Mrs. Watson rises to her feet and glares at me. “You. Stage. Now.” Gone is the firm but polite language. It seems she’s going for straightforward orders now.
I chew on my lip as I look around the room. “Do I have to?” I ask, and yes, I know I sound like a whiny kid being made to eat her broccoli.
“You do,” Mrs. Watson replies.
I let out a defeated sigh. “Okay.” I make my way over to the stage like I’m walking the line. I don’t want to perform, and I haven’t practiced anything either.
I scramble around in my brain, searching desperately for a song in my range. Which is basically about four notes, all of them flat, if my car singing skills are anything to go by.
“Miss Emma? We’re waiting,” Mrs. Watson says tersely.
All eyes are on me. Johnathan is watching me warily, Sebastian is looking somewhere between concerned and amused, and there’s no way I’m going to look in Hayley’s or Camille’s direction right now.
I’ve got to think of something, stat!
When I don’t do anything, Mrs. Watson barks, “Sing!”
Out of pure shock, I open my mouth and begin to sing the first song that comes to mind. It was playing in the car as I was driven here what feels like a lifetime ago, even though I think it was only a matter of days. Days? Really?
Lil Nas X’s voice is in my head, and I sing along with it. I’m taking my horse down to an old road, and it takes all my willpower not to bob on the spot as though I’m on that horse myself. When I get to the Billy Ray Cyrus part, I notice a few of the contestants go from controlling their mirth to openly sniggering. It puts me off my game. Not that I had much of a game in the first place.
I fudge some of the words and replace others with the word “horse,” which seems appropriate, given that it’s a song about riding one. Or is it a metaphor? All I know is this is about a gazillion miles from being my finest hour, and I wish more than anything it was over.
When I finally get to the end of the song, I stop abruptly, clamp my mouth shut, and wait for the inevitable laughter to roll around the room. I’m not disappointed. Camille is doubled over, shaking with laughter, Hayley has tears rolling down her cheeks, and even Phoebe and Kennedy are snickering, although I can tell they’re working hard to hold it in.
I glance at Sebastian. His face is alight with amusement, but his eyes are surprisingly soft. “Nice work,” he mouths, and I shoot him my most withering look, which is a little hard to muster when you’re up to your neck in a lake of humiliation, your cheeks hot enough to scramble eggs.
“Thank you, Miss Emma, for that, uh, very interesting song about a horse,” Johnathan says. I can tell he’s also working hard at keeping a straight face. “It was quite, err, unique.”
“In my defense, I never said I could sing,” I say as I take my seat next to Kennedy.
“We all have our talents,” Johnathan replies kindly, and I shoot him a small but grateful smile.
Next up is Camille. When she stands on the stage she looks intensely nervous, and as she begins to sing Amazing Grace, her voice wobbles like it’s a bowl of Jell-O in an earthquake.
We work our way through the list of contestants, and I learn that Kennedy can actually sing when she performs an Adele song, that Marni’s voice is very sweet, and that Reggie is so good, she could have fronted a band.
The final to perform is Phoebe. As she said she would, she sings the impossibly high and utterly kitsch Loving You. Her voice is so angelic and sweet I half expect the room to fill with puppies and kittens and all things adorable.
Finally, Johnathan thanks us all for our efforts and hands over to Sebastian to make his decision on who has won. As he stands, I catch Hayley bristling, fully expecting to win. Which she should, really, if this were an actual singing competition. She was easily the best, with Reggie, Kennedy, and Phoebe as runners up—and me an extremely distant last.
But this is a dating show, not a singing competition. We all know Sebastian will choose the contestant he wants to spend the evening with.
“It was a very hard decision today, ladies,” he begins. “I want to thank all of you. For some, singing is clearly a talent you possess, and for others,” he looks directly at me and I want to shrink into my chair, “less so, shall we say?”
No need to rub it in, dude.
“But all is fair in love, war, and reality television, so for tonight’s romantic dinner for two, I choose Kennedy.” He beams at her.
