I need to shake it off. Sure, I’ve started feeling things for him that I wish I didn’t have, but I’m not here for him. I’m here for my label.
But lately, I find I’ve got to keep reminding myself of that.
Things are beginning to get complicated.
I press on down the hallway, moving as swiftly and quietly as I can. I knock lightly on his door and wait. A moment later, I’m met with Sebastian in a white T-shirt and pair of jeans.
His face lights up as his eyes land on mine. “Brady Bunch,” he says with his sexy accent.
“Hey.” I feel like a goofy teenager meeting a boy she’s got a crush on.
He pulls the door open and stands back for me to enter.
As I do, I round on him, those crush feelings replaced with something else. “Tell me something straight up, okay?” I raise my index finger in warning. “And you cannot lie to me.”
He darts me a quizzical look. “When have I ever lied to you?”
“Umm, maybe by not dropping the hint we’re going to England today when we went for a horse ride?”
“We had cameras on us. Plus, I didn’t want you to appear like you knew about it already when they filmed everyone’s reaction. As it turned out, you looked like a stunned mullet.”
“It came as a bit of a shock, that’s all.”
“A good shock, I hope?”
“When is a shock ever good, Seb?”
His face falls. “Are you saying you don’t want to go?”
“I didn’t expect it, that’s all.”
“Well, I for one am glad you’re coming. I would love to show you Martinston.”
“What’s Martinston?” I ask. I glance down at his jeans and my eyes bulge. No, he couldn’t be that guy! He might be getting a bit flirty, but he’s not the type. Is he?
“Martinston isn’t the name for your—” I nod at the crotch of his jeans.
“What? No!”
“Oh, thank goodness,” I say with a rush of relief.
I am not a fan of guys naming their appendages. I should have known a pompous British aristocrat wouldn’t name his. Well, not something like “Martinston,” anyway. More like “Little Sebastian,” or “Lord Wiener.” Oh, please stop me now.
“So exactly what is Martinston?” I ask.
“It’s my family’s home. They’re calling it ‘Pemberley’ on the show because of the book, of course, but that’s not its real name. Martinston has been in our family for generations. It’s really special to me.”
That’s why his smile flipped to genuine when he told the contestants about it. My heart squeezes at the thought he wants to show me his home—and the fact he’s not the type to name his err, manhood, either.
“I’d like to see your home, Seb.”
“I’m glad.” His eyes lock with mine and I wonder what it was that I hated about him so much. He’s a good guy. Sure, he’s still a total douche to choose to go on a reality TV show to find love, but none of us are perfect. Right?
“I hope you’ll like it.”
“It’s a castle, Seb. I’m sure I’ll love it.”
“Not a castle.”
“Sorry. My bad.” I raise my hands in surrender. “A manor house. So different from a castle.”
He opens his mouth to reply but seems to think better of it. Instead, he says, “What was it you wanted me to answer honestly?”
“I saw Phoebe in the hallway on the way here. She seemed flustered. She told me she was going for a walk.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Much like you were?”
“Fair point,” I concede. “But I was coming to see you. What was she up to?”
“I honestly don’t know. But in case you’re indirectly asking me what I think you are, I assure you, Phoebe was not here with me. Nor does she know where my room is, as far as I’m aware.”
The heaviness in my belly lifts and I’m surprised at how relieved I feel to hear him say it. “I’m glad we cleared that up.”
He takes a step closer to me, and I catch a hint of his scent, his physical presence making my heart thud like a beating drum. Why does he have to stand so darn close? Doesn’t he know it’s confusing for me?
More than confusing.
“What is interesting, Brady, is how the thought of another woman visiting me has clearly upset you so much.”
“I’m not upset. I’m only—” I search for the correct word. “—concerned.”
“You’re concerned.”
“Yes. I’m concerned about our deal.” He holds my gaze and I fight the urge to wrap my arms around him and kiss him.
Wait, what?!
