Dating Mr. Darcy - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,34
it exactly? I’m sure our viewers would love to know, and please start your statement with ‘I gave Sebastian a note because.’”
I’ve got to think, and fast. “I gave Sebastian a note because I wasn’t sure we would get the chance to spend much time together. All the note said was that I was looking forward to getting to know him.”
“But he said you invited him to your room.”
“He was kidding about that. One thing I can tell you about this Mr. Darcy: he’s a kidder.”
“So, you’re telling me that you didn’t invite him to your room.”
I reply firmly, “I did not invite Sebastian to my room.” I feel like President Clinton declaring he didn’t have an affair with Monica Lewinsky. Only in my case, it’s the truth.
“Did your note tell him you loved him?”
“It said I liked him. That’s all. He just made that part up.”
“Why?”
“For fun.”
“Was that fun?”
“Sure. It was hilarious.”
“You seemed quite annoyed at the time.”
“I guess I didn’t get the joke.”
“But you do now?”
“I do now.”
Cindy takes a long, hard look at me, and I squirm in my seat.
“Is there anything else you wanted to ask me?” I say weakly.
“There is, actually,” she replies and my heart sinks. “I guess the viewers would probably want to know why you told him you liked him in a note, like the type of note you might pass a boy in middle school, when you’d already said you hoped Kennedy would win his heart.”
Double dang it! Why does this woman need to be so astute?
I word my response carefully. “Kennedy would be a good match for Sebastian, and so would I. We would both be good matches for him.”
I hold my smile in place for what feels like a year before she says, “What about Phoebe? Do you like her?”
“Who wouldn’t? Phoebe’s sweet and kind and all things wonderful.”
“Is that a note of sarcasm I detect in your voice, Emma?”
“What? No. Phoebe’s great.”
“But a little too sweet, right? Between you and me, I wonder whether she’s for real, she’s so nice.”
I chortle. She’s right. Phoebe is super sweet, but Cindy’s not going to catch me out quite so easily. “I disagree. Phoebe is lovely and totally genuine. She’s totally here for the right reasons.”
I cringe a little inside.
“Awesome,” Cindy replies with a shovel-load of sarcasm.
“Are we done here?”
She waves me off with her hand. “Sure. Go.”
I make my way back to the living room where Mrs. Watson is loving every moment as she dishes out the rules on what is and is not acceptable for today’s super fun task in front of the ever-present cameras.
Lucky for us they’ve served up some drinks, presumably to give us all Dutch courage. Or make for better TV, more like.
Mrs. Watson is holding court with her usual sunny disposition that lights up the room. “It goes without saying that dancing, clapping, or anything considered too modern will attract an instant elimination from today’s competition. That will mean you won’t be in contention for dinner tonight with Mr. Darcy.”
Yippee. We are literally singing for our supper.
“If you play the piano, you may perform your song accompanied. Ladies often played the piano to an audience at Regency soirées. If you don’t play, you will need to sing unaccompanied.”
Sitting beside me, Kennedy is looking about as thrilled about this new development as I am. She puts her hand in the air as though we’re back in school, which is what this feels like. You know, if we were in school in the nineteenth century. “Mrs. Watson?”
“Miss Kennedy.”
“Just so we’re clear, you’re saying there’s no electric guitar allowed?”
I work hard at stifling a giggle.
Mrs. Watson shakes her head. “No electric guitar.”
“Harmonica?” Kennedy inquires.
By now I’m sure I’m bright red with my efforts to stop my laughter from bursting out. I’m deeply thankful I swallowed that last sip or the woman in front of me would be wearing a healthy smattering of Eau de Chardonnay by now.
“No harmonica, either.”
“What about the bongos?” I ask, getting into the swing of things. “I’m feeling like I could channel my inner Matthew McConaughey for this thing.”
Some of the contestants laugh. Mrs. Watson does not.
Marni sticks her hand up in the air.
Mrs. Watson glares at her. “Is this a serious question, Miss Marni, or are you going to be facetious as well?”
“It’s a serious question, I promise,” Marni says in a serious tone. “What about an autotune mic? I don’t know about you all, but I could really do with one of