Kennedy?
I turn to look at her. Her gorgeous face is alight with happiness, a grin spreading from ear to ear.
“Thank you so much, Sebastian,” she breathes. “I would love to have dinner with you.”
Something unpleasant twists inside.
As Sebastian takes her by the hand to lead her to their date, I feel odd. Unsettled.
Which is crazy, right? I didn’t want him to pick me. I want to go home.
And yes, I know I told him to go for her, plus I told the production crew she was the girl for him. And let’s face it, choosing Kennedy over the loathsome Camille or scary Hayley is a much better decision. But Kennedy’s my friend, she’s not insane, in fact she’s a great girl.
I know she could win his heart.
And I’m good with that. Really, I am. She’s an amazing woman, she deserves every happiness, and if that happens to be with Sebastian, then she’s got to go for it.
But I can’t help feeling deep down that I’ve done something I might grow to regret.
Chapter 14
Cattle. That’s what we are. Fancy cattle in our Regency period clothing. Well, without having to wear cowbells and live in fields, that is, but you get the point. Like cattle, we’re rounded up, herded, and constantly told what to do. How to sit, how to stand, how to pour freaking tea into delicate china cups. Give me my large café mocha with extra whipped cream any day of the week.
And now, here we are once more, herded together for the next card ceremony. We’re squished in like sardines in a can, awaiting the verdict as Johnathan and Sebastian face us.
At least it’s not all bad. This may be my third card ceremony, but I’m also pretty sure it will be my last. Two contestants are long gone, so it’s got to be my turn to get to leave the insanity of reality TV far behind.
It feels great, but also ... odd.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than happy to be leaving, particularly after those unexpected feelings surfaced when Sebastian chose Kennedy for the date.
It’s just ... nope. Forget it. I don’t care to delve into whatever it’s about. FOMO, maybe? But Fear Of Missing Out with Sebastian, a guy I don’t even particularly like? It doesn’t make sense.
This place is messing with my mind.
The sooner I get out of here the better.
As the contestants are being picked off and sent to the other side of the room, clutching their cards to their chests as though they were a large wad of cash, I can’t help feeling a little wistful. Yes, this whole process is like being back in high school, waiting to be picked for a game of basketball. But the excitement and anticipation in the air is palpable, and a small part of me (infinitesimal, really) will miss a few things about the show. Phoebe, Kennedy, even Shelby with her deluded sense of destiny. In their way, they’re all interesting women, and I’ll be sad to say goodbye to them.
And the clothes. Sure, the stays are tight and annoying, and I’ve added bloomers to my list of least favorite things, but there is a certain romance to dressing like Elizabeth Bennet and living in a Jane Austen world.
I glance at Sebastian. He’s all rigid and formal in his Mr. Darcy outfit, his jaw locked as Johnathan calls out each name.
Will I miss Sebastian?
His eyes meet mine for a second before he looks away. I chew on my lip. No, I will not miss him and his pompous game-playing. He’s flirty one minute then all formal the next. It’s confusing as all get out. And I do not need confusion in my life right now, not with trying to get Timothy off the ground.
“Hayley,” Johnathan says.
She squeals with delight and bounces up and down on the spot, clapping like a seal at a zoo before she pushes through the now small group of us left, directing a purposeful kick in my shin as she passes by. I wince with pain.
Classy, Hayley.
She collects her invitation from the card table and blows a kiss at Sebastian. He smiles at her as she joins The Lizzies.
Johnathan announces the next contestant, and the next, until it’s just me and a girl from New York called Mandy. We step together and the place falls silent, a bunch of cameras trained on us.
This is it.
“Ladies, you are the final two. I regret to inform you that one of you will not receive an invitation from Mr. Darcy to stay. You will need to leave tonight, and return to life in twenty-first century America.”
Warmth radiates through me at the thought of my old life. No more stays, no more cameras, no more boredom, surrounded by the borderline insane (yes, Hayley, I’m looking at you). Work and Penny and Frank and, ooh, one of those chocolate chip cookies with the big chocolate chunks from Cardinelli’s to go with my large café mocha with extra whipped cream followed by my all-time favorite, mac and cheese ...