Me, kiss Sebastian? Have I completely lost my mind?
I clear my throat. “Speaking of which, I need to thank you for the chance to promote my label tomorrow when we travel. It’s really great of you to set that up for me.”
“I’m only pleased I could help.”
“You’re a total lifesaver. Truly.”
“Well, there’s only so many times I want an angry Texan turning up at my room in the middle of the night.”
I bat him playfully on the arm. “Oh, you love it.”
“Once you’ve got your label on camera, I imagine you’ll want to leave.”
Getting away from here is all I’ve been able to think about since the Regency clothes bomb was dropped. But that was before I began to feel things for Sebastian I never expected to feel. Confusing things.
Wonderful things.
I nod. “That’s the plan.”
“As impossible as I imagine you’ll find this, I will be sorry to see you go.”
My heart rate picks up again. “I thought I was a pain in your butt.”
A smirk spreads across his face. “What makes you say that?”
“Are you serious right now? I haven’t exactly been nice to you.”
“Granted, you are pushy, and you came here to promote your label, which I might remind you is against the rules. And not only that, you get extremely bolshie when you don’t get your way.”
“Don’t hold back there, cowboy.”
“Despite it all, Emma Brady, I find you intriguing. Irritating beyond belief, but intriguing all the same.”
A blink at him. Sebastian finds me intriguing? I swallow down a rising lump. “You do?”
“Is that so hard to believe?”
“Well, I am a thoroughly intriguing person,” I deadpan.
His eyes crinkle as his smirk reaches across his face. “And extremely modest, as well.”
“So, what’s so intriguing about me exactly, huh?”
Please don’t judge me. It’s not every day a guy who looks like Sebastian compliments me like that.
“How about we start with the fact that you’re the only contestant who’s not trying to impress me in the least. In fact, you’ve made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with me.”
My heart sinks. I’m intriguing because I’ve shown no interest in him. “That sounds like a classic avoidance strategy to me.”
“Perhaps it is, Brady, but I like having you around.”
My breath catches in my throat. He likes having me around? Does that mean ... ?
I swallow, my mouth suddenly dry. “You do?”
“I do.”
Although my tummy does a flip at the thought, I narrow my eyes at him and reply, “No, you don’t.”
“Who are you to tell me who I do and don’t like? I think I’m the best judge of that.”
I chew on my lip, watching him. “Sure, you’re right,” I concede. “But you’re also wrong.”
He arches an eyebrow. “Thank you for being so very clear.”
“What I mean is, you think you like having me around, when really you don’t.”
“Might I refer you to my earlier statement about me being the best judge of how I feel?”
“Let me spell it out for you. This is a totally artificial environment. We’ve been thrown together, we’re all dressed up, you’re pretending to be Mr. Darcy, I’m one
of The Lizzies.” I roll my eyes on behalf of Jane Austen. “It’s only natural that we would develop feelings for one another.”
His face creases into a smile. “You have feelings for me, Brady?”
Dang it! Did I just say that?
“No, I don’t!” I insist far too firmly.
“You just said you do.”
“Well, tell me this then: why do I want to leave, Mr. Know-It-All?”
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong. You don’t want to leave.”
“I do.”
“You did, but you don’t anymore.”
Ha! The cheek of the man! The fact that he’s right is totally beside the point.
“For your information, I have put my own very important needs aside so you could dispense with the crazies.” I land on an appropriately grand sounding word to describe my sacrifice and add, “I’ve been magnanimous.”
“But you still want to stay.”
“Seriously?” I throw my hands on my hips. “And you call me irritating.”
His eyes smolder as his gaze holds mine. It does things to my insides as thoughts race through my mind.
Does he ... ?
Do I ... ?
Will we ... ?
My eyes drop to his mouth. Are we about to kiss?
“Well,” he says.
I swallow. “Well.”
“Whether or not you want to stay, we’ve got a long flight tomorrow. I expect you’ll need your sleep.”
