He doesn’t look like he’s joking.
My heart begins to thud. “Seb?”
“I’m so sorry, Emma.”
He’s sorry? Sebastian’s sorry he’s sending me home?
“What? Why?” I ask, totally flummoxed.
Of all the things I thought this was, being sent home wasn’t one of them.
“It’s the way it’s got to be.”
I blink at him in shocked disbelief. “You’re actually sending me home? As in back to the States?”
He gives a short, stiff nod. “Yes.”
Is this really happening?
“But-but why? I don’t get it.”
“Because I have to. I’ve got no choice in the matter.”
“Of course you’ve got a choice. You’re Mr. Darcy.”
His features tighten. “It’s not that simple, Emma. I wish it was but it’s-it’s out of my control.”
“It’s out of your control? I don’t understand.” I reach his side and place my hands on his arm. The thudding of my heart drums in my ears. “Tell the production company to leave you alone, Seb. You can make up your own mind who you choose.”
He casts his eyes down. “It’s not them.”
It’s not the production company?
If it’s not them, that means … that means it’s him. It’s his decision. He’s sending me home.
I swallow down my rising desperation. “Why?” I ask once more, my voice growing harsh.
He lets out a heavy breath. “Emma, what we have has been so very special, and I’ll never forget you. I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish—” He stops abruptly. His eyes tell me he’s finding this hard, that he doesn’t want to do it.
But damn him, he’s doing it anyway.
I pull my hands away as I fight back the urge to cry. “What about all the time we spent together, Seb? All the things we talked about? You opened up to me. You don’t do that when all you’re doing is having a bit of fun with someone.” Tentatively, I place one of my hands back on his arm. “This afternoon, when I met Zara, she said—”
He interrupts me with, “Zara says a lot of things.” He turns away from me, and my heart sinks to my belly.
He means it. I got it wrong. I made something out of nothing, and now it’s come crashing down around me.
This reality show has messed with my head.
He’s messed with my head.
And I’m the total fool who believed it all.
I let out a defeated puff of air, my head spinning at a hundred miles per hour. Even if I’ve got to go, even if I’m not The One for him, I deserve the truth.
I lift my chin. “You need to tell me why.” My voice is edged with steel.
His jaw tightens. “There are things out of my control here. Please understand.”
“How can I understand when you won’t explain it to me?”
His eyes find mine once more, and I see naked pain where once there was resolve. “I’m so sorry. For all of it. I never meant for this to happen.”
“What the heck, Seb?” I blurt out. I don’t care who hears me, I don’t care if we get found out. He’s ending this with me, and I deserve an explanation. “You have feelings for me, just like I do for you. You told your sister all about me. Who does that if they’re only in it for a quick fling? You asked me to stay for you, remember? The night we first kissed. You asked me to stay here for you. And I did.”
His eyes glide away from mine. “Emma, you deserve someone who can give you their heart completely.”
I throw my hands onto my hips and glare at him. I might be dressed like a pre-feminist lady, but I’m not taking this lying down. No siree. “That’s bull crap, Seb, and you know it.”
“If I could turn back the clock, I would.”
His words cut deep.
His face is drawn when his gaze locks with mine. “I only hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”
I blink at him in utter shock. I cannot believe he’s doing this to me. To us.
With my stomach in knots, I reach out to touch him. “Seb, please.”
He whips his arm away, and I know that he means what he’s said. It’s over, and I’ve got no choice but to accept it. Because even though it takes two to make a relationship, it only takes one to pull it apart.
“We need to get back to the ballroom.” He strides away from me toward the door, and I watch him as though in a daze.
I open my mouth to reply and then clamp it shut. What am I going to say? We’ve fallen for each other? He feels the same way as I do?
My worst fears bubble to the surface.
He doesn’t feel the same way. All of it—his sister, the woods, the time together here in the library—has been a fantasy. My fantasy.
None of it has been real.
I’ve been nothing more than a brief diversion for him to fill the time while he makes his money to save his precious house. I’m the easy girl from the wrong side of the tracks. The girl he knew would never fit into his real world.
I’m not going to chase after him. I might not have much, but I have my pride.
He reaches the door. With his hand on the handle, he pauses before he looks back across the room at me. “I’ll be sending you home at the card ceremony tonight.”
I nod dumbly at him.
His mouth twists, his features drawn. “I’m ... I’m sorry, Emma.” He pulls the door open and slips out of the room.
I’m left standing alone, trying to make sense of what’s just happened, my heart in pieces on Martinston’s grand library floor.
Chapter 28
“I cannot believe these numbers. Will you look at them?” Penny thrusts her tablet in front of me for about the seventeenth time this morning. And it’s only ten o’clock.
“I know, they’re totally great, Penn,” I reply.
She spreads her arms out wide. “Come on, bring it in.”
I push myself up from my desk and allow her to collect me in a hug. “Do we have to do this every time we get a new order? ‘Cause it’s totally creasing my shirt,” I ask, half smothered by her mass of auburn curls.
