Chapter One
In Which Elisa Benitez Meets the Most Obnoxious Girl Ever
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a good fortune must be…difficult.
“Difficult” was the word Elisa’s mother used when she really wanted to say “ridiculously, impossibly infuriating.” It was also the first word that came to mind when Elisa met Darcy Fitzgerald.
Of course, more than one person had claimed that Elisa could be difficult.
Maybe this is karma.
It had been, overall, a terrible first meeting. And the argument that ensued had started the way many arguments do: in a college classroom, over a book by a guy who was too dead, she presumed, to care.
Elisa had been on a college campus precisely once before, when her older sister Julieta had graduated with her Associate’s. At the time, the students of Steventon Community College had seemed apathetic toward everyone around them and the campus appeared small and easy to navigate. It was a different story now that she was a student there herself. Suddenly, everyone was staring at her, the map on the website was completely useless, and her breakfast was threatening to reappear.
Even so, Elisa got to class ten minutes ahead of schedule and was surprised to find that she wasn’t the only one. Sliding into an empty seat in the front row, she cast her brown eyes around, surveying the other early birds. She was clearly the youngest person there, though not by much—she was eighteen, and most of the others looked to be in their twenties or so. A couple of jocks sat in the back row, huddled over someone’s phone, and three girls sat in the row behind Elisa, chattering away about their summer vacations. The professor, it appeared, wasn’t there yet.
Another girl, who couldn’t have been much older than her, sat alone at the end of her row. With her warm brown skin and wavy hair, she was…
Well, I certainly don’t use the phrase “prettiest girl I’ve ever seen” lightly.
She’d brought a book with her and seemed determined to not look at, much less make eye contact with, anyone else in the room.
Elisa, deciding to take her chances with the only other unaccompanied person in the room, offered the girl a smile and a small wave.
“Hi,” she said. “Is it your first day of college, too?”
The other girl’s dark eyes left the book she’d brought with her, and Elisa got the impression she hadn’t noticed her until just now. “No.” Her voice was lower than Elisa had expected, and so soft, she almost wasn’t sure she’d said anything. “I started last semester.”
“Did you go to Steventon Public High? I don’t think I ever saw you. I’m actually a senior there. I finished all my credits already, so they said I could start here early if I wanted.”
When the school had offered Elisa the chance, she’d had three thoughts at once:
Hey, being a teacher’s pet who never goes outside finally paid off.
Wait, does this mean I don’t have to do the application essay?
I never have to fight through the demonic circle that is the west hallway to get to my locker ever again? TAKE ME NOW.
“I wish I’d done that,” the other girl said. “I don’t miss high school at all. But to answer your question, no, I just got into town last week.”
“Oh, do you like it here?”
“Not really, no.”
Elisa wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. So she just went with, “Ah.”
Five minutes passed, and the professor still hadn’t shown. Some students seemed perfectly happy with this arrangement, continuing to talk or text, while others squirmed in their seats and glanced at their watches, asking the others if they’d possibly gotten the start time wrong.
Elisa cleared her throat and threw an idea out to the room: “Maybe we should call the registrar’s office or some—”
One of the jocks in the back row cut her off. “You know, there’s a rule that if the professor doesn’t show up after fifteen minutes, we can just leave.”
She bristled. There was no such rule. She had checked.
“But if ever the prof really is fifteen minutes late,” her father had said, “leave anyway. That’s what I always did, and I graduated with a three point eight.”
Before she could say anything, the girl who’d brought a book with her spoke. Her eyes didn’t leave the page.
“I don’t think that rule is official, and even if it were, it hasn’t even been fifteen minutes yet.” Man, her voice had a way of quieting a room. “And don’t interrupt people. It’s rude.”
The jock rolled his eyes and droned, “Thanks, Mom, I’ll keep that in mind,” which earned him a few laughs from the other students. Even so, Elisa noticed the red creeping up his cheeks, and she smiled.
“Thank you,” she whispered to the girl, who didn’t respond beyond a small nod.