“Right.”
He’s not going to kiss me. He doesn’t feel it, too.
To my surprise, I feel like I might cry, which I know is insane. There are a million reasons why kissing Sebastian would be a completely terrible idea. Like the fact he’s not my type. He’s formal and uptight and I bet if you looked up the word “overprivileged” in a dictionary, you’d find a picture of Sebastian Huntington-Ross, smiling that sexy smile of his. Or what about the fact that he’s from an entirely different world from me? A world that, frankly, scares the crap out of me. Or how about the doozy of all doozies: he’s come on this show to find love? Surely that’s got to be the biggest deterrent of all?
But none of them mean anything right now. Because as I look at him, all I want to do is feel his lips against mine, his body pressed up against me.
“I guess I’ll go, then,” I say, but of course I mean the opposite.
“Yes. Of course,” he replies.
“Now. I’ll go now.”
He opens his mouth as though to say something, and then closes it again. He nods. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I let out a resigned puff of air. “Tomorrow. Sure.”
His lips curve into a smile I can feel right down to my toes. “Good night, Brady.”
As Sebastian closes the door behind me, I lean up against the wall and scrunch my eyes shut.
He told me he likes having me around, but he didn’t kiss me. I wanted him to, and he didn’t. I let out a heavy breath.
I’m a total fool.
Falling for Mr. Darcy was never in the plan.
Chapter 19
I barely sleep, I’m so amped. Thoughts race around my head, competing for thinking space. Promoting Timothy, staying longer on the show, going to England. But there’s one that keeps fighting the others off for pole position.
I think I’m falling for him.
It gets my head spinning so much, I fear it ricocheting off my neck and slamming up against the bedroom wall.
How could I have let this happen? The plan was to get enough exposure for the label to move from fledgling start-up to profitable business and then get the heck out of dodge. Not fall for the guy I’m morally opposed to for going on reality TV to fall in love, a guy who’s from an entirely different world from mine. A guy with whom it could never, in a million years, work.
Eventually, the sun rises and Reggie’s alarm sounds. I get a temporary reprieve from obsessing over him. Today is the day we go to England.
I spend the morning racing around the contestants, offering them Timothy activewear for the flight. I tell them it’s super comfortable and perfect for a long flight, which it is, and since most of them brought a wardrobe full of sexy low-cut dresses and bikinis—neither of which exactly scream Regency or long haul travel—I get a few of them choosing to wear it. Of course, the fact that all the tops I hand out have “Timothy” emblazoned across the chest along with our cute monogram is just a happy coincidence.
We’re filmed leaving the ranch, traveling to the airport, boarding the plane, and in the bus on the drive from Heathrow Airport to Sebastian’s family home. I’m not sure it’s going to be riveting TV for the audience, but at least the label gets some screen time.
We’ve been on the bus for half an hour when Kennedy yawns loudly in the seat beside me. “This is the longest trip I’ve ever been on. I don’t care if I ever see a bus or a plane again.”
“Tell me about it. I had Shelby snoring next to me half the flight, and the other half she kept talking about how she and Sebastian are made for one another. It got old super fast.”
“Did she warn you away from him?” Kennedy asks.
“She told me that it didn’t matter if he showed me any ‘special attention,’ as she called it, because she is his destiny.” I use air quotes.
She raises her eyebrows. “Special attention, huh? Like kissing your face off?”
“What? No!” I protest, although I’m sure the color in my cheeks gives me away.
“Are you telling me that if you were presented with the opportunity to kiss our wonderful Mr. Darcy, you would turn him down?”
Heck no. I’d be on that in a flash. I don’t say it. I’m still fighting these new feelings I’ve got for him—feelings that aren’t reciprocated, no matter how much he might tell me he likes having me around. Instead, I reply, “I don’t know. You?”
She bats me lightly on the arm. “Hey! Stop deflecting, girl. Would you kiss him if you were given the chance?”
