Dating Mr. Darcy - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,45
I hold it open a crack and check to make sure no one is lurking around outside. The coast is clear. I look back at him and whisper, “Thanks, Seb.”
“It’s Sebastian,” he whispers back.
“Not in Texas it’s not, dude. Take that as Lesson Number Two.”
His smile lingers with me as I quietly make my way back to my room, slip into my bed, and drift off to sleep.
Chapter 15
With the prospect of being able to wear my label on camera, my mood lightens and I even find myself enjoying some of the aspects of life on a reality TV show.
In fact, I’ve made a list. Don’t judge me. There’s not a lot else to do around here. Here it is: Things I like about being in here:
Free drinks. All. The. Time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an alcoholic, but I’m also not one to turn down a glass or two of free wine, either. Because, duh, it’s free wine.
Some of the girls, the non-crazies, have become my friends. Like Kennedy. She’s helped me keep my sanity here, and Phoebe, the sweetest person I’ve ever met. She keeps me from falling into a snarky, cynical hole. Reggie is a heap of fun and always up for a laugh. I can totally see the four of us remaining close on “the outside,” as we’ve begun to call it (and yes, I know that makes it sound as though we’re in prison. But it’s not. I refer you to point #1).
The lack of noise is pretty darn fantastic. And by noise, I don’t mean the chatter or the laughter around here, because there is plenty of that, believe me. I mean no emails, no social media, no phone calls, no endless to-dos. It’s weird, because I never thought I’d be happy to live my life without them. But still, here I am, content to live in a pre-electronic world. Most of the time, anyway.
My mind turns to Sebastian. Is he on my list of things I like about being here? If I were honest with myself, maybe I would include him. I mean, the guy’s not what I thought. Sure, he’s pompous and formal and quite standoffish at times, and I’m sure he looks down his nose at me. But there’s a side to him I’m catching glimpses of that I admit I like. And I don’t just mean he’s hot, because that’s a given. The man is “smokin’,” as Reggie puts it. It’s more that I’m seeing the real Sebastian, not the guy playing Mr. Darcy for TV.
And the real Sebastian is captivating.
That said, I hate that he’s got all the power. Well, him and the production crew, that is. Keeping me here to “entertain” the viewers is enough to make me want to pull my hair out, strand by strand. Whichever way you look at it, the net result is the same: we, the contestants, most certainly do not have the power, and I challenge anyone to say they enjoy that feeling.
You know what can make that feeling of utter powerlessness even more fun? You guessed it: Regency clothing. Why they can’t let us wear normal bras instead of these darn stays things, I do not know. I mean, it’s not like the audience is going to see what we’ve got on underneath our clothes. And yes, I do clearly recall Penny coming up with the ludicrous idea of “whisking off” my clothes at the soirées to show off our label underneath, but believe me, there’s no “whisking off” when it comes to these outfits. More like painstakingly unravelling. Not that I was exactly on board with Penny’s idea in the first place.
“Holy crap, Reggie. Could you tie those any tighter?” I say as my ribs snuggle up together in a wholly unnatural way.
“Hold still, darlin’. Nice and tight and your puppies’ll pop.”
With my favorite pastime I like to call “breathing” severely restricted, I reply, “I don’t need my ‘puppies to pop,’ as you put it, but I would like to avoid a trip to the ER.”
“All done.” Reggie steps back and examines her handiwork.
I, on the other hand, am still trying to recover. I look up at my reflection in the mirror. “I look like I’m serving my boobs up on a platter.”
“You are. Now, help me with mine.” She thrusts her stays at me and I reluctantly take it from her as she turns for me to fit it. “Pull as tight as you like. I’m not afraid