Dreams of Perfection (Dreams Come True) Read online

  “I’m sure you see that I’m a perfect candidate, and with a few adjustments, you’d make a proper wife for me.” With a few more references as to his need to find a mate, he packed away the file, set his intertwined hands on the table, and rested his case.

  Ticking off his psychological disorders: obsessive-compulsion, narcissism, and possibly a touch of sex addiction, Darcy planned the quickest possible exit. She tried in vain to compose her features.

  Very quietly she laid some money on the table for her tea, swallowed a chuckle, and said, “Mr. Bell, it has been very, um, entertaining, but . . . Not. In. This. Lifetime. I have not yet reached the level of desperation it would take for me to become your, er, Stepford wife.”

  For a moment she feared he was going to blow a gasket. His handsome face turned an unpleasant shade of purple, his eyes bulging, his mouth gaping in shock. Then he grabbed his briefcase and strode to the door, barreling into the UPS man in his haste to leave. He hadn’t even paid for his coffee.

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both. The pent-up laughter erupted in a series of snorts, giggles, and guffaws, until tears ran down her face. Wiping her face with a napkin, she resolved one thing: no more blind dates.

  Chapter 5

  Kids squealed, dogs barked, and the smell of grilled hotdogs and hamburgers filled the Sunday afternoon, floating on the soft spring air. Darcy carried an enormous bowl of potato salad to the table that would serve as the buffet for the family cookout.

  Her five-year-old niece, Samantha, threw her arms around Darcy’s knees with all the gusto of a Giants defensive tackle, practically knocking her and her potato salad over. Placing the bowl on the table among the other side dishes, she gave her niece a smile.

  “Aunt Darthy.” Sam’s lisp had become even more pronounced with the loss of one of her front teeth. “Will keepths chathing me.”

  “Well, I bet if you stop running, he’ll stop chasing you.” Darcy knelt down to nuzzle the girl’s neck. Her sunny blond hair smelled of the baby shampoo her mother still used on it, and Darcy experienced the now-familiar tug at her heart that occurred whenever she interacted with her nieces and nephew.

  Josh snuck up and lifted a shrieking and giggling Sam in his arms and blew raspberries on her bare belly. “Sthop, Joth.” But her continued giggles belied her pleas.

  Josh set her down and gave her rump a little pat as she ran off to torment her cousin Will some more.

  “You’re late. I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” Darcy said as she turned to make room on the table for the rest of the food.

  Josh waved a greeting to Anne and Brandon, Darcy’s siblings. “Had some work to finish up at the office.” He tucked his hands into the pockets of his khaki pants, mainly to keep them from grasping Darcy’s face and kissing her. She looked so fresh and lovely in a sundress the color of the lilacs in her mother’s garden. And smelled like them too. A breeze teased the silky strands around her face.

  “Josh, ‘bout time you got here, son.” Darcy’s father clapped his free hand on Josh’s shoulder. In his other hand the spatula he’d been using to flip burgers. His ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron bore the brunt of the day’s work, from splatters of his top-secret hamburger concoction to grimy handprints from his grandchildren.

  Josh couldn’t help thinking that Jeff Butler was still a handsome man, with a thick head of salt-and-pepper hair, a face tanned from his recent rounds of golf, and eyes so blue you’d swear they’d captured a summer sky.

  “Got a minute? Step into my office,” Jeff said, gesturing to the smoking grill.

  “Sure.”

  “Jeff. No work today,” Darcy’s mom, Vanessa, admonished as she stepped out with an armload of desserts. “Josh, don’t you let him talk about work. It’s his birthday, and he’s going to celebrate it even if it kills him.”

  Josh flashed Vanessa a smile. “No worries.”

  “Van,” Jeff assured her, “we’re not talking law, we’re talking something much more important—baseball. I want Josh’s expert opinion on the new Red Sox shortstop.”

  Josh laughed as Vanessa rolled her eyes.

  “If it isn’t football, it’s baseball with you two.” Vanessa tolerated the sports fanatics in her family, including her youngest child, but that didn’t mean she had to join in their obsession.

