Bennet. Think about it. She hated Mr. Darcy when she met him. Then, once she got to know him, she hated him some more. Same as you.”
“Ah, but I had feelings for him while I hated him.”
“I bet Lizzie did, too. Jane Austen just didn’t put it out there in black and white, like, ‘Lizzie told Jane she had the hots for Darcy, even though she thought he was a total dick.’”
I giggle. “I can totally imagine Jane Austen writing that exact line.”
“And now, just like Lizzie, you’ve realized the error of your ways and have fallen in love with Mr. Darcy. Only, there was no Mr. Wickham running off with Lydia to put a temporary spanner in the works.”
Things flutter around inside me. Have I fallen in love with Sebastian?
If I haven’t, I’m at serious risk of doing so.
“How does he feel about you?”
“You’ll have to ask him that,” I reply evasively.
“Yeah, like I’d get a straight answer out of him. Unlike you, I don’t sneak off to see him off-camera. Any time I’m near him there are a bunch of cameras nearby, poking their nose into everything.” She rolls her eyes and grins at me. “When you win this thing and live happily ever after in this place, can I come visit you and your army of impossibly beautiful children?”
My laugh is shot with nerves and excitement. “Let’s take it day by day, okay?”
“Babe, you don’t have the luxury of that. Even if he’s fallen madly in love with you, he can’t spend every waking hour with you. He’s got to play the game for the cameras, make it at least look like we’ve got a fighting chance.”
My smile threatens to take over my entire face.
She reaches over and pulls me in for a hug. “I am so happy for you, Em. Finding love on reality TV is as rare as a unicorn. But you’ve gone and done it.”
I beam at her, happiness spreading from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. “I have, haven’t I?”
* * *
The following morning, due to lack of sleep, the news that the day’s activity is learning how to dance Regency style is not exactly music to our exhausted ears.
It turns out Regency dances are ridiculously complicated and surprisingly physical for something that looks so sedate. It’s not helped by the fact Kennedy and I spend half the time giggling in the corner rather than paying close attention. How the ladies and gentlemen of the Regency era managed to look poised and elegant and not like they’d run ten miles uphill is a mystery to me.
After at least two hours of practice we get to take a much-needed break in the afternoon. No costumes, no dancing, no cameras. Bliss. After lazing around, talking to Phoebe and Kennedy, I decide it’s time I stretched my legs before they turn completely to Jell-O.
I stand up and stretch, my back clicking as I reach for the ceiling. “I’m going for a walk. Anyone want to come with me?”
“No, thanks,” Phoebe replies. “I’m going to have a lie down before the dancing tonight. That session really took it out of me.”
“Not me,” Kennedy says. “My poor feet are aching from having to wear those stupid ballet slippers the whole time. No arch support.”
“Suit yourselves.” I turn to leave, only to bump into a smug, smirking Camille.
Yippee.
“Emma.” She casts her eyes over me. “How nice to see you in your sweats again. Tell me, do you ever wear anything else? Or is this your ... ‘look?’” She scrunches up her nose in distaste so I’m in no fear of missing how little she thinks of my choice of attire.
I take in her outfit of a floral print dress, cinched in at the waist, and a pair of heels. Her hair is held back with an Alice band, and her makeup is absolutely perfect. It’s a look anyone from Gossip Girl would be happy to sport, and it’s the way she dresses, even when it’s just us girls, chilling out away from the cameras. Mom might think she’s got standards, I think she’s got a serious case of the “I’m better than everyone else-es.”
Instead of rising to her bait, I reply, “I guess it is my look, Camille. My label is very comfortable.”
“Elasticated waistbands are very comfortable, I’m told. I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t be found dead in any clothes with one.”
That could be arranged…
“It’s not elasticated. It’s Lycra.”
She waves her hand in the