Dating Mr. Darcy: A romantic comedy (Love Manor Romantic Comedy Book 1)

by Kate O'Keeffe

  It’s all too hard and far, far too confusing.

  “Emma?” Kennedy questions when I don’t reply.

  I change my position to get closer to her, even though I know every word we utter is being recorded. “If I do feel something for him, and that’s a big if, I know it’ll never work out. We’re from different worlds.”

  She shrugs. “So were Romeo and Juliet, and they are the greatest love story of all time.”

  “They both died. Plus they were from the same worlds. Their families hated each other.”

  She waves my protest away with a flick of her hand. “Whatever. Forget about your different worlds. Surely you know opposites attract?”

  I look down at my hands. “I don’t know if I can see it working once the show’s over. We’re too different. I’m from literally the wrong side of the tracks. Home was a tiny two-bedroom house with a small yard. Now it’s a rented studio apartment with a crappy window box. I’m not polo and luncheons and Chanel jackets. I’m baseball and hotdogs and a Budweiser with my bestie watching reality TV.”

  Kennedy maneuvers herself so she’s facing me full on. “Em? Do you like him?”

  I chew on my lip and then nod, wishing we were having this conversation anywhere but here.

  “Then tell me something. How often do you get to meet a guy who sets your soul on fire?” she asks.

  I know what the answer is. I know how I feel about Sebastian. It’s crept up on me, so quietly I didn’t even notice it. And now he’s virtually all I can think about.

  I swallow, my heart fluttering like a hummingbird. “He’s not what I expected at all.” A small smile busts out across my face. “He’s kind and funny and smart. All the things I thought he wouldn’t be. He told me he likes me, but I don’t know if that’s romantically, or as friends, or what.”

  “Of course it’s romantic. He’s hot, you’re hot. You’ll have gorgeous babies together.”

  I let out a surprised laugh. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.”

  “You truly like him, so you’ve got to go for it. You know that, right?”

  I glance over at Sebastian and Camille, sitting in the love seat together, their backs to us. Could Sebastian and I have something real? Something that could overcome our differences? Something that could survive outside of this reality show bubble?

  My insides twist. “He lives here. My entire apartment could fit into his dining room.”

  “What does that matter?”

  It matters for a whole host of reasons. What it all boils down to is that I’m scared. I’m scared to fall for someone whose life is so different from mine. I’m scared to put my heart out there, fearful he could choose another girl. I’m scared that if I let myself fall for him, he won’t love me back.

  Fairy tale endings are all very well in books and movies, but in real life? Not so much.

  So instead, I reply in a light, breezy tone, “I don’t know.”

  Kennedy pushes herself upright, her gaze on something behind me. “Oh, my God.”

  “What is it?”

  “She’s going in.”

  “What?” I turn to look at the swing seat.

  Camille has got her hand hooked around the back of Sebastian’s head as she gazes up at him, her face only inches from his. Sure enough, a moment later, Camille pulls his face down to hers and plants her lips on his.

  My insides twist painfully.

  It’s no big deal, I tell myself. It’s her kissing him, not the other way around. And I know Camille. She wants to win and she’s not the kind of girl to take a backseat.

  But then, he lifts his hand and pulls her in closer, and it becomes clear he’s kissing her back.

  I look away quickly and push down the unpleasant feelings rising inside of me.

  Kennedy nudges me. “You okay, Em?”

  “Fine,” I mumble.

  I’m convincing no one.

  She places her hand on mine. “You’re not fine.”

  I stick on a smile. “He’s allowed to kiss anyone he wants. This is a dating show.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “It’s fine not to be okay with this. We’re in an insane environment. You’d never watch a guy you liked kiss another girl in the real world. Not without throwing your drink in his face, anyway”

  “You’re right. It’s all a bubble. It’s a heat-of-the-moment thing, that’s all.”

  “Atta girl.”

  Why did it have to happen about five seconds after I admitted to my feelings for him on camera?

  “I think it’s in bad taste, really. If she wanted to kiss him, why couldn’t she go do it somewhere else without us all seeing?”

  “You know Camille. Little Miss Competitive.” I take a quick glance in their direction and a wave of relief washes over me as I see the kiss is now done. Camille’s hanging onto his arm, beaming out at everyone.

  I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and pretend to relax. Inside, I’m back to being that tightly-wound ball of string.

  I know it shouldn’t bother me. Heck, it’s not like we’ve even had a romantic moment that’s led to a kiss. But damn it if I don’t feel like packing my bags right now and running away from here. And doing my best to forget Sebastian, the show, Martinston, and this whole darn thing.

  Chapter 21

  It doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother me. It doesn’t bother me.

  If you say it enough, does it come true?

  The image of Sebastian and Camille engaged in a game of tonsil hockey keeps flashing in front of my eyes. No matter how many times I picture it, it doesn’t get any less horrendous.

  The kiss wasn’t like the time Shelby kissed him after she pretended to faint. That was so obviously one-sided, and lasted all of a second or two.

  And back then, I didn’t feel the way I do about him now. Back then, all I wanted to do was get out of this place and get back to my real life.

  This kiss was different. He participated.

