Marrying Mr. Darcy (Love Manor #2) - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,72
kissing and touching and the sheer sexiness of the man. “I’m taking my role as Phoebe’s bridesmaid very seriously, you know.”
He pulls me into him once more, and I feel the tentative hold I had on my resolve only seconds ago slip away. “Just one sexy belly dance for your sultan before we have to go?” he asks.
“Ahem.”
Uh-oh.
We immediately step back from one another, thoughts of belly dancing scattered in the wind. I turn to see who’s interrupted us.
Of course it’s Geraldine.
“Hello, Granny,” Sebastian says smoothly as I rearrange my top, my cheeks flaming hot.
I know we were getting up close and personal in the reception room, but it would have been way better to have been caught by Zara, by Jemima, by anyone else.
“Who just drove down the driveway as though they were in some car chase movie?” she asks.
“That would be Heather McCabe from the production company.”
“The television production company?” There’s no disguising the note of revulsion in her voice, and part of me cannot blame her. Doing a reality TV show sure feels a little like selling your soul.
“That’s right. We need to discuss what they’re offering us, Granny.”
“It’s a game changer,” I add.
“We’ve already opened up the house to vagabonds and pick pockets and goodness knows who else. Now you want us all to be on television?”
I blink at her. Vagabonds and pick pockets?
“You won’t have to, Granny. Just me and Emma and some of the contestants from the Dating Mr. Darcy show.”
“Have you totally lost your mind, Sebastian?” she asks in outrage.
Sebastian shakes his head. “Granny, we’ve got this wedding to get to now. Let’s talk about this later, shall we?”
“You already know what I’ll have to say,” she sniffs.
Geraldine Huntington-Ross, ladies and gentlemen. Voted Most Likely to Be Open to Others’ Ideas by the Class of ’81—1881, that is.
“I thought you’d rejected the idea because of the slight on Emma.”
“That’s what changed. Heather McCabe realized that as my future wife, Emma is as much a part of Martinston as you and I. Isn’t she, Granny?”
I know he’s testing her. He wants to know whether she’s begun to accept me.
I lift my eyes to Geraldine’s. I don’t even bother holding my breath as I wait for her response.
“As much a part of Martinston as you and I?” she questions. “Of course she is.”
If I wasn’t holding onto the back of the chair, I might have fallen to the floor.
I give her my biggest smile. “Thank you, ma’am. You saying that means a lot to me.”
She returns my smile. It might not be beaming, exactly, but it’s definitely a smile. Inside, I’m dancing on tables, doing high kicks, and toasting this momentous occasion.
Geraldine Huntington-Ross thinks I’m as much a part of Martinston as she is. She approves of me. She smiled at me. Things are looking up and up.
“Don’t you have to go?” Sebastian says to me.
I glance at my watch and get a start. “Wow, yes! I do.” I plant a quick kiss on his lips and then turn to Geraldine. “I’ll see you both in the church. I’ll be the least pretty of the bridesmaids. Phoebe’s sisters and cousins all look like her.”
“Thanks.” I kiss Sebastian once more before I skip out of the room on ballerina light feet, dash up the stairs, and ready myself to meet Phoebe and her bridesmaids.
Despite all the setbacks—and let’s face it, there have been quite a few—I have finally won Geraldine’s approval. I only hope it will last.
Chapter 20
I hold my bouquet of exquisite pale pink roses and baby’s breath carefully at my waist and follow one of Phoebe’s equally blonde and beautiful sisters down the flower-lined aisle of the gorgeous, old village church. There are cameras around us, recording every moment for the TV special, Marrying Mr. Bingley, but amidst all the color of the flowers and the guests in their hats, they’re barely noticeable.
As I walk slowly to the music, I spot a couple of the contestants from the show. Hayley is next to Camille, the two Mean Girls together once more, and they both shoot me withering looks. Nothing’s changed there. They were Phoebe’s roommates on the show, and unlike the rest of us, she refused to believe they were anything but nice, decent human beings.
Fun fact: they weren’t.
As I pass by Kennedy, she winks at me, and I waggle my eyebrows at her in response.