  Josh knew that as a Jane Austen scholar, Vanessa preferred obsessing over Austen’s letters rather than the Yankees’ batting averages. And thanks to her mother’s chosen obsession, er, profession, Darcy and her siblings bore some combination of the names of her mother’s favorite Austen characters: Darcy Elizabeth, Anne Elinor, and Frederick Brandon. And because of his long-time relationship with the family, he knew more about Jane Austen than he’d ever wanted to know.

  Van, as Jeff called her, dressed more like a Bohemian painter than a literary scholar. Her long, flowing skirts, silver gypsy hair and colorful tops would have been right at home in one of New York’s many artist colonies. So different from Jeff’s preppy look, but appealing in a natural sort of way. Even now, he could see what Jeff saw in her forty years ago.

  As he and Jeff talked ERAs and RBIs over grilling meat, Josh watched the exuberant chaos that was Darcy’s family. Being an only child, he’d missed that growing up. The roughhousing, the good-natured teasing, even the occasional disputes and sibling rivalry; he’d yearned for it all.

  He had it now, though, or a close approximation of it anyway, and as far as he was concerned, better late than never. Jeff had become the father Josh had always wanted. From the moment he met them, Darcy’s parents and older siblings welcomed him into their fold as one of their own. Her parents scolded him, her siblings razzed him. And he loved every minute of it.

  Not that he regretted his relationship with his mother. No. He loved and respected her too much. But he saw Darcy’s family as an extension of that relationship, not a substitution for it.

  Josh chuckled and drew Jeff’s attention to his older granddaughter’s skill at riding the family dog like a show horse.

  Jeff let loose with one of his infectious laughs. “That’s my little Tomboy-Princess, just like her Aunt Darcy.”

  Yep. One day, he wanted a big family just like the Butlers.

  “I wonder what’s keeping Gloria,” Vanessa said as she glanced at her watch. “It’s not like her to be late.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.” Gloria Madison was not only Darcy’s godmother, but her literary agent as well. Gloria and her mother had been best friends all through grade school, high school, and college. Other than her father, no one knew her mother better.

  “And where’s Laura? I thought you invited her today.”

  “She’s probably still pissed at me for hanging up on her the other night.”

  “Darcy, why would you hang up on her? Did I teach you nothing?”

  “Don’t ask.” Darcy grimaced.

  “Aunt Darthy,” little Sam called. “Come play printheth with me.”

  Happy for the reprieve, Darcy strolled out to the yard. She slipped off her sandals, enjoying the feel of the cool green grass of spring beneath her feet. The lawn, alive now with the antics of her siblings’ two chocolate labs, her parents’ border collie, and her two nieces and one nephew, sloped away to the banks of the Hudson River. Darcy laughed as Delilah, the Border collie, tried in vain to herd animals and humans alike into some semblance of a flock.

  Darcy couldn’t lay claim to a tragic childhood. In fact, she couldn’t have asked for better. Her Westchester County childhood home held many fond memories for her. Trying to keep up with her older brother and sister, playing catch with her dad, watching the boats glide up and down the river, and just like Sam, playing princess on this very lawn, confident that her knight-in-shining-armor would come charging across the backyard at any moment to
whisk her away to his castle.

  Instead, the man she’d thought was her knight had ridden off into the sunset on someone else, er, with someone else, trampling her heart to smithereens in the process.

  Doug had always called her a princess, but when she’d caught him with his, um, junk in the cookie jar, he’d turned that endearment into a criticism. Still, all these years later, she wondered what she’d done to drive him into another woman’s arms. She snorted. It wasn’t the woman’s arms that attracted him.

  Darcy bent over and plucked a dandelion, its fluffy remnants a perfect feathery ball. The experience had left her more determined to hold out until she’d truly found the perfect man. Just like the ones she wrote. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, wished for her perfect hero, and blew with all her pent-up frustration, leaving one little parachute still clinging to the stem. “Phooey!”

  Darcy discarded the stem and waved to her brother, Brandon, and his long-time partner, David. The two laughed as they ran after Will, their seven-year-old adopted son, as he in turn ran after a squealing Sam.

