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

by Kate O'Keeffe

  Chapter 23

  It’s one thing to be questioned on camera about a guy you’re pretending to like. It’s quite another to actually like him, have spent a pretty amazing clandestine visit with the guy, and now have to behave as though none of it has happened. Not to mention the fact that he’s also dating a bunch of other women whilst everything is being filmed.

  “Complicated” doesn’t even begin to describe my life right now.

  “Tell me how things are going with Sebastian,” Cindy says, the bright lights trained on me.

  “Oh, things with Sebastian are great.”

  “You opened up to Kennedy.”

  Of course she’s seen the footage. I knew the cameras were on us, but I pushed them from my mind as we spoke. Now, I wish I hadn’t.

  “I did. I told Kennedy I like Sebastian and that he’s not what I’d first thought. He’s kind and fun and cares about things.” I can’t stop the smile from creeping across my face. “Whoever ends up with him will be one lucky gal.”

  “Do you want that to be you?”

  I pause. Of course I want it to be me, but I don’t want to be that girl, the one who admits to falling for the guy on camera only to get publicly rejected. But, I guess that ship has already sailed, thanks to my chat with Kennedy.

  “I do really like him, but it’s still early in the game. Who knows what will happen in the coming weeks? We’re only just getting to know each other right now, plus he’s dating a bunch of other girls, I hear.”

  “Speaking of which, tell me what you think of Camille,” Cindy asks.

  “Camille’s great,” I reply with a wide smile.

  “What do you like about her? And remember to start with ‘What I like about Camille is.’”

  “What I like about Camille is—” I rack my brain for some positive things about her. I don’t come up with much, but I know I need to at least appear to be authentic. Well, as authentic as anyone is in these confessional style producer interviews. The last thing I want to be cast as is the show’s bitch. “—her hair. She’s got really pretty hair. Nice highlights. And the cut’s good, too. Yup, that’s what I like about Camille: her hair.”

  Cindy raises her eyebrows and I know she wants more than “hair.”

  “I also like the way Camille’s shared her story with us all.”

  “Her story?”

  “You know, how she lives on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, how she went to a prestigious school, and how her family has a bunch of places named after them. Basically how she’s from Gossip Girl.”

  “Would you say she’s impressive?”

  She’s a pain in the butt, that’s what she is.

  “Oh, yes. Camille is very impressive.”

  I know I sound like a robot reading from a script, but I’m working so hard at not pulling a face or laughing or scoffing that something’s got to give. In my case, it’s a complete lack of natural expression in my voice.

  “What do you think she and Sebastian are doing on their date right now?”

  “Having a great time, I bet.”

  “Camille and Sebastian shared a passionate kiss on the terrace. Do you think they might be kissing right now? Or, maybe, something more?”

  I shift in my seat as a weird feeling rises. Why the heck is she asking me that?

  “I dunno,” I reply inarticulately.

  “They’ve got use of a hot tub tonight.”

  “That’s not very Regency,” I scoff before I can stop myself. “I mean, Mr. Darcy in a jacuzzi? That’s all kinds of wrong.”

  “Does the idea upset you, Emma?”

  “No,” I reply sounding thoroughly upset. Because come on! I want to think about Sebastian in a hot tub with another girl about as much as I want Linda the Torturer to pluck every last hair from my eyebrows.

  “I don’t know about you, but I would be really upset if a guy I had feelings for was sitting in a hot tub with a gorgeous girl right now, and I had no idea what they were up to. What with them in nothing but their swimwear.”

  My heart begins to thud and I’ve got to work super hard at not showing any jealousy. It is one tall order. “It’s fine. Totally fine,” I lie.

  “That’s good to hear, Emma, because we believe they have something special. I know you told Kennedy you have feelings for him, but Camille is definitely the front runner right now.”

  “Good for her.” My smile probably makes me look like The Joker, it’s so painted on.

  “Here. You look a little shaky. You might want to have some of this.” She passes me a shot glass of clear liquid.

  I offer her a wry smile. “Tequila, huh? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “I thought you could do with it. You seem a little upset, that’s all. We want you to be as comfortable as possible during these interviews.”

  I eye the tequila. There’s no way I’m drinking that. I need to be in control of what I say right now. “Thanks, Cindy, but I’m good.”

  Cindy doesn’t appear to want to give up. “Camille is so great, isn’t she?”

  I know what I want to say. I want to say that Camille is not great, that she is in fact a terrible human being who thinks she’s better than the rest of us just because she carries purses that cost more than my monthly rent. I want to say that she’ll stop at nothing to win this show, even if she doesn’t have any genuine feelings for Sebastian.

  I don’t say any of these things, despite being sorely tempted to do so.

  “You’re right. She’s great. If Sebastian chooses her I’ll be happy for both of them.”

  Cindy arches an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”

  She’s not going to draw me on this. I’ve seen what happens when contestants do that, and it ain’t pretty. I nod, resolute. “I am sure.”

  After more questions about Camille, Phoebe, and whether I thought Sebastian may have feelings for half the contestants, I leave the interview on unsteady feet. I feel as though I just dodged a missile, intended to make me break down in a sobbing, hysterical mess. So, really, just your average day on a reality TV show.

