Dating Mr. Darcy - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,26

and then,” she replies with a wistful glint in her eyes.

This girl is on another planet.

I feel Phoebe’s hand on my arm as she says, “Oh, look. Here he is.”

“Be still my beatin’ heart,” Reggie says, her voice breathless. “Would you look at that.”

I turn around to see Sebastian, framed by the double doorway leading out to the terrace. He’s dressed in a pair of tan pants, tucked into knee-high boots that show off his long, muscular legs, a white shirt and one of those short black jackets with tails, buttoned up to show off his slim waist. On his head is a top hat, which he removes, a broad smile on his face.

He looks ... well, he looks like Mr. Darcy.

Every female pair of eyes in the room are trained on him, and I’m sure many a pulse is racing. Mine? Well, if it is—and that’s a big “if”—it’s only because he’s dressed as one of the most famous heroes of all time. The Mr. Darcy Effect, hello? Don’t judge me. I’m only human.

“Good evening, ladies,” he says with that English accent of his.

“Good evening,” most of the women reply, all with the same level of breathlessness Reggie had moments ago. It’s like every woman has lost the ability to take anything but extremely shallow breaths, and their already pushed up cleavages are bobbing up and down like some sort of weird, orchestrated street performance.

“I must say, you are all looking quite enchanting this evening in your new clothes,” he says. “I look forward to speaking with you all as the night progresses.”

God, he’s so formal. I wonder if that’s him or the role he’s playing?

I watch as he strides across the room, his hat tucked under one arm, and strikes up a conversation with a couple of more than eager contestants.

“Well, that was quite an entrance,” Phoebe exclaims with a smile.

“He nailed the whole Mr. Darcy vibe, that’s for sure.”

“Did he ever.” Reggie fans herself with her hands again.

“I’m going to go talk to him,” Shelby says and turns to walk away.

I grab her arm and say quietly, “Please don’t do it, Shelby. You could hurt yourself.”

“Oh, Emma. He’ll catch me. You’ll see.”

I force out a breath as I watch her make her way through the throng of contestants, making a beeline for Sebastian.

“She’s going in?” Kennedy asks as she takes a sip of her drink.

“She’s got game, that’s for sure.”

We watch as she approaches Sebastian and he turns and acknowledges her. They begin to chat, and I can tell she’s flirting by the way she toys with one of her curly tendrils.

“This is better than Netflix,” Kennedy says.

“We need popcorn.”

My least favorite humans right now, Hayley and Camille move closer to us.

“What are you all looking at?” Hayley asks.

“Sebastian,” we reply in unison.

“Is she doin’ it?” Reggie asks, a fresh glass of wine in her hands.

“We think she’s gearing up for it,” Kennedy replies.

“Who’s gearing up for it? And what is ‘it?’” Hayley asks.

“Shelby is going in for the kill, darlin’,” Reggie explains.

All our eyes are riveted on Shelby and Sebastian. It’s like watching car crash television as it unfolds, which I guess is exactly what this is.

“She’s making a play for him, isn’t she?” Hayley snarls through gritted teeth.

“Heck, yeah,” Kennedy replies.

As the words leave her mouth, we watch Shelby raise her hand to her chest and her legs crumple, as she slow-falls perfectly, right into Sebastian’s arms. He instantly wraps them around her and holds her up as she lolls her head back in total diva fashion.

“She’s fake fainting?” Camille squeaks in disbelief. I bet she’s angry she didn’t think of it.

“Oh, she’s good,” I murmur.

“And don’t forget completely insane,” Kennedy adds.

Camille is fuming. “I cannot believe she just did that.”

“She’s smarter than I thought,” Hayley says.

“I’m not sure I’d call it smart,” I say to her.

Next thing we know, Sebastian has cleared a space for Shelby on a nearby sofa, much to the disdain of the contestants who had been sitting there before, and is gently placing her limp body down. After a beat—not too quickly as to create suspicion, and not too slowly so the moment passes—she opens her eyes and looks up at him. She says something we can’t make out and he crouches down next to her, playing right into the palm of her dainty hands.

I feel as though we should be applauding the performance.

In one fluid movement, she pushes herself up on an elbow, hooks her other hand around his