  Clearly Will was sweet on Sam, and like all little boys before him, displayed that affection by pulling silken pigtails and giving chase with frogs and all manner of other slimy creatures.

  “Sheesh.” Even little Sam managed to find a boyfriend.

  Darcy looked back at the house. The white colonial-style dwelling stood like a guardian over the ancient oaks and elms now brightly cloaked in spring green. Its proportions were modest in comparison to its more grandiose neighbors, most of which were rebuilds constructed during the McMansion craze.

  The red-brick chimneys flanking the structure had been rebuilt about five years before, under the supervision of her architect sister, and the black-and-white striped awning over the porch was recently added, but otherwise the house endured the same as it had all her life.

  As one of the founding partners of Butler, Lukeman, and Michaels, her father had done very well for himself. Especially considering where he’d come from. The only son of a factory worker, her father had been the first member of his family to go to college. Like Josh.

  When he graduated from law school, he made a vow to take care of his parents, and he kept that promise until they both died, a year apart.

  Jeff Butler knew the value of a dollar, and taught his children the same thing. Despite their professional successes, the Butler children continued to live a modest, but comfortable lifestyle. Investing their earnings wisely, saving for their retirement, and guarding against the unthinkable. Darcy glanced down at her new Tory Burch dress. Okay, so she caved to the occasional splurge.

  “Hey, daydreamer!” Darcy’s sister called to her. “I’d tell you to get your head out of the clouds, but there aren’t any.”

  Darcy watched as Anne approached, Olivia on her hip, then looked up at the cloudless sky and smiled.

  “I can always dream up a fluffy cloud or two.”

  She held out her hands for a willing Olivia and scooped her up, planting a kiss on that baby-soft cheek. The three-year-old put her hands on either side of her aunt’s face, turning Darcy’s heart to mush.

  Darcy glanced back at Anne, noticing a new tightness around her mouth and dark circles underscoring her hazel eyes. “Where’s Matt?”

  “Oh, he’s on a business trip.”

  Darcy heard the little white lie in Anne’s voice, but before she could ask, Josh joined them, a pair of baseball gloves in his hands.

  “Found these in the garage. Want to play?”

  Darcy smoothed the folds of her sundress with her free hand. “I’m not exactly dressed for a game of catch.”

  “Oh, come on. Nothing hardcore. Let’s just toss the ball around.” He poked Olivia in the belly, making her giggle.

  His boyish grin never failed to win over women, including Darcy. “Okay. Sure.”

  Chapter 6

  Gloria and Vanessa sat in chairs on the porch beneath the awning, protected from the sun, sipping on fresh-squeezed lemonade, and enjoying the kids, grandkids, and canines.

  Gloria grew thoughtful as she watched Darcy and Josh take turns tossing the baseball to Will, the two adults in that picture laughing like teenagers. For all her princess dreams, Darcy had always had a tomboy streak in her. Pouring a healthy dose of gin into her lemonade, she asked, “Do you think Darcy’s ever going to get married?”

  “Hmph,” Vanessa replied. “No one’s ever good enough for her, especially since that no-good Doug Lansing—”

  “Cheating Bastard,” Gloria muttered.

  “Broke her heart.” Vanessa rattled the ice in her glass. “I’ve offered to fix her up with one of the professors in my department, but she wouldn’t have it.”

  “Who?”

  “Terrence McCulkin.”

  “That bag of bones? I wouldn’t have any of it, either. Not even if he came with a fifth of Bombay Sapphire Gin around his scrawny neck.” She took a healthy sip of her adulterated lemonade and released a gusty, satisfied sigh.

  “He’s a perfectly nice, stable guy,” Vanessa protested.

  “I’m sure he is, but what would they have in common? What would she do while he’s off in some dusty library digging through medieval manuscripts?”

  “Hey, what’s wrong with dusty libraries and old manuscripts? That’s what I do.”

  “Yes, Vanessa, but we’re talking about your daughter.”

  “She’s always going on those blind dates with men she has absolutely nothing in common with. Where does she find them?”

