Dating Mr. Darcy - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,8

to smile without showing that half my teeth have fallen out. None of which I actually know how to do (and I still have all my own teeth).

Her cheeks blush pale pink, rendering her even prettier. “You’re so kind, Emma. Thank you.”

I eye her glass of champagne. “Where did you get that?”

“There’s a waiter lurking around here somewhere. I’ll go track him down for you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I reply.

“Emma, on account of the fact that you have no shoes, I think it’s my duty to at least find you a drink.”

Kind and funny. I can tell we’re going to be friends. She’ll be the sweetest, kindest, prettiest one and I’ll be ... me.

“I’ll have a beer, thanks.”

She disappears and I survey the room. There have got to be at least ten women here, chatting away animatedly, as though they’re already the best of friends. Because there are a bunch of cameras around us everyone's on their best behavior. They’re all in glamorous evening dresses, pretty much cookie cutters of one another. It’s a lot like that old music video from the ’80s where all the women in the band look exactly the same.

“Hey. You look different,” says a woman with long dark hair who’s virtually orange as she’s got so much cheap fake tan on. Her enhanced cleavage is straining painfully against her dress with a neckline so plunging she may as well not be wearing one at all. She’s accompanied by another much more normal looking girl dressed in yellow, who beams at me enthusiastically.

“I’m wearing Timothy activewear. It’s super comfortable and—”

“And you stand out from the rest of us,” Orange Cleavage finishes for me, gesturing at the room. “Make him notice you from the start.”

Is this what’s called the pot calling the kettle black? Or should that be orange?

“I’ve got your number, girl. That’s your game,” she continues. “It’s smart, I’ll give you that, even if you look like you should be at the gym.”

My game? Riiiight. Like I’d want to have a “game” to win a guy’s heart.

I eye her up. There’s an undeniable ruthlessness about her you can spot a mile away. Well, that and the oversized orange orbs stuck to her ribcage.

“Well, I’m not the type to—” I begin then stop myself. Choosing a different tack, I extend my hand and say, “Nice to meet you. I’m Emma.”

“Hayley,” she replies with a tight jaw, her oversized lips giving her more than a passing resemblance to a fish, “and this is Sharon.” She nods at the woman in yellow beside her.

“It’s Shelby, actually, but that’s fine,” she says as she pulls me in for a hug.

Hayley waves her hand in the air as if to say “whatever.”

Nice girl.

“Oh, you smell lovely, Emma. Don’t tell me. Lily of the valley? Rose? No, I’ve got it: grapefruit,” Shelby says.

“Err, yeah,” I reply, thinking those scents are all quite different from one another.

Her face lights up in a fresh smile. “I knew it.”

“Shelby here thinks she’s destined to be with Mr. Darcy. She said it’s her fate,” Hayley says with an obvious note of distaste.

I raise my eyebrows at Shelby. “Which one? Sebastian or the actual Mr. Darcy?”

“Who doesn’t exist,” Hayley adds.

“Oh, Sebastian, definitely. He’s my destiny. I know it in my heart. Why else would we both be here right now? It doesn’t make any sense.” She gives us a confident smile.

I open my mouth to reply, then close it again. I’ve got no idea how to answer that. Well, not without sounding like a grown up, anyway.

Hayley rolls her eyes and changes the subject. “So, what do we think the lay of the land is here, ladies? Who’s a contender, who’s going home a-sap, and who am I going to have to poison in the dead of night?”

I blink at her. Is this woman for real? “Poison?” I ask.

Shelby rubs Hayley’s arm. “Oh, she’s only kidding. You’ll realize that as you get to know her.”

Hayley doesn’t look like she’s kidding to me.

“You two are friends?” I ask.

“We were the first ones in this room tonight,” Shelby replies. “Us and Camille, whom I know you’ll love as much as we do. We’ve bonded. The three of us are going to be besties for the whole show. Right, Hayley?”

Hayley harrumphs. “Sure.” She fixes me with her stark blue eyes, and I try my best not to wither.

“Here you are, Emma,” Phoebe says as she returns with a drink. “No beer, sorry.”

I take the glass of