“Emma.”
Wait, what?
I snap my attention back to the room. Did Johnathan just say my name? I knit my brows together. No, I must be hearing things. My subconscious is messing with me. Sebastian and I have got a deal. He wrote me that note telling me he’s I’m sorry to see me go.
I’m going home tonight. End of story.
“Emma,” Johnathan repeats with a firm voice, looking right at me.
I glance from him to Mandy, standing at my side. She’s got her chin lifted in an attempt to seem as though she’s not upset, but the telltale glisten in her eyes is a giveaway of how she truly feels.
I turn my attention back to Johnathan. “Did you mean to say ‘Mandy?’ Because it sounded like ‘Emma.’”
He shoots a crew member an uncertain look before he says, “I said your name, Emma.”
“But—”
He’s got it wrong. I’m the one who’s meant to be bowing out graciously tonight. I’m the one who should be pretending I’m doing okay about it all when I’m actually gutted. Well, fake gutted, anyway.
“Mr. Darcy has placed you on the invitation list, Emma. Please collect your card from the table and join The Lizzies.”
I glower at Sebastian, willing him to look at me. He doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, he seems to be concentrating very hard on his shoes.
The yellow-bellied coward! He betrayed me. He went back on our deal.
I grind my teeth, my heart beginning to pound.
How could he?
“Ah, Emma?” Johnathan says. There’s a hint of desperation in his voice now as he gestures hopefully at the table.
Resigned, I glance at the final card, with its cursive handwriting and red wax seal. That’s it. I’ve got no choice. I can’t simply storm out and leave the show, no matter how much I might want to. I’d be up that well known creek without a paddle, that’s for sure. I’ll be sued and Timothy will go under and all of this will be a waste of my time. Not that it isn’t a waste of my time already.
Fuming, I stomp over to the table in the most unladylike manner, snatch up my card, and join The Lizzies. Some of them shoot me questioning looks. Camille openly glowers at me.
“Mandy, I regret to inform you that you have not been given an invitation to stay. You may pack your bags and leave,” Johnathan says in a grim announcer-ish sounding voice.
I watch through my red-tinged anger mist as she bites her lip and nods before she turns and leaves the room. I feel a twinge of pity for her. Although I’ve got no idea if she’s “here for the right reasons,” she looks genuinely upset to leave the show.
Something else to add to the rapidly increasing list of reasons to despise Sebastian Huntington-Ross.
I feel a poke in my back and turn to see Phoebe and Kennedy shooting me questioning looks. I shake my head at them.
“Ladies.” Johnathan is facing the group once more. “Congratulations to you all. You are The Lizzies, and we are delighted you accepted your invitation to stay here as Mr. Darcy’s guests.”
Ha! Like we had a freaking choice.
“Mr. Darcy has a few words he would like to say to you.”
Sebastian, otherwise known as The Slippery Lying Double-Crossing Jerk, smiles out at us as though he hasn’t just broken his word to me and kept me here when he should have sent me home.
I will him to look at me so that I can throw an arsenal-full of poisoned daggers at him. He doesn’t meet my eyes.
“I’m delighted that you accepted my invitations to stay here with me.”
I scoff.
His eyes find mine for a second before he averts his gaze once again. “Tomorrow, we have something special for everyone, of which I think you will all be absolutely delighted.”
The contestants bristle with excitement. I, on the other hand, continue to seethe.
“I hope you all sleep well, and I shall look forward to seeing you again tomorrow. Until then, I bid you all adieu.”
I bid you something a whole lot less pleasant than “adieu,” you double crossing back stabbing non-keeper of promises.
The women around me all goodnight and goodbye to him while I fume. I watch as he leaves the room with Johnathan without a backwards glance, and I squeeze my fists so tight, I’m surprised when I don’t draw blood.