  I ease under the covers and take a deep, kiss-cleansing breath. Well, that’s the plan, anyway. It doesn’t work, and before you can say “Emma is being the most pathetic version of herself ever,” I’m back on that terrace in my mind, watching them kiss once more.

  Dang it! Why does it have to bother me so much? I’ve got no right to Sebastian. None of us have. Sure, he and I have spent time together, and I’ve got to know him in a way I never thought I would. But he’s also spending time getting to know all of us.

  I’m not special.

  No one in their right mind would be a contestant on a reality TV dating show and expect an uncomplicated journey to fall in love. Well, maybe Shelby would with her ideas of destiny, but no rational person would. The entire premise of the show is for Sebastian to choose one of us, and for that to happen, he’s got to spend time with each of us—and indulge in some tonsil hockey with my archnemesis, it would seem.

  I flip over onto my back and stare at the bedroom ceiling. I need Rational Emma back. The Emma who was only ever going to come on this show to promote Timothy. The Emma who thought Sebastian was a pompous, overprivileged douchebag.

  The Emma whose heart was safe.

  The fact that there was a card ceremony after the infamous kiss and poor Lori was sent home after spending less than a day here in England barely gets any screen time in my mind. Instead, while Kennedy sleeps the sleep of the unbothered in the other bed, I’m tossing and turning, twisted up in jealousy over one lousy kiss.

  And I hate myself for it.

  There’s a knock at the door and I sit bolt upright in bed. I freeze, wondering if I’m hearing things, the silence in the room enveloping me once more. Then, I hear the knock again. I whip the covers off, and pad in my bare feet over to the door. I crack it open and peer out into the dimly lit hallway. My heart skips a beat when I see who it is.

  Sebastian.

  He’s wearing a T-shirt and jeans and he’s holding a bottle with a couple of wine glasses upside down by the stems. “Do you feel like a chat over
a glass of red, Brady Bunch?” he asks in a hushed voice.

  For a drama queen-infused moment worthy of The Real Housewives, I contemplate slamming the door in his face, maybe even grabbing the bottle of wine from him first.

  But then I remember I’m a sane, rational person and not some Botoxed diva caricature. So instead I lock my jaw and ask, “Why?”

  “I want to talk to you.”

  I glance at the bottle of wine and glasses in his hands. “Or seduce the next one in line?”

  “Emma, please.”

  I study him for a moment before I let out a sigh. Despite the fact that part of me would like to slam the door in his face—the part of me that forgets this is a reality TV show and he’s “dating” a bunch of girls at the same time—another part of me is curious to know what he’s got to say.

  I glance back at Kennedy. She’s still blissfully unaware of our visitor as she breathes evenly in her bed. “Give me one sec.”

  “Thank you,” he replies, and I’m sure I catch a note of relief in his voice, but I might be imagining it. This show is messing with my mind.

  I pad across the floor and locate a pair of sneakers at the bottom of the closet. I slip them on, grab a sweatshirt—because this is England—and step out into the hallway.

  “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask as he leads me down the darkened hall.

  He puts his finger to his lips, and I clamp my mouth shut as he leads me down the stairs and down a long hallway to a room I’ve not been to before. He opens the door for me and I walk inside. Moonlight floods through large window panes, lending the place an eerie atmosphere.

  He closes the door and flicks a light switch, instantly flooding it with a warm glow. I look around at the walls, lined with old, leather-bound books nestled in book cases reaching high up toward the ceiling. There’s a large white stone fireplace with a portrait of a beautiful, but somehow sad looking woman hanging above it, and a group of comfortable chairs scattered around the room on top of an oversized Turkish rug. Book lovers everywhere would fall head over heels in love with this room.

  “This is the library,” Sebastian announces unnecessarily.

  “I kinda got that already, what with the gazillion books in here and all.”

  He places the bottle of wine and glasses on a low table in front of the fireplace and squares me with his gaze. “I thought you could tell me why you ignored me all evening.”

  I nod at the bottle of wine. “Are you planning on taking that to someone’s room after we’re done here?” I know I’m completely ignoring his question.

  He steps closer to me. “Please, Emma. Tell me how I’ve offended you.”

  I cross my arms. “I’m not offended.” My words are at total odds with my body language.

  “If it’s what I think it is, you need to know that she kissed me.”

  “Sure. And I dug Jimmy Hoffa up in my mom’s backyard while I was planting petunias last week.”

  “I thought you lived in a flat.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s an apartment, Seb, and I was being snarky.”

  “So it is Camille.”

  I give a short, sharp nod. There’s no point in pretending otherwise, despite the fact I know I’m coming off like a jealous girlfriend. Which I’m not. Well, not the girlfriend part, anyway.

  “Emma, Camille kissed me.”

  “You kissed her back.”

  “I had the cameras on me.”

  “So?”

  “So, if I’d rebuffed her, it would look bad.”

  I scoff. “That’s ridiculous.”

  His eyes are soft. “It’s not ridiculous. This is a dating show, in case that fact skipped you by. I’m meant to be trying to find the woman I want to marry, and that means kissing some frogs.”

  I picture Camille as a frog. I like the image.

