Jane and Austen (13 page)

“Yes,” he said, “when I pick you up for a drive. Remember, you agreed to go anywhere with me.”

The reminder made me laugh. Now Dancey fit the role of the valet that I knew and loved, not the rock star, and I immediately relaxed. I saw his lips tilt up in response. Dancey seemed to really care what I thought about him. Austen was right. It didn’t make sense. Something else was happening here. “About that,” I said. “You knew I had no idea who you were. Why didn’t you say anything? It could’ve gotten you out of parking all those cars.”

He considered me a moment, then surprised me by smiling. “I enjoyed being treated like a real guy for once. You were brutally honest.”

I reddened when I thought about what I’d said about his song. I actually liked it, but it would seem like I was kissing up to him if I admitted that now. He leaned over me to whisper in my ear, “Remember, you agreed to go out with me when you thought I was a poor man with no prospects.”

“Well, you did bribe me with a trip to Vegas.”

“I’m not through bribing you. Tomorrow morning my car will be ready for you.”

It was like he was setting up a drive in the park. This was so Jane Austen right now. I couldn’t believe it, but the eagerness on Dancey’s face convinced me that he was sincere. I nodded. “Yeah, but remember, I’m driving.”

“You’re not afraid that I’ll steal off with you?”

“Are you kidding?” I laughed when a mischievous thought came to me. “I’m counting on it.”

“Good. I don’t want to share you with anyone else. Not with Taylor, not with your assistant.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve had my fill of this wedding party—the guests chatter constantly about nothing. I’m not looking forward to that trite dinner party tonight. If I could, I’d steal you away from it.”

“That hurts. I planned that trite dinner party.”

“Then I’ll behave for your sake.” He picked up my hand and kissed it.

My mouth dropped after he strode away. He kissed my hand? Did people do that anymore? And he was a snob—it was strangely intriguing, especially since the snob thought that I was worthy of his attention. I gathered up the bouquets and corsages in the chapel and found my clipboard, only to stare blindly at my notes. Dancey was still interested in me. We’d had a meet-cute and a
moment
—the aftereffects of which had never lasted longer than a day for me in any other relationship. Dancey had gone through a lot of breakups. That meant this flirtation might only last the week he was here. Still, I was positive that I could enjoy the fun while it lasted.

Swinging my keys, I turned and met Austen’s disapproving eyes. I shrieked, holding my heart. “Well, it’s nice to see you too,
dear friend
. What did I do to deserve that look?”

“I thought I warned you about that guy?”

I laughed. “Oh c’mon, Austen. Let’s not argue for once. I prefer to find out if a guy is a jerk my own way.”

“So you believe me that Dancey is a jerk, but you’re still giving him a chance?”

I stopped short. Had I said that? “Nooo,” I said slowly, “but I will never know someone until I get to know them, and,” before Austen went off on how the guy wouldn’t go for me, I held up my hand, “and who knows? We just might hit it off.”

“I didn’t say that you two wouldn’t.” Austen looked disturbed. “When are you going out with him?”

“Not saying.”

I brushed past him and was immediately sorry when I realized that he was just as wet as I was. His hand slid over my arm, and he squeezed my hand. “Can I, at least, ask you to be careful?”

“Oh, c’mon, Austen.” I faced him, making sure he saw how confident I was about my decision. “You don’t have to save the world—we’re not so helpless without you. I might be a romantic, but I’m not stupid. Save your lecture for those who only use kisses as entertainment.”

If anything, my brave words only increased the worry in his eyes.

Chapter 11

“It requires uncommon steadiness of reason to resist the attraction of being called the most charming girl in the world.”

—Jane Austen,
Northanger Abbey

All of our wedding rehearsal dinners
took place at the Pemburkley Hall. Taylor’s was no exception. The building had a Victorian feel, with ivy climbing over a latticed fence and curling around elegant pillars. The patios, both inside and out, were covered in jungles of flowers.

Austen and I sat in the middle of it all, putting together the decorations—ribbons, candles, lamps, garnish, candies. We had five hours before the dinner tonight to arrange them artistically on the dozen round tables set up in the middle of the room.

I took up some ribbon. “We’re making bows first,” I told Austen.

“Me? Make a bow?”

“What? Are your hands too delicate?” I asked in a mock challenge.

His jaw tightened and he got busy, making a bow that was far better than mine. I tried not to be jealous. We had an unspoken agreement not to bring up Dancey or Taylor. It was the only way not to fight, but I knew something was on Austen’s mind by the way he kept frowning.

A slight wind ruffled his curly hair. The partitioned glass walls of Pemburkley Hall could be opened and closed to the outside world, and since Taylor had opted for the al fresco feel, the set-up crew had organized it so that, besides the roof, the rehearsal dinner would feel like it was all taking place outside.

Glancing over at Austen, I shifted uncomfortably. “And then we tie the flower to the decorative lamp,” I said while I demonstrated.

The caterers came through the hall, bringing pots and ingredients. Pemburkley Hall had its own kitchen, off in a building to the side, where they’d prepare the dinner for tonight. Austen turned to the servers with interest. “Where’s Junie Be Fair? She’s catering tonight, right?”