Camille’s face pops up over the back of the seat in front of us. “I bet she already has.”
Great. That’s all I need: Camille weighing in with her two cents’ worth, only in her case it’s a dollar’s worth, thanks to her family’s wealth.
“What makes you say that?” Kennedy asks as I glare at Camille.
“Haven’t you noticed the way she’s always making googly eyes at him, like he’s her favorite flavor of ice cream?”
“I do not!”
“Yeah. You do. I bet you follow him around like a love-sick puppy.”
“Camille, you’re just jealous because Sebastian obviously likes my girl here, that’s all,” Kennedy says.
“You see, that’s where you’ve got it wrong,” Camille replies. “A man like Sebastian, with all his wealth, fine breeding, and sophistication would never go for someone like her.” Camille shoots me a look that tells me the mere idea is beyond disgusting to her.
“I suppose he’d prefer someone like you. Right, Camille?” Kennedy replies.
“Naturally,” she replies with a lift of her skinny shoulder. “We’re from similar worlds, you know. We understand each other. Sebastian and I are sympatico.”
Kennedy rolls her eyes. “Sympatico? More like psycho.”
I try not to scoff, but I’m pretty sure I fail. “You’re trying to tell us you’re an English aristocrat now, Camille? Because I’ve got news for you. You’re not.”
“Sticks and stones, girls. Sticks and stones. We’ll all see who comes out on top soon enough, and I can tell you one thing for sure: it won’t be ‘your girl,’ Kennedy.”
“I guess we will see, Camille,” I reply with as sweet a smile as I can manage, which is to say it probably resembles more of a scowl.
Deciding her work is done, with a flick of her hair, Camille turns her back on us and disappears behind the seat.
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: She is just lovely,” I mumble, and Kennedy and I both burst into snorting giggles as we try to keep o
ur voices down. No one wants to poke the Camille beast twice in one day.
A few miles later, the bus slows and turns off the charming country road we’ve been traveling down, with its rolling green fields and quaint stone fences, into a long tree-lined driveway. We pass by two tall pillars flanking the entranceway and I read the word “Martinston” on a brass metal plate.
“Oh, my God,” I say. “We’re here.”
Kennedy leans over me to get a better view. “Seriously? Is he the frigging king of England?”
The coach crunches along the gravel driveway, under a line of old trees that form an archway over our heads. Surrounding the driveway are fields of lush, green grass, speckled with cows and sheep. And then, after what feels like minutes, the house comes into view.
It takes my breath away.
It’s magnificent. There’s no other word for it. Three-stories tall, the huge building with its turrets and long windows towers over gardens leading to a gorgeous pond. I’ve got no clue about architectural styles, but I can tell it’s old, maybe a few hundred years. Just the sight of it transports me back to a time of horse-drawn carriages and ladies and gentlemen playing croquet on the lawn. It’s elegant and whimsical and looks like ... well, it looks like Mr. Darcy lives here. Which is quite appropriate, really, considering he does.
I stare out of the window at the house, utterly transfixed. A lump rises in my throat as an odd sensation spreads across my chest.
“Would you look at this place,” Lori exclaims. “Pemberley is gorgeous!”
“Wow, this guy is seriously loaded! I had no idea,” Reggie says as she stands up to get a better view.
“Welcome to Downton Abbey, girls,” Kennedy says to nods of agreement.
“Only much, much better,” Phoebe agrees, “because it’s real.”
We come to a stop and the doors to the bus open. Everyone rushes to get out. I sit, collecting my scrambled thoughts. Seeing Sebastian’s house—if that’s what you call a building the size of an office block—suddenly makes this all feel so much more real.
He may be playacting as Mr. Darcy, but he’s the real thing. I always knew we were from different worlds. Seeing his home makes me realize we’re from different planets. A girl like me would never fit into a place like this.
Dating Mr. Darcy: A romantic comedy (Love Manor Romantic Comedy Book 1) Page 15