  “Look, Seb. Who you kiss is your business. You’re the star of the show, and I’m here to promote my label. We are two people going about our business.” I can’t resist to add, “Only, my business doesn’t involve sticking my tongue down anyone’s throat.”

  He raises his eyebrows at me.

  “End of story,” I add with authority.

  He moves so close to me we’re almost touching. “Is it?” he asks gently, and I swallow, electricity sparking through my body.

  “Yes,” I reply, although it comes out a little more breathless than I expect.

  Why does he have to stand so close, smelling the way he does, with that impossibly sexy voice of his? It’s making it hard ... to ... concentrate ...

  “I made you jealous. I’m sorry, Emma. I never intended to do that.”

  “I’m not jealous,” I protest feebly, because it’s obvious to anyone with half a brain that I am.

  He places his hand on my arm and it sends a shock of electricity straight up it. “I was in an impossible situation. Camille is very persistent. It seemed letting it happen could diffuse her somewhat. I didn’t want to kiss her. I wanted to kiss someone else entirely. In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for some time now.”

  I nod, because with him this close to me, telling me what I think he’s telling me, it’s all I can trust myself to do.

  He pushes a strand of hair away from my face, his fingers brushing against my skin. “I like your hair down like this.”

  With my heart thrashing around in my chest, I try to make light. “Not a fan of the ringlets?”

  “I think you look beautiful in anything.”

  I gaze back at him and the little voice in the back of my head telling me it will never work between us grows quiet. All that’s left is him, here, right now, his eyes on mine, his hand gently cupping my head.

  And then it happens. I don’t try to stop it. I want it to happen, despite our differences, despite Camille, despite how I know this will end.

  Despite all of it.

  His eyes intense, he lifts my chin, and brushes his lips tantalizingly against mine. It’s gentle and incredible and makes me feel like the air has been sucked from my lungs.

  He pulls back enough to look me in the eyes. “You’re the one I want to kiss, in case you were wondering,” he murmurs, his deep voice doing things to my insides.

  “I kinda got that,” I reply.

  “Good.” He kisses me once more.

  “Mmm,” is the sum total of my response. Well, my verbal response, anyway, because before you can say “Camille who?” we’re kissing some more, only this time there’s no gentle lip brushing. No siree. It’s a full on, no holds barred, we want to devour one another kind of kiss. The kind of kiss you feel from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. My head spins, my knees go weak, and everything, everything melts into nothingness around us.

  After we come up for air from frankly the most heart-stopping kiss of my life, his smile spreads from ear to ear, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

  “Really?” I ask as I catch my breath. “Since when?”

  He slips his hand into mine. “I could say it was from the moment I laid eyes on you, but you were on the ground, swearing like a fishwife, with a dress attached to your hair in that particular moment.”

  “Not my best moment.”

  “No, but I could tell you were feisty, and it was hard not to be attracted to that. Then, you asked me to send you home during that first conversation in my room. It was that moment when I wondered what it would be like to kiss this woman who didn’t seem to care what I thought of her.”

  “So I was a challenge?” I tease.

  He laughs as he toys with my hair, sending shivers down my spine. “You weren’t some sycophant who would do anything to be with Mr. Darcy, no matter who he was.”

  “You got that right. But I was convinced you hated me.”

  “I was convinced you hated me,” he counters.

  “I did. But, I also secretly thought you were totally hot.”

  He grins at me. “That makes the ha
te so much better.”

  I reach up and kiss him again. Mainly because I can, but also because kissing Sebastian is my new favorite thing to do.

  “Is that wine for us,” I ask without a drop of subtlety, “or were you actually on your way to Camille’s room when you decided to bring me here?”

  His laugh is low as he shakes his head and reaches for the wine and glasses. “Shall we sit?” He gestures at the sofa by the fireplace, and we sit down next to one another, our thighs touching.

  “I thought we could get to know each other better over a glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.”

  I giggle and it ends in a snort. “All I got out of that was fancy French wine from some château.”

  He removes the cork with a corkscrew he produces from his pocket, and pours us a couple of glasses. “It’s from a beautiful region in the Rhône, near Avignon. But that’s not why I like it. It’s a superb red.” He hands me a glass. “My father was very fond of it, as was his father. I imagine you could say it’s in the Huntington-Ross blood.”

  “I think Budweiser’s in the Brady blood,” I reply with a self-deprecating chortle. “Or maybe moonshine, back in the day.”

  “That sounds like a story.”

  “Believe me, it’s not. We Bradys are regular folk. Nothing special.”

  “I would have to beg to differ.” He lifts his glass. “To the intriguing Miss Brady.”

  “Dude, I might not be all classy like you, but I do know I can’t drink to myself.”

  “In that case, here’s to Mrs. Watson. Long may she wear that deeply attractive handkerchief on her head.”

  I let out a laugh as warmth spreads through me. “I’m sure it’s a shower cap.”

  “To Mrs. Watson’s shower cap, then.”

  I clink my glass against his. “I would never have guessed you’d have a good sense of humor, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I have hidden talents, don’t you know,” he replies.

  “I’ve just been finding out about some of those.”