  “BlindDatesRUs.com? Who knows? Darcy needs a man with her interests, who respects what she does, but who’s also a steady influence. Someone with good judgment, high moral character, and maturity.”

  “Mr. Knightley,” Vanessa murmured.

  “What’s that?”

  “Knightley.” Vanessa paused as she took a sip of lemonade. “You just described Mr. Knightley.”

  Vanessa set her glass on the side table and picked at the ruffle on her skirt. “I’m afraid I’m to blame for Lizzie’s romantic notions of princes charming and knights in shining armor.” Vanessa used the name she’d intended for her daughter. A name Darcy had always hated. As soon as she was able, she’d corrected anyone who called her Lizzie, until everyone finally gave up and used Darcy instead.

  “You and Jeff always were soft on the girl.”

  “You’re right. We’ve always let her take the easy road—to back down when the going got tough.” Gloria remembered the neglected piano lessons, the forgotten gymnastics classes, and the abandoned golf lessons. Writing was the one thing Darcy stuck with. Then again, that had always come easy to her.

  “Not to mention all those fairytales I encouraged her to read,” Vanessa continued. “She loved them, and I thought it didn’t matter as long as she was reading something.”

  Vanessa sighed. “I’m afraid she’s never going to realize those men just don’t exist—that relationships aren’t all wine and roses. And I’ve been complicit in setting her up for failure.”

  “Nonsense. She’s a smart girl. She’ll learn. It may be a hard lesson, but she’ll figure it out.” No thanks to Cheating Bastard.

  Vanessa glanced over at her own husband as he tossed a burger to Chuzzlewit, Brandon’s portly chocolate lab. “Jeff is the exception. He’s my knight, that’s for sure, but still, he has his flaws. As do we all. Even Mr. Darcy, the most perfect of romantic heroes, has his share of faults.”

  Gloria glanced at Jeff, before returning her gaze to Josh and Darcy. Perfect matches didn’t require perfect people. They only required love, respect, and understanding. But what did she know? She’d go to her grave a curmudgeonly, self-proclaimed spinster.

  Late Monday morning, Darcy hailed a cab with an ear-piercing whistle. The weather had turned unseasonably cool,
resembling winter more than spring. A light, bone-chilling rain fell, making the odds of the Yankees pitching a no-hitter this season better than finding an available cab at the moment.

  When she finally arrived at Sardi’s, Gloria’s favorite restaurant, shaking the rain off her umbrella, she noticed through the window that Gloria already occupied her preferred booth.

  “Sorry.” Darcy slid into the seat across from Gloria, after breathlessly pressing a kiss to her godmother’s cheek. Godmother or not, Gloria didn’t tolerate tardiness and could be quite sharp in her rebukes.

  Although Darcy doubted the existence of even the smallest romantic bone in Gloria’s body, her representation in the world of romantic fiction was much sought after. Even seasoned authors vied for her services, but Gloria chose carefully, and because of that, Darcy counted herself lucky. In the publishing world, she was like Darcy’s own fairy godmother—making dreams come true. But she knew Gloria wouldn’t represent her based on their relationship alone. And authors didn’t fire Gloria. Gloria fired authors.

  “No matter.” Gloria waved her hand dismissively as she sipped from a very dry martini—Bombay Sapphire, dirty, two olives—another of her favorites.

  Darcy’s brow lifted in surprise at Gloria’s uncharacteristically nonchalant response. Her close-cropped preternaturally red hair stood out in spikes around her craggy face and her bold jewelry flashed against her customary black-on-black wardrobe. Eyeing the martini, Darcy asked, “How many of those have you had?”

  “This is my first. Don’t be fresh, girl.” Gloria’s address might be Gramercy Park, but her accent was pure Bronx. Her gravelly voice—the result of thirty-five years of chain-smoking—grated like glass shards in a blender. She’d given up the habit six years earlier, which might explain her perpetually waspish demeanor.

  Appropriately contrite, Darcy picked up her menu. Gloria didn’t need a menu. She ordered the same thing for lunch every time: steak tartar and a Caesar salad.