Prologue

September, 2000

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W

hat if this book were actually based in real facts? No, impossible, a man like that has not been able to exist ever, neather I believe it will exist in a future.

I didn’t think in my short life that could have someone so arrogant and so perfect at the same time. Gentlemanlike, with a good heart, generous... and attractive I can assure. Yes, attractive, I’m sure he was. And no. It is impossible for him to exist in the real world. I haven’t seen anything alike.

I don’t imagine someone saying something alike these days. In vain... have I struggle... It will not do... My feelings will not be repressed. No, no... I can’t repress my feelings. That. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.

Mr. Darcy is the most absolutely perfect character that could be created.

Well, my English is not as good as it should be yet, and it’s coming really difficult to me to read it. But I’m still seventeen. My parents insisted since I was little, for me to study another language while my friends were practicing ballet. I refused at first just to be against them, I clearly preferred to wear a pale rose tutu and make a pony tail high in my hair instead of spending hours making listenings, translating various silly things and writing my last vacations using a specific vocabulary. Was not enough with English classes we took at school? Not to my parents, apparently. But I had a teacher who always showed us pictures of England, Ireland, Scotland... I fell in love with those lands, with their practices, with their people... and now I find myself reading Jane Austen for the first time, at her language, with a dictionary near and thinking how useless will turn to me to know this vocabulary. Who will tell me something like that in my life so I have to remember these words?

I close the book, put down my finger as a bookmark. A sigh runs out right from my lungs without noticing until I listen to it clearly. I look at the wall in front of me where I have a cork board with the memories of my recent visit to England. A flash summer travel with my parents from which we came back just a couple of weeks ago. It has been a little weird... At first I didn’t want to leave Salamanca for anything in the world. I rather staying alone at home to say good bye to the summer because, classes were almost starting. The final year previous college and, you know what you want this cases: prepare the party, invite Marta, Paula... and Mario. I would have to spend the whole week making out with Mario all over the house. Making out so sweet and beyond. We had been talking about it previous days. We have been dating six months and we are ready for what comes next. I don’t know, Paula for example, she has already done it, many of those we know have done it as well. And Mario is my boyfriend. He is nice, funny... and he is hot as hell. He has an amazing blonde hair and, his abs let all the girls like idiots when he takes out his shirt after sport class and walks to the dressing rooms. I hate when he does that because everybody starts drooling and laughing like foolish. The thing is, deep down I like to see how they want to have something with the cutest boy of the school, even older girls who stared at him and approaches to talk to him. Mario doesn’t look like seventeen, but at least twenty. Besides, he looks so confident when he walks among the school girls...he could walk through a line where every woman of Salamanca were staring at him without making him feel uncomfortable at all. And I’m sure that even in that situation, he would turn around to look after me and say hi to me raising his head with a big smile. I have to admit that I love those displays of affection he has to me in front of all of the sluts that look at him with desire. On the other hand, my father is not comfortable for me to spend that much time with Mario. My father keeps repeating “I am not calm when you hang out with that Mario”, every time I say that he comes to look after me. He is a bad ass, who cares if he is not calm when I hang out with him? I am calm; he better gets use to it...

But, even considering how amazing Mario is, I know that he would never tell me something like this in my life. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you... Now I start to believe that my father took me to Chawton to visit Jane Austen’s house and gave me this british edition for a reason. Mario can hold my bag after school, give me a flower every month we stay together or grab my hand when we arrange to drink some beers. But, tell me something so romantic and heartbreaking? Now that I think about it, he asked me to go out in a very sleazy manner. “Be my girlfriend, we would be a good match” and, he looked at me up and down smiling. So far, it was fine to me if guys only concerned about my look. It was graceful to notice them so nervous when I walked by next to them. It also amused me for instance, to see them argue for who made me the best technical drawing slide to deliver the teacher. As a consequence of my constant outstanding development, my father was determined for me to study architecture, thinking it was due to my great talent in that area. Luckily, they completely forgot when I chose mixed arts, they insisted me again to go to law school so someday I would manage the family business; Salamanca’s most renowned law firm, Sánchez&Herráez. Do they believe that I want to follow their steps, just because the law firm belongs to them? They are so deluded.

...how ardently I admire and love you... No, there’s no way Mario would say something like this definitely. And now, I don’t know why but, I have this disappointment feeling by myself for dating him at first. Is it really what I want? I open the book again and read the proposal for second time. First, I don’t see myself in a future with Mario, not even married. Mario is no Mr. Darcy, not even close. Do I want a Mr. Darcy? Shit Jane Austen, now I need to find my Mr. Darcy and you don’t know how impossible it is this days. Some books should be prohibited to prevent people have dreams of something better, something that might be unreacheable.

And I think Jane Austen just broke my sketchs for life.

I want to dedicate to what relates with letters. Writing... Journalism. I want to study journalism. Tell the reality the way it has to be told. Tell people what I see through my eyes.

I want to live out of Salamanca, meet new places, maybe living in Great Britain. All this English must be useful somehow right? It would be nice to be able to go far. Salamanca seems too small and too frustrating to me some occasions. Living here is nice and quiet, I love my city. But it seems to me as small as a fish globe, where I’m the fish which can only swim giving rounds, and rounds, and rounds... but never gets anyplace. It only keeps swimming no rest until one day it wakes up on the surface belly on top, no life.

And yes, I want a Mr. Darcy dammit, why not? I want a damn Mr. Darcy in my life. I want to notice my breath blocked when I see him, I want to feel my legs shaking when he first talks to me and I want to be chilling just with his little touch. I want balls and travels along the British countryside, I want him to nod and kiss my hands and, I want romantic proposals and...

Shit, Jane Austen what you just did to me?