I jerked a ribbon tight. “Why do you always call her that?”

He smirked, and, too late, I realized I’d given him ammunition. “You don’t like me calling her ‘Fair?’ You jealous?”

“Yes, I’m the evil queen and no one else can be called fair.”

“You just want a nickname for yourself,” he said.

“Oh no.” I shook my head before he could try to come up with one. “I’m adding that to a list of things to
not
talk about. No nicknames.” I placed a candle inside the lamp I was working on.

“Wait, you have a list? You can’t have a list of things I can and can’t do,” he turned thoughtful, “. . . unless I can have one for you.”

He stole my decorative lamp and arranged some calla lilies and old fashioned roses around it. What else besides Dancey could he possibly not want me to bring up? My curiosity outweighed my natural reserve—like it usually did. “And what would you put on your list, Austen?”

He studied me, his hazel eyes clouded over with a look I couldn’t read, and he wrapped another ribbon around a flower. “I’ll come up with something. We’ll play it by ear.”

The musicians set up to the side of us. Working next to Austen, I let myself get lost in the peace of the afternoon. Before I knew it, we were both lying flat on our stomachs, twisting flowers into ribbons while listening to the musicians practice their music for tonight.

“Why can’t musicians play Led Zeppelin at these things?” Austen asked.

“Maybe,” I said sarcastically, “because that’s not music; it’s just noise.”

He twisted ribbon into two more calla lilies before tossing them aside. “I want to elope,” he said. I looked up quickly. “No offense to your career, but weddings are too stressful. I just want my friends and family to enjoy themselves. Maybe I’d throw a big cookout after I come back from my honeymoon.”

“Hmm.” I thought about the idea and imagined the most romantic elopement possible. First a proposal under a starlit sky, a hand taking mine, and then my beloved ushering me onto the nearest plane to a foreign country to seal the deal on a spur of the moment honeymoon. I smiled. “That does sound nice. Just get on a plane and go anywhere. Oh, I’d choose London! And then when I came back, I’d love to see everyone’s faces when I showed them my ring and said I was married.”

“London?” he asked.

“Nothing says romance more than London.”
Or a guy from London.

He frowned. “Don’t even think about stealing my idea.”

I finished up the last of the calla lilies and gathered them around me. “You’re just mad because I made it better.”

He sat up when I did and slipped one of the old-fashioned roses off my leg. Austen studied it before sliding it into my hair. “Oh, my version’s definitely better.”

I felt his fingers leave my hair. Austen could’ve laid a kiss on me and I wouldn’t have been more astonished. I had told him that the flower-in-the-hair gesture was the most romantic thing I could think of. Why was he doing it now? To be nice—or was he using it against me?

My face was red—I felt it. Junie brought in cakes with the help of her fellow caterers. She had marbled the cakes with ribbons of frosting, and decorated the outside with a riot of real flowers and jeweled frosting. They were works of art.

Austen’s lips went up when she passed him. “Hello Junie.”

“Not Junie Be Fair?” she asked with a smile.

He shrugged. “Junie fits you better right now.” He pointed at the flowers in one of the cakes she held. “The flowers bloom when you’re near.”

She giggled.

I groaned. Once she was out of earshot, I turned to him. “I think I preferred Junie Be Fair.”

“No, nicknames are out. It’s on your list.” He picked up one of the lamps and put it on the table. He gave me a serious look. “I’ve figured out the first thing on my list. You can’t wear red.”

I glanced down at my red shirt. “Why?”

He leaned forward and whispered, “It looks too good on you. It’s not fair to the bride.” His eyes crinkled up to show me he was joking. He was such a flirt. He always was, but it didn’t amount to anything if there was nothing behind it. “You can’t wear it for another week,” he said.

I stared at him, trying to put it together. The wedding party would break up at the end of the week. That meant no more Dancey. Was Austen that concerned about me going out with the rock star that he had to tell me how to dress with him? I would’ve taken the flower out of my hair and thrown it at Austen, but knew I could never perform such sacrilege. I cleared my throat instead. “I changed my mind, Austen; you can use nicknames.” I stood up and shook out the candies in the bag onto the first table to show him how it was done. “And voila, we have our centerpiece.”

 “Sure thing, Mrs. Austen.”

I frowned at the nickname. “Does that mean I’m taking on your first name or are you calling me a romantic like Jane Austen?”

He treated me to a bland smile. “You decide.”

My shoulders tightened. I had to either let him torment me with a new nickname or not wear red for a week. “Fine,” I said. “I won’t wear red.”

I went to work on the next table, and he helped me, placing a hand on my back whenever he had to get past me to get more flowers. I tried not to react. If a touch meant nothing to him, it meant nothing to me. The next time he did it, he didn’t move away, as though he kept his hand resting on my back for the sake of convenience. Our movements quickly fell into sync after that, and the closeness between us felt so natural that it made me nervous. I didn’t want to fall for him again, and I rushed off to get more lamps, keeping out of Austen’s way so he wouldn’t add further upheaval to my world.