Sitting in a room full of people—all older and at least outwardly more comfortable than her—was doing a number on Elisa’s nerves. She hadn’t loved high school—especially not since her best friend had graduated two years earlier—but at least she’d known what she was doing.
Here? No idea. Totally flying blind.
Maybe this was a bad idea.
Okay. Wow. I’ve been here less than fifteen minutes, I’ve spoken to two people, and I’m already spiraling. Get it together, Benitez.
On that thought, she reached into her pocket for her brick of a smartphone, which was a few years out of date but worked okay and was basically indestructible. Seriously. She could probably take someone’s teeth out if she threw it at them hard enough.
She reread the text her father had sent to her that morning.
Elisa smiled. Papa had a way of easing the knots in her stomach, even over text.
Finally, nearly ten minutes after class was supposed to begin, the door opened and a woman rushed in, throwing her briefcase onto the desk.
“Good morning, everyone.” The professor had unkempt hair and her blouse was buttoned up wrong, but she was making an effort to be energetic and cheerful anyway. Elisa offered a small smile in return. The girl at the end of the row just grimaced as she put her book away. “I’m Professor Maya DeCaro, and this is Introduction to Literature. While I get my roster pulled up, why don’t we go around the room and share a little about ourselves?” The suggestion was met with stray groans. “You.” She looked directly at Elisa, and she felt her stomach twist. Even though she knew exactly what her professor was about to say, she still prayed that she wouldn’t. But then came the cursed words: “Go ahead and get us started, will you? Your name, your age, something about yourself.”
“Um—” Crap. “Okay.” Crap.
Elisa stood, trying her best to smile and look somewhat convincing. Every eye in the room was on her, including those of the girl at the end of the row.
“I’m Elisa Benitez,” she said. “I’m a senior in high school, actually—and, um, I’m… I’m the second of five girls.”
“Oh, would I know your sisters?” Professor DeCaro asked, looking up from her computer.
“Julieta, maybe. She graduated with her associate’s degree a couple years ago.”
“Oh, Julieta Benitez, of course.” The professor’s face lit up with a fond smile. “She was such a lovely girl. Smart, too.”
Elisa nodded, smiling back. That didn’t surprise her much—Julieta could get along with anyone. Any professor who’d taught her was guaranteed to like her. It was impossible not to. Even Lucia, her youngest sister, looked up to her.
Elisa sat back down, and they moved on to the other girl. She stood, but she didn’t so much as crack a smile.
“I’m Darcy Fitzgerald.”
Elisa barely kept her jaw from dropping, and she wasn’t the only one who was surprised. Two girls in the row behind them immediately began whispering to each other, their eyes wide. Elisa distinctly heard one of the guys in the back row mutter, “Holy sh…”
Elisa couldn’t really blame them. It was as if a Hilton or a Kardashian was sitting in their classroom. Everyone knew the Fitzgerald family. Elisa had been aware that they lived in the general area of Steventon, Ohio, but she never imagined she’d meet one. Elisa rarely left town, and the Fitzgeralds were always off doing…
Well, she was never sure what, exactly, it was that they did. The family had been well-known since her parents were teenagers, maybe even before that. These days, they were simply famous for being famous.
The Fitzgeralds were almost offensively rich. So, what the hell was their prodigal daughter doing in a community college in Steventon?
“I’m nineteen,” Darcy continued, voice inflections barely changing. “And I’m the oldest of two, unless you count my older cousin, with whom I was raised.”
She sat back down before anyone could comment. The professor apparently got the message because she swiftly moved on to the next person.
Elisa glanced at her, trying not to be too obvious. Darcy seemed committed to the whole “I’d rather be anywhere else,” vibe she had going on. Dark clothes, including a pair of shoes that probably cost more than all of her textbooks combined, matched her mood, her lips twisted into a semi-permanent scowl.
She’s hot in a mean-girl sort of way. And so out of my league.
And Elisa’s “interesting fact” was that she had sisters. She wondered why of all possible things to say, she’d chosen her birth order. Her excuse was that her sisters were really the most exciting thing in any given day. The Fitzgeralds had plenty going on.