  But I don’t want to let Cindy and her cameras in. What Sebastian and I have together is too precious for that. I need to keep my wits about me, and definitely not go for the tequila.

  * * *

  Although I’m expecting the knock on our bedroom door later that night, when it comes, it still makes me jump. This time, though, I’m prepared. I’m wearing my favorite Timothy ensemble of three quarter length leggings and a cute take on a baseball tee that I think makes me look the right level of sporty—not too much, not too litte. My hair is brushed and hangs loose around my shoulders, without a librarian’s bun or ringlet in sight, and I’ve sprayed myself with a cloud of my favorite perfume.

  I’m Mr. Darcy ready.

  Kennedy is still awake. “Sneaking off with Mr. Darcy? Whatever will Mrs. Watson say?”

  “I bet her shower cap would shoot off her head in outrage if she knew.”

  She giggles. “Maybe her ringlets would curl up and drop off.”

  I pause at the end of her bed. “You’re okay about this, right? I mean, you’re ‘dating’ him, too.”

  “Honey, he’s hot and all, but I know when a ship’s sailed. You go get yours.”

  I beam at her. “If you say so.”

  “Oh, I say so.”

  I reach the door and look back at her, propped up in her bed. “See you soon.”

  “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she replies with a coy grin.

  I pull the door open and see Sebastian standing there. Although I know he’s been out on a date with Camille, allegedly sitting in a hot tub in not much at all, I hadn’t thought about what he would be wearing. He’s back in that James Bond tux from the very first time we met, looking every inch the man of any woman’s dreams.

  “I have a rather good bottle of red awaiting us in the library, if you would care to join me?” he asks in his adorably formal way.

  My limbs feel light as a smile spreads ac
ross my face. “I would care to, thank you.” I glance quickly back at Kennedy, who gives me the thumbs up before I close the door behind me.

  We scoot down the stairs and long hallway on silent feet, reaching the sanctuary of the library, where Sebastian closes the door behind us and instantly pulls me into him for a kiss.

  “God, I’ve missed you,” he breathes into my hair.

  “Even though you were in a hot tub with Camille?”

  “I beg your pardon? We had dinner and talked. There was no hot tub. They’re not very Regency, you know.”

  Cindy, you sly devil, trying to trick me into saying things I’ll regret.

  “That’s what I thought.” I kiss him hard on the lips. It’s such a firm, passionate kiss that it leaves me dizzy when we finally pull back.

  “All you need to know is that the whole time I was with Camille, I wanted to be here with you doing this.”

  “That makes two of us.” I take him by the hand and lead him over to the sofa where we sat last night.

  He pours us a glass of wine each, and we clink glasses.

  “Châteauneuf-du-Pape?” I ask.

  “She’s learning.”

  “I read the label.”

  “Never give away your secrets, Brady.”

  “Well, right now you’re my secret.”

  His smile is flirty and oh-so cute. “I think I like being your secret.”

  I gaze back at him with what I know is a totally goofy grin. Because why not? This thing between us has come out of nowhere and it feels amazing. He’s amazing. “I like being your secret, too,” I murmur.

  He pulls me in for another kiss, and it’s so perfectly wonderful it makes my head spin. He wraps his arm around my shoulder and I nestle into him.

  “I picked the bottle from our cellar before I went out this evening.”

  “You have a cellar? What am I saying, you live in a house the size of a stadium. Of course you have a cellar.”

  “I’ll take you there, if you like.”

  “How big is it?”

  “In square feet or in the number of bottles?”

  “You know both?”

  He gives a self-deprecating smile. “Actually, I don’t know either, but I thought it sounded good to say that.”

  “You’re funny, did you know that? I never would have thought it.” I take his hand in mine and toy with his fingers.

  “Why not?”

  “Well, when I first met you—”

  “When you fell onto your bottom,” he interrupts.

  I snort with laughter. “Bottom? You’re hilarious.”

  “Should I say arse?”

  “You do you. ‘Bottom’ is fine. It’s cute, that’s all.”

  “My goal is to be cute, of course, as is that of any thirty-one year-old man.”

  “Huh, you’re four years older than me.”

  “And so much wiser.”

  I nudge him on the arm. “You tell yourself that.”

  “What did you think of me when we first met?”

  “I didn’t think we’d have anything in common whatsoever. You were stiff and formal and kind of mean.”

  “Mean?”

  “I had to talk you into letting me get the do-over, remember?”

  “To be fair, I was told to greet each contestant as they presented themselves. I thought perhaps you were on the quirky side and wanted to make an entrance.”

  “By falling out of a limo?”

  His shoulders shake as he laughs quietly to himself. “It was rather funny.”

  “It wouldn’t have done anything to help Timothy.”

  “Tell me about your label.”

  “We’re partners, Penny and me. She does all the creative stuff, and I do the business side of things.”

  “Why is it called Timothy?”

  “Both of our dads are called Timothy. My dad is ... was a good man. I want to make a success of Timothy to honor him.”

  Sebastian gives me a squeeze. “Emma, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. When did he pass away?”