That didn’t stop him from making eyes at me from across the table. “Second thing on my list,” he said. His lips turned up with humor, and I got ready for something outrageous. “No wearing your hair down this week. Put it in a tight ponytail.”

“Back off!” Then I laughed. “What’s your problem? If you’re doing this because you’re worried about me attracting the
wrong
attention, then I’m not doing it.”

“It isn’t,” he said after a moment.

“Then why?”

“Your hair looks good up. You don’t do it enough.”

Now I
knew
he was lying. “Don’t wear red because it looks good? Wear my hair up because it does—all so I can keep you from calling me Mrs. Austen? I’m calling your bluff—you’d never call me that in public. It’s too much of a commitment for you. It’s like you’re claiming me.”

“Hey, if the nickname doesn’t work, I’ll wear you down somehow. Don’t forget, we’ll be spending a lot of time together this week. I’m your slave after all.”

I liked that idea too much, and now it was time to get my revenge. Leaning closer to him and standing on tiptoes so that our eyes were almost level, I smiled, feeling the breath of his lips against mine. “Try to wear me down and I promise it will backfire on you.”

“I think I might enjoy that.” His eyes were on my lips, and I was just as shameless, my eyes drifting to his mouth, then back to the unspoken promise that I read in his expression. I remembered what he’d said about being able to feel a girl’s emotion behind her kiss. Would he know what I felt for him if I let this moment play through naturally?

My thoughts got caught in what he had said a few days earlier about how a kiss was meant to bring two people closer. There was no other meaning to it—no commitment, no promise of more.

And I was a romantic. Flowers in my hair meant something. Stolen glances. Long hugs. Holding hands—I was all about signs of affection. A kiss meant I gave someone my heart. Maybe that made me superstitious. Sure, it wasn’t as bad as thinking a photograph could steal my soul; but I sure thought a kiss could.

And he didn’t see it that way.

I lowered my lashes, feeling a deep disappointment pool at the pit of my stomach as I pulled away. His eyes mirrored that same disappointment, but he took on a casual look. “Does that mean we have a deal?”

It took me a second to realize that he was talking about the list; but it was uneven. I had only made one rule for him, and he had two for me. “I’ll only do it,” I said, “if you act the part of my perfect little wedding assistant for the whole week. No complaints or the deal is off.”

“You got it.” He sat back on the floor with the rest of the ribbon. “At least now I’m getting something out of it.”

Before I could ask him what he meant, a little girl wandered into Pemburkley Hall. It was one of Taylor’s flower girls. She sucked on the upper half of her hand, watching us with sober eyes.

Austen broke into an easy smile. “Looks like we’ve
got a straggler. Text Taylor that we have one of her flower girls; tell her to bring us money in small, unmarked bills and we’ll return the girl in time for her wedding.”

I ignored him. “Hey,” I asked the little girl. “You lost?”

She didn’t answer and wandered over to us to point at the rose in my hair. “Pretty.”

I had almost forgotten it was there. I plucked up one of the calla lilies on the table and slid it into her baby-soft hair. “Now
you’re
pretty, too,” I said.

She stood a little straighter, her lips puckering out, looking very self-important. Austen leaned back on his elbows. “And another romantic is born,” he said.

“Don’t blame me for that. She’s a girl. It comes naturally.”

“I can fix that. Here comes a spider.” Austen’s hand crawled toward the little girl, making it look like a big, fat spider. “He likes flowers,” he said in a grumbly voice. He tried to steal the flower from her hair, and the little girl shrieked and smashed his hand flat. “That’s what I’m talking about.” Austen laughed. “I’ll make an Amazon woman out of her yet.”

She crushed his hand spider a few more times until I had to land on my knees and interfere with my own hand spider. It was a friendlier one and would dance in the ribbons and flowers to the beat of the wedding music until Austen’s hand spider went to attack it. The little girl shrieked out a warning, but I made sure that my hand spider was fast and would dance away in the nick of time.

Austen couldn’t take it. He wrapped his arms around my waist and slid me across the polished wooden floor, tucking me close to his side so that his hand spider could capture mine. With a start, I realized we weren’t dealing with spiders anymore—Austen and I were holding hands.

“Austen!” I said.

“Don’t worry,” he told the little girl. “That spider won’t get to your flowers!”

The little girl danced around us. “Thanksh!”

Austen looked sternly at my hand. “Be nice.” And then he lifted up my fisted fingers and kissed the knuckles. My whole body went weak. His fingers loosed from mine, and he winked at me as if he hadn’t just kissed my hand like a . . . like a man from my dreams.

The little girl sighed and brought her hands up in the air and twirled. “Now dance with her!” she commanded.

Austen watched me, the way Bigley looked at Taylor, the way my grandparents looked at each other, the way Darcy from
Pride and Prejudice
looked at Elizabeth. Before this moment, I’d never imagined that Austen would ever look at me this way. “There will be dancing tonight,” he reminded me.

“Who wants to wait for that?” I asked.

“You’re right; dancing is so dumb.”

That wasn’t what I meant, and he knew it. Still, the caterers were back with more food, and the last thing I wanted was to share this moment with any of them. I didn’t have to worry. Austen freed my hand. Footsteps traveled behind us and I