The class got through the introductions, and the professor told everyone to get out their copies of the first book: Lord of the Flies. When she saw it on the book list for the semester, Elisa had groaned out loud. She’d had to study it in high school and had often found herself wondering if the teacher was punishing the class for something.
“Has anyone read this book?” Professor DeCaro asked.
About half the hands in the room went up, including Elisa and Darcy’s.
“What did you think?” the instructor asked, then paused before saying, “Not that it’ll change anything—we’re reading it no matter what.”
Crap.
“I liked it a lot,” Darcy said. “I thought it was really well-written, and I think it’s a very accurate message, especially given our current political climate.”
Elisa spoke up before anyone else had the chance. “Oh, come on—that’s a little cynical, don’t you think?”
Now Darcy was looking at her. “Maybe.”
“I’m not wild about our political situation, either, but I have to disagree,” Elisa said.
“Your disagreeing doesn’t keep me from being right.”
“Wow.” Elisa actually had to laugh. “Come on. You can’t honestly believe people are all bad.”
“History proves that, given enough of a chance, humans will tear each other to shreds.”
“But the message of the book—at least, the way I was taught it—isn’t as clear-cut as ‘humans are bastards.’ I thought the point was that people who are relatively privileged—in this case, English schoolboys—aren’t any better than anybody else, and that they’re capable of doing awful things when they’re removed from consequences and authority figures.”
Darcy gave this some thought. “I think things would’ve eventually gone to hell even if all the students in Lord of the Flies were female,” she said. “Although the details probably would’ve played out differently. It’s an interesting point, to think about how changing the genders would change the story.”
A guy in the back row threw out, “Man, I’d hate to be on that island. Groups of girls are crazy. Away from civilization, it’d be anarchy.”
Both girls responded at once, looking away from each other to glare at him. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Elisa said, while Darcy said, “The idea that women can’t get along is a myth, which you might know if any woman anywhere would give you the time of day.”
Professor DeCaro tried to intervene. “Hey, now…”
The guy had gone red, but he defended himself. “I was just joking,” he said. “I make one joke, and suddenly I’m the jerk?”
Elisa took a sharp breath. “Yes. Exactly. Glad we agree.”
“That’s not f—”
“Okay, rule of thumb: if your joke’s punchline is ‘women be crazy, amirite?’, it’s not a very good joke, and you’re probably just an asshole.”
“Hey.” The professor’s voice was sterner now. Elisa cringed.
“Hey, what?” Darcy asked, eyes sparking as she looked at her. “I think she was imparting some very good advice.”
Did she just mouth off at the teacher? On the first day? Toto, I don’t think we’re in high school anymore.
Professor DeCaro had the look of someone who was counting down the days until retirement. “Let’s keep personal insults, gender stereotyping, and profanity out of our class discussion, okay, ladies? And that goes for you, too, gentlemen.”
Darcy shrugged. “Fine by me. Where were we?”
“Whether or not humans are evil,” Elisa said.
“Right. Thank you. Anyway, Golding wrote the book to make a point,” she said. “The point was that no group—be it sex, race, financial background—is immune to savagery, under the right circumstances.”
“Well, yeah, of course no one is immune,” she conceded. “But I think hard times bring out the best in most people, much more than it brings out the worst in others. I think if you give people a fair chance, most of them will try to help. People are inherently good.”
“I disagree.”
“Your disagreeing doesn’t keep me from being right.”
Darcy’s face gave away nothing, but there was a flicker—just a flicker—of emotion in her eyes. Whether it was amusement or annoyance, Elisa couldn’t tell. With Darcy, there probably wasn’t much difference.
The professor hastily called on someone else, not giving them an opening to start up again, and Elisa flipped through the pages, resigning herself to reading the book again. She glanced over at Darcy once more and caught her looking over at her. Both girls quickly turned their gazes back to their books, pretending they hadn’t noticed the other.
Okay, Elisa, you’ve got a pretentious classmate who is so pretty it’s just not fair, and a book you hate. But it could be worse. You could be back at the high school. Remember the locker? The square-dancing unit in gym class? The cafeteria food?