“Since when have you cared about shirt creases?” She hugs me tighter. “You deserve every hug and every ounce of my gratitude for what you put yourself through for our label. I hate what he did to you.” She pulls back and fixes me with her gaze. “You doing okay, Em?”
“I’m fine,” I reply with a shrug that’s convincing absolutely no one.
“I don’t believe you.”
“How about if I say I will be fine given a little more time?”
“And a few thousand more amazing orders like this one?” She holds her tablet up again and my eyes land on the dollar total at the bottom of the screen.
I read the company name. “D. A. B. is stocking more of our stuff?”
“Yeah, baby! D. A. B., the largest sports chain store in the Pacific Northwest. Boom!”
“Huh.”
Penny knits her brows together. “We get an order with that many zeros, and all you can say is ‘huh’?” She narrows her eyes at me. “You need coffee and chocolate chip cookies from Cardinelli’s, and you need them now.”
I smile weakly at her. “That sounds perfect, but I’ve got some prep to do before this interview in an hour.”
“Em, you are more organized than anyone I know. We will kill the interview and probably get a stack more orders from it, too. Let’s go.”
“Okay, you win. I will eat unnecessary sugar and drink caffeine with you.”
“Atta girl.”
As Penny returns to her desk, I collect my phone and notice a new message. It’s from a number I don’t recognize.
How are you?
I check the number. It starts with a “+44.” Who could that be? I Google the area code. My heart leaps into my mouth.
England.
How many people do I know who have English cellphone numbers? Answer: one.
Regardless, I tap out a reply.
Who is this?
I stare at the screen as my heart thuds, knowing it’s him.
It’s Sebastian.
My belly does a weird flip and I’m not sure if I’m going to pass out, vomit, or hurtle my phone across the room.
I do none of them. Instead, I simply stare at the words on my screen.
Another message arrives.
Not a day goes by when I don’t think about you. I am so very sorry for what I did. I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long. I’ve wanted to explain. Really explain. My hands have been tied, but not anymore.
“You ready?” Penny asks, her voice cutting through my consciousness.
My jaw slack, I lift my eyes to hers.
“What is it? You’ve gone all pale.”
“It’s ... Sebastian.”
Her eyes get wide. “Sebastian? As in Mr. Darcy dumping your ass, Sebastian?”
I bite on my lip and give a slow nod.
She rushes around to read my screen. “Oh, Em. Now he wants to explain? You tell him even though he’s some English aristocrat, he’s pond scum and you never want to hear from him again. Period.”
I don’t reply—to Penny or to Sebastian. Instead I sit, paralyzed.
I don’t need to know how he got my number. He’s the star of the show. He can have anything he wants. The question that’s burning in my mind is why. Why now, seven weeks after I was dumped and sent back to Houston, my tail firmly between my legs?
“Em? What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know what to think.”
My phone pings again and we both read the message.
I want to see you.
Penny nudges me in the ribs. “He wants to see you.”
“I can see that.”
“Well?”
I lock my jaw. There are a million things I could say to him, things I’ve wanted to say for weeks. Biting things. Clever things. But what’s the point?
He made his choice, and it wasn’t me.
I tap out my reply.
It’s all ancient history ☺ Good luck with your wedding.
My finger hovers over the “send” button.
“Good luck with your wedding?” Penny guffaws. “You’re seriously going to say that to him?”
“He’s only reaching out to me now because the show has begun to air and he feels guilty for what he did.”
“How do you know?”
“Let me think. Because he booted me off the show after leading me on, I haven’t heard from him since then, and now he’s sent me a message telling me he’s sorry.”
“He wants to see you.”
“Penny, I need to see this for what it is. He’s just trying to feel better about the lousy way he treated me. Nothing more.”
She shakes her head. “You’re a bigger person than me, Emma Brady. I’d be sending him messages telling him exactly what I think of him.”
“Oh, believe me, I want to do that. But it’s not going to make a blind bit of difference.” I press send before I change my mind, and slip my phone into my purse. “Done. Now it’s time for that sugar fix.”
Ten minutes later, we’re sitting at our local coffee house, our coffee and chocolate chip cookies on the table in front of us.
Penny leans back in her seat, her arms crossed. “I’m gonna give it another week, tops.”
“You’re gonna give what another week?” I ask as I take a sip of the coffee I once fantasized about while on the show.
“This moping over Sebastian thing you’re doing. You’ve been back for nearly two months, and now with that message you’ve sent him you’ve effectively told him you’ve moved on.”
“I was wishing him the best.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “You sent him a smile emoji, Em.”
“Well, it’s a good thing if he thinks I’ve moved on. And it’s not two months yet. It’s seven weeks and two days,” I correct, and instantly feel bad that I know precisely how long it is since Sebastian told me and the rest of America that I was no longer in the running to become the lady of his manor.
Not my favorite moment.
“Okay. Seven weeks and two days. You took about two months to get over Chad Macdonald dumping you a couple of years back, so I figure you’ve got about five days left before you’ll be all ‘Sebastian who?’ and feel great again.”
Right now, I can’t imagine ever being “Sebastian who?” But the thought is nice.
