, thick brows and classical – yet very masculine – features that almost made my knees turn into strawberry jelly. His presence was imposing, and his posture indicated he was clinically analyzing every detail of his surroundings.

"Pity he's so short", Fanny mentioned, still checking the guy up with fire in her eyes. He was about six feet tall, same height as her without the extra inches of her peep toe shoes.

"He'd be considered a rather tall man a while ago", I said absently, also staring at my brother's friend with interest. Almost forgot I was dating someone else. Get yourself together, Nat!

All went to oblivion, including my own dignity, when he stared back at me. As I blushed like an eight-year-old girl for being caught, he arched a brow, the tiniest smile beginning to show on his perfectly shaped lips.

"When? In the nineteenth century?", Fanny countered, but I could barely remember what we'd been talking about. "Anyway, look at the size of his hands! Can you imagine what he must be like if he's all proportional?" That made me break eye contact with the mysterious man and turn my full attention to my enthusiastic friend. Using my peripheral vision, I noticed a couple was approaching us, but do you think she cared? Of course not! "I'm going to have a blast with this guy. He must have a huge–"

"Dick! And Jane! How are you?" I greeted my Mom's friend and his wife, not believing how inappropriate his name had become at that particular – and embarrassing – moment. Fortunately, they hadn't heard what we'd been talking about, and didn't suspect the topic of our conversation, even though Fanny laughed for a full minute.

"She's already had a lot of Margaritas", I told the couple discreetly as explanation, and they nodded in comprehension.

After exchanging some pleasantries about the party and Dad's food, Dick and Jane moved on, but I barely had an opportunity to resume my conversation with Fanny; more of Mom's old friends came to talk to me. And, as a good hostess, I had to indulge.

I gave the handsome man a furtive look again after a while, only to be surprised as I discovered him still looking at me. His eyes didn't tell me if his gaze was full of admiration or disgust, though. It could be neither. Or both. However, something in his whole persona was unmistakable. It was clear this was a very proud man.

I didn't like that particular treat at all.

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