It could always be worse.
…
Elisa didn’t have any other classes on Mondays, which meant she was back home by noon. Of course, it balanced out because she was on campus from ten in the morning to five in the evening on Tuesdays and Thursdays, with only ninety minutes free in the early afternoon to rush home to eat lunch. At least the campus is only a twenty-minute drive.
She lived with her mother and sisters in the Longbourn Apartment Complex, which had issues of its own. Longbourn probably looked downright appalling to those that hadn’t been there all their lives and had time to get used to it. It had a recurring problem with rats that resurfaced every three years or so, the washing machines in the laundry room only worked about half the time, and the landlord actually had the nerve to jack up the rent recently. But, still, it was home. Elisa had lived there, in the same apartment, for her entire life. And even a rat-ridden, overpriced pit had its upsides.
The best of those was in the lobby when she got there, on her phone.
“Yes, sir. Yes. Yes. Right. You’re right. I’m sorry. My fault.”
Charlene looked up when Elisa walked into the building, and she waved but didn’t stop talking to whoever was on the other end of the call. Elisa was slightly disappointed to notice that she was in her work attire of a pencil skirt, high heels, and a blouse. Charlene was supposed to be able to stay home that day, but apparently, that wasn’t happening.
“I’ll call him,” Charlene said, keeping her voice so chipper it was very nearly convincing. “You’re right, sir. Yes. I’m sure. I promise.”
She made eye contact with Elisa, rolling her eyes and pointing at the phone.
Work. Sorry, she mouthed.
“It’s cool,” Elisa whispered. Charlene’s job always had her dealing with some disaster or other. She’d bet her friend was the most competent person at work, but as a secretary with no college degree, she was treated like a glorified coffee machine on the best days.
On the worst days, the higher-ups treated her like their personal maid, emotional punching bag, and occasional therapist. It was one of life’s greatest injustices that a smart, ambitious woman like Charlene could be ignored while idiots like her boss lived off her hard work.
“I’ll fax it over as soon as I can,” Charlene said. Her tone was polite and cheery, but her eyes gave her away. Her boss was lucky he wasn’t in the room with her; he would not have survived the conversation they were currently having. “Yes, of course I mean within the next hour. Have I ever let you down before?”
“Want me to kick his ass for you?” Elisa whispered. Her friend grinned but swatted her on the arm, shushing her.
“Yes, sir, understood. I’ll have it to you by the end of lunch. See you then. Goodbye.” She hung up. “Hey,” she said, wrapping her arms around Elisa in a quick hug.
“I thought you had the day off,” she said.
“Yeah, so did I. Doesn’t appear to matter.” She rolled her eyes. “Looks like I’m putting in a half day today.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah, but, hey.” She forced a smile. “A job is a job. I’m glad I have it.”
“Don’t use your customer service voice on me, Locke.”
Charlene laughed. “Okay, okay, work sucks. But enough about that. How was class?”
“Ugh, could be worse. Beats the high school.” She shrugged. “The professor seems nice, but the first book we’re reading is Lord of the Fuckboys. And there’s one girl that just…argh.”
“Ditzy?”
“No, not really,” Elisa conceded. “She seems pretty smart. But stuck-up. And hot. She’s annoying, but she’s really hot. Why are the cute ones always the ones who make you want to rip your hair out?”
Charlene laughed at that. “Yeah…that does not get better after graduation.”
“Guess what her name is?”
“How would I know what her name is?” Charlene asked, rolling her eyes.
“Darcy Fitzgerald.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really? Are we sure she’s that Darcy Fitzgerald?”
“As far as I know, there’s only the one.”
“Maybe you should try and get on her good side. You know, just in case.”
Elisa snorted. “I don’t think she has a good side.”
“Oh, come on, you’ve only met her once. Besides, pissing off a Fitzgerald probably isn’t smart.”
“Yeah, would’ve been good to know that an hour ago.”
Charlene laughed, shaking her head. “Well, be nice.”
“I’m nice,” Elisa said a little too loudly.