For such a short relationship—we were really only involved with each other for a matter of weeks—this one hit me hard when it ended. I guess it was partly to do with the fact he dumped me seemingly out of the blue, and partly because it was all so weird being on a reality TV show together and having to hide our relationship from the world.
Not to mention that by sending me home, he’d broken my heart in two.
“I am still so angry with him, Em. I mean, you weren’t there to fall for the guy, and you did anyway, and then he played you. If only I could get my hands on him ... ”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “You’d do what? Penn, you’re shorter than me, and he’s, like, over six feet.”
“I don’t know. I’d call him some names, maybe draw a mustache on him with a permanent marker while he was asleep.”
I surprise myself with a chuckle.
She taps her chin. “Let me think. What else could I do to him?”
“You could put his hand in a bucket of warm water as well, so he’d pee himself.”
“Oh, yeah. Now we’re talking.”
I giggle. It’s short lived and manages to lift my spirits for about two seconds.
“Any more messages?” she asks.
“I’m not going to check.”
“I will.” Before I can stop her, she reaches into my purse and pulls out my phone.
My belly begins to flutter as hope rises inside. Man, what am I? Some kind of masochist?
Her face falls. “Nothing.” She slots my phone away. “I guess you’re right.”
The disappointment is so strong it winds me.
“You’ve gone pale again, Em. Eat.”
I sink my teeth gratefully into my chocolate chip cookie. “OMG, that is so good,” I say, my voice muffled by the chocolate yumminess. “I think I need to move onto a cookie-only diet. That’ll fix me for sure.”
“Mm-hm,” Penny agrees. “By the way, I watched the latest episode of the show last night.”
I don’t need to ask which show she’s referring to. “Good for you.” I take another bite, willing the cookie to push my feelings away.
She leans forward and places her elbows on her knees. “I know you’re choosing not to watch it, and I totally get it, but I thought you’d like to know that you come across so well, and you look super cute in the label.”
“So it’s still the first day or two, before we’re forced into the Regency clothes?”
“No. You’ve been in the clothes for a while now. They’re showing two episodes a week, so we’re racing through it.”
“Cool,” I reply noncommittally. “You’ll get to watch him dump me on national television soon. That’ll be super fun.”
She reaches across and rubs my arm. “I’m sorry, Em. I promise, I won’t mention it again. I just wanted you to know that what you did to promote Timothy on the show is totally helping our company, and I am so grateful.”
I drink some of my coffee. “You said that already.”
“Yeah, well, I kinda think you’re pretty awesome, so you’d better get used to being told that. And that Sebastian guy? Total douche for passing you up.”
I give a nod. “Total douche.”
“Idiot.”
“Dick.”
“A-hole.”
“Oh, so many things.” I finish off my cookie and lick my fingers. “We’d better get back for the interview.”
Penny presses her phone to check the time. “You’re right.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re sitting with a journalist from Lone Star Woman Monthly in what Penny and I jokin
gly call the boardroom, which is in fact the only space in her garage not filled to the ceiling with boxes of activewear.
“Tell me about the inspiration for the name. Timothy is not the type of activewear label we’re used to seeing,” the journalist, Sammy-Jo asks.
“It’s in honor of our dads,” Penny replies. “Both are called Timothy, and both are big influences in our lives.”
“That is so sweet. I bet they’re both super proud of your recent success.”
Penny glances at me before she replies, “Oh, they are. So proud.”
“You’re a couple of Daddy’s Girls, huh?” she asks with a grin.
“Definitely,” I reply. “They’ve been positive influences in our lives, and we both owe them so much.” I know Dad would be immensely proud of me if he were alive to see this. And it’s all happened so fast. The first episode of Dating Mr. Darcy aired only weeks ago, and since then our sales have shot right up. It’s made us think we can make a real go of this business.
“It says here you design the clothes, Penny. Tell me about that.”
Penny talks Sammy-Jo through her creative process, and I interject every now and then with points about fabric sourcing and all the business aspects I take care of.
“Now,” Sammy-Jo says once we’ve satisfied her questions, “I’m certain our readers want to know what it’s like to date Mr. Darcy. Is he just as gorgeous in person as he looks on TV, Emma?” She looks at me with bright, expectant eyes.
I knew I would get questions about the show from people. Journalists, friends, family. Mom has barely been able to contain herself, telling me every five minutes how she always thought I would achieve great things—by which she means marrying a rich guy and living in a fancy house. Contractually, I’m not allowed to tell anyone anything, of course. And I’ve stuck to it religiously, except for with Penny. I had to tell someone, and being my best friend and business partner, she needed to know what a disaster it was for me.
And I needed a shoulder to cry on for the last seven weeks and two days.
I plaster on a smile and reply, “He is a very good looking guy.”
“Good looking?” she says. “Girl, he’s a dreamboat.” She fans herself and looks like she might swoon. “I know y’all can’t tell me anything, but did you get to go on a date with him? Maybe even kiss the guy? Please tell me you did.”
Dating Mr. Darcy: A romantic comedy (Love Manor Romantic Comedy Book 1) Page 22