Ten minutes later, we’re in our rooms, getting ready for bed. Well, my roommates are. I’m getting ready for warfare.
I heave a sigh of relief as Reggie unlaces my stays and I pull it off. “Oh, thank goodness for that.”
“Too tight, darlin’?”
“Too everything.” I pull off the petticoats and chemise, collect one of my Timothy tank tops with an inbuilt bra out of my suitcase and slip it on.
Reggie eyes my open suitcase. “Y’all should unpack. You’re the only one here still livin’ out of your bag.”
“Yeah, sure.” I remove my bloomers, otherwise known as the world’s largest pair of underwear. I replace them with a thong about one hundredth its size, followed by a pair of leggings.
As I lean down to tie on my sneakers, Reggie says, “Why are you puttin’ on shoes, darlin’? It’s night time. Aren’t you tired? I know I am.”
“I’m going for a run.”
She knits her brows together. “It’s two in the mornin’.”
Right.
I need to make this plausible.
“I won’t be long. Just a jog around the grounds. It’ll clear my head. I do it all the time. Go to sleep.” I throw my eyes at our other roommate. She’s already tucked up in bed, breathing steadily despite our noise.
Reggie shoots me a look that tells me she’s concerned for my sanity, but nods anyway.
I close our bedroom door behind myself with a click, and on light feet, dash down the corridor to the other end of the house. It’s dark and still but for the muffled conversations between the contestants behind closed doors.
I reach my destination and knock lightly. A moment later, Sebastian opens the door. He’s still in his Mr. Darcy clothes, but he’s lost the jacket and cravat and his shirt is open at the neck, revealing a hint of upper pec curve.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he says.
What is he, a villain in a movie? He’ll pull out an evil looking cat and begin to stroke it menacingly in a minute as sharks circle threateningly in a massive tank below our feet.
“What a dick move,” I spit at him without preamble. Because he’s not a movie villain, there is no cat, and there are no circling sharks. It’s just Sebastian, going back on his word.
He glances up and down the hallway and then takes me by the hand and pulls me into his room.
“Hey, what the—?”
He muffles my words with his finger over my lips, shushing me as he closes the door behind m
e.
What is with this guy and pulling me around?
He removes his finger. “I see you’re being your usual charming self.”
“Whatever. This isn’t the Dark Ages, you know, dude. You can’t just pull women into rooms and expect them to be okay about it. Have you heard of the ‘Me Too Movement?’”
“Of course I have. But do you really want everyone to know you’re here with me, or just the people within a square mile radius?”
I huff. I know he’s right, but I’ve got a bone to pick with this guy. I balance my hands on my hips and glare at him. “We had a deal. You were going to send me home tonight. You even gave me that note.”
“I know.”
I raise my eyebrows in expectation. “Well?”
“Let’s sit down.”
“No. I don’t want to.” I know I sound childish, but I’m so mad right now.
“Well, I’m going to.” He takes a seat on one of the sofas.
“Do whatever you want,” I say. “You could even renege on our deal, if you felt like it. Oh, wait. Silly me. You already did that.”
He raises his eyes to mine and the look on his face tells me he’s barely tolerating my presence. “Emma, please. Sit.”
“I’d rather stand.”
“So I can admire your Timothy activewear?” he asks.
“Don’t get cute with me.”
“I’m only trying to lighten the mood.”
I cross my arms and glare at him—something I’ve been making a habit of lately. “Explain yourself.”
“I’d planned on sending you home tonight as you’d asked. The problem is, I need to keep contestants around who, well, entertain the audience.”
I scrunch up my face. “Entertain the audience?”
“This is a television show, in case you hadn’t noticed. Cameras, lights, mics, that kind of thing.”
Who does this guy think he is?
“You know you really should be more observant, Brady,” he says with a small smile.
Oh, the gall of this man!
I keep my voice steady when I reply, “What has entertaining the audience got to do with our deal?”
Dating Mr. Darcy: A romantic comedy (Love Manor Romantic Comedy Book 1) Page 11