“Of course you are, Lisa. Look, I gotta go,” she said. “My boss will probably rip my head off if I’m not over there soon.”
“Go kick ass. I have some reading to start.”
Char was two years older but had grown up at Longbourn, too—for most of their lives, she had lived in the apartment above the Benitez family. Her parents and younger sister, Molly, were still there. But after graduating high school, Charlene had insisted to her parents that she needed to get out of their hair and start being independent, so she’d moved into another apartment.
Sometimes Elisa’s sister Julieta admired what Char had done and thought about moving out, too. But her job as a website designer, while doing admirably well for a small startup, didn’t make her nearly enough to live alone, and she knew it. Fortunately, their mother, Alejandra, would’ve been distraught if she left, and was very open about how much she enjoyed having her there.
Though, of course, if Julieta left to get married, Alejandra wouldn’t complain.
“Elisa.” Alejandra hurried to greet her daughter at the door as soon as it opened. Like her daughter, she was short and fat—though Elisa was proud to say she now officially had half an inch over her. “Do you know what Charlene’s mama told me when I saw her in the laundry room today?”
“That Charlene’s boss is robbing her of her hard-earned days off?” she guessed.
“No, she told me that empty house in Netherfield Park just sold.”
Elisa nearly groaned but managed to keep it in. Of course it’s something like that. Netherfield Park was the richest neighborhood in Steventon—the kind that didn’t even have a bus going out there because if you had to take the bus, you definitely couldn’t afford to live there.
“That’s great,” she said, not making much of an effort to sound sincere.
“Guess who bought it?”
“Who, Mom?” If she said “Darcy Fitzgerald,” she’d probably scream.
“Robert Charles II,” Mom said, as if this was supposed to mean anything to her.
“Who?”
“Have you always been this oblivious?” Alejandra looked appalled at Elisa’s very reasonable question. “Mr. Charles is one of the youngest millionaires in the world. His father owns a movie production company—well, owned. He retired a couple years ago, and now it’s his son’s.”
“Did they make any movies I’d know?”
“Oh yeah, loads.” She waved her hand. “Camp Massacre, The Flutist, Camp Massacre 2, that version of Hamlet where Horatio was a dog, Camp Massacre 3: Todd Kills Yet Again… That’s all I got off the top of my head, but you get my point.”
She laughed. “Oh, wow, you should’ve told me we were dealing with Oscar-winners.”
Mom rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “The world becomes a brighter place with every slasher movie, and you know it.”
She chuckled. “Can’t argue with that.” She’d seen pictures of her mother in her childhood bedroom, covered in posters for all the bloodiest, most disgusting horror flicks of the day. According to her father, she’d made him watch Child’s Play for their anniversary one time. It was apparently quite romantic.
“Why would Robert want to live out here?” Elisa asked, moving toward the fridge, which forced her to squeeze between her mother and the room divider. Until the year before, she had shared her room with Julieta, the oldest Benitez sister, and Lucia, the youngest. But then, Lucia had decided that she deserved her own room, and had bought a room divider, put a sign declaring “Lucia’s Room” on it, and closed off a little part of the living room to be her own.
She even moved her bed in there herself. Mom had decided it was easier to just let her rather than argue, which was par for the course when it came to Lucia. Elisa was a little irritated that her sister got her own space when no one else did but was mostly just glad to have her out of her hair. Or at least out of her room.
“Even Netherfield probably isn’t as nice as what he’s used to.”
“Who cares?” Mom said. “He’s only twenty-five, single, very good family, very well-off.”
Elisa let the fridge door shut with a small slam, emerging from the kitchen with a tube of Go-Gurt. Eating without a spoon was necessary, because Lucia had blown off her turn at doing the dishes. Again.
“Mom,” she said sternly. “No.”
Please, Lord, don’t let her go there, not this early in the day.
“I’m just saying, you or Julieta could do worse.”
Oh, come on. Really? I haven’t asked You for much.
“Mom…”
“Look, Elisa, I know you hate it when I try to set you up but keep an open mind. Would it really be so bad if one of you girls married a wealthy man to take care of you? O-or woman, in your case, dear,” she hastily added, smiling.