  I feel a stab of sorrow and cast my eyes down. “It will be four years in September. He had cancer. Mom had been trying to get him to go to the doctor for a year for his cough before he finally agreed to go. By the time he was diagnosed, it had already taken hold.”

  “Lung cancer?”

  I nod. “Asbestosis. He was a builder and got exposed years before. He was fifty-six when he died.”

  “Young.”

  “Yup.”

  “You were close.”

  I point my thumb at myself. “The original Daddy’s Girl, right here.”

  “Tell me all about him.”

  I lean back against his chest, feeling his warmth emanating through me. “He was a great dad. He told me he loved me every single day of my life. Which of course I found incredibly embarrassing as a teenager, but I never doubted his love for me. He was firm but fair when I was growing up. Smart as a tack, too. I could never get anything past him, which was incredibly frustrating. Everyone said I was just like him, right down to the way neither of us would let something go until it was either dead or done.”

  “Not literally, I hope? I have an image of some poor creature meeting its grizzly end.”

  “More if we made our minds up on something, we wouldn’t let anything get in our way.”

  “Not even a Jane Austen dress.”

  I tilt my head back to look at him. “You got it. Things got hard when he lost his job. He worked for this big shot who developed commercial buildings around Texas. Daddy worked for him for years, then one day, out of the blue, he was told not to come in. He was fired. Just like that.” Heat rises in my cheeks as the memory smarts.

  “Did he find another job easily?”

  I shake my head. “With more time on his hands, Mom made him go to the doctor. He was diagnosed and couldn’t work. We thought things had been tough before then, but they got a whole lot worse.”

  “Financially?”

  “Yup. I was rooming with Penny but decided to move back home to help out. I contributed some of my salary, of course, as well as helped Mom with the house and looking after Dad. She was so grateful. She had someone else to help carry the load, you know?”

  “I do,” he says quietly.

  I push myself up to look at him. “Did your dad have cancer, too?”

  “No. Heart attack. It’s the Huntington-Ross way. My father died from one, his father, and his father before him. You should watch out if I turn red and begin to clutch my chest.”

  I bat him gently on the arm. “Don’t joke about things like that.”

  “We’ve all got to go from something, don’t we?”

  “I guess, but I’m only just getting to know you. I can’t have your heart giving way out of the blue.”

  He plants a kiss on my forehead. “I’ve got a good forty years before then.”

  “What was your dad like?”

  He casts his eyes down. “He wasn’t like your father in the least. He was strict and had his ideas of what his only son should be. He was older and more old fashioned, I suppose. Not one to say ‘I love you.’”

  “Ever?”

  He shakes his head, his mouth tight. “I never heard him say it, not once.”

  My heart hurts for him. “How awful.”

  “It was just the way he was. I knew he loved me. He was my father. He shook my hand from the age of seven rather than hug me, sent me away to boarding school at eight, and told me what line of work to get into. But he did one thing for me that no one else could: he left me all this.”

  “What do you think he would say if he knew you were playing Mr. Darcy on a reality TV show?”

  He lets out a sudden laugh. “There’s no doubt that he would be utterly appalled.”

  “But what if he knew you had to do it to save Martinston? He’d understand that, right?”

  Sebastian’s jaw tightens and his features harden. “Perhaps,” is all he says.

  I decide it’s best to change
the subject. “What about your mom? I bet she’s great. You had to have gotten it from somewhere.”

  “My mother is an exceptional woman. She’s involved in many charities, and started a foundation in my father’s name to help young artists develop their talent.”

  “And?” I lead.

  He shakes his head, his smile firmly in place. “And she’s a lot more loving and understanding than my father ever was. We’re close.”

  “Good.” A thought occurs to me. “Why isn’t she the one trying to save Martinston? I mean, this is the twenty-first century, not the Dark Ages. Women can be responsible for their property, you know.”

  “I suppose you could say I’m helping her to carry the load,” her replies, using my own words. “I feel an obligation to my family, Emma. Being Mr. Darcy seemed like a relatively easy way to do it.”

  “I like that you’re trying to look after your family by saving their home.”

  “You’d do the same in my position, I’m sure.”

  I think of my little apartment, with its tiny kitchen and cheap kit-set furniture. It’s not much, but it’s mine, and I would hate to lose it. “You’re right. I would do the same.”

  “How’s the wine?”

  I collect my glass from the table and take a fresh sip. “It’s bold and sassy and I’m getting undertones of spice and,” I rack my brain for something wine snobs would say, but all I come up with is, “grapes. Lots of grapes.”

  “Wine with undertones of grapes?” he asks as he tempts me with more kisses to make me swoon. “Who’d have thought.”

  As I kiss him back, I forget all about undertones of grapes or anything else. This. This is what I want. To be alone here with Sebastian, sharing our stories, learning about one another.

  I know I’m falling for him, and this is exactly where I want to be.

  Chapter 24

  I close the door to my bedroom as quietly as a mouse. Not that mice are all that quiet, in my opinion. Who makes these sayings up, anyway?

  With my sneakers in my hand, I tiptoe across the hardwood floor, aiming for the bed, where I pull off my clothes and slip under the covers.

  “Fun night?” Kennedy says, making me almost leap out of my skin.