Elisa cracked a smile despite herself. When she’d come out as bisexual two years before, her mother and sisters had accepted her with open arms. Mom had also been accepting when the second-youngest sister, Camila, had come out as trans the year before that. She didn’t always understand things, and she sometimes said something so outdated it was cringe-worthy, but Elisa and Camila could both rest easy with the knowledge that their mother’s love was truly unconditional.
Her requirements for a spouse for one of her daughters, meanwhile, had plenty of conditions. This magical person had to make at least $80,000 a year and have a “good family,” whatever that meant. They needed to own, not rent, a home, and must be able to travel whenever they pleased. The last one was strange, but her mom liked to dream big. But the caveat to all of that was their significant others didn’t necessarily have to be male.
Dealing with the extended family had been a bumpy ride, especially on her mother’s side. Some, like her brother, accepted Cam and Elisa as easily as she had, while others, like her parents, didn’t understand either of them. She said that Abuela and Abuelo still loved them just as much as they did before—they just needed some time to adjust their worldview. If they weren’t used to it by now, they probably never would be.
“I’m not saying money isn’t nice to have,” Elisa said, “but it’s not really something I’d think about before I got married.”
Alejandra snorted.
“Mom.”
“I know you’re a romantic, dear, but finances in a marriage are very important. You want to be sure there’s money to take care of your children when you’re gone, and money to enjoy yourself with while you’re still around.”
“You married Papa when you were both flat broke,” Elisa said without thinking. She regretted it as soon as it was out.
Her mother turned away from her as soon as she mentioned her failed marriage. Elisa’s parents weren’t the sort to publicly argue or even slight each other in private—well, her dad did, sometimes, a little—and hadn’t even had to go to court to settle custody. Her mother had full custody, but her father was free to see his daughters anytime.
“Look how that turned out,” she said curtly.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Elisa said, moving closer. “I didn’t mean to bring that up.”
“It’s all right, dear,” she said, though Elisa could tell she was still upset. The way she refused to meet her daughter’s eyes gave it away. “It was fifteen years out of my life. We can’t pretend it never happened.”
As much as you’d love to. “I’m gonna started on my homework. Love you, Mama.” She pecked her on the cheek and headed to her room before her mom could bring up Robert Charles II again.
As a freelancer, Julieta worked from home. From nine a.m. to five p.m., the room she and Elisa shared was her office. When Elisa came in, Julieta was sitting up on her bed, her laptop balanced on her knees. It had been a Christmas gift from their father. He was delighted she wanted her own business and told her that it was an “investment.” Elisa and her other sisters had laptops, too, but they were discounted models that were about four years out of date.
“How’s the latest client?” Elisa asked, tossing her bag on the floor and sitting on the bed on her side of the room. Her side was disorganized and had no aesthetic or theme to speak of. Julieta’s was pristinely organized, with furniture, bedding, and accessories in her favorite shades of pink.
“Demanding,” Julieta said, tearing her gaze away from the screen long enough to give her sister a warm smile. “He’s asked to change the layout five times so far.”
Elisa groaned. “It’s like, make up your mind.”
“The customer is always right,” she said with a small shrug. Even so, her smile became ever-so-slightly strained.
“Does that still apply when the customer’s an idiot?”
“It applies especially when the customer’s an idiot.”
Elisa dug through her bag for her book. “Did Mom tell you about the house in Netherfield Park?”
Julieta gave a tiny laugh, shaking her head. Her hair, black and wavy, fell in front of one eye, forcing her to push it back. It was only then that Elisa noticed that Julieta hadn’t even changed out of her pajamas or brushed her hair. That figured. Even unkempt, her older sister looked beautiful. “Only a thousand times.”
“I wonder how she expects us to meet him, anyway. It’s not like he runs with our crowd.”
“I’m sure Mama will find a way. She always does.”
“Well, she fully expects one of us to marry him, I think, soooo… Not it.”
“Gee, thanks. Can I count on you to be my maid of honor?”
“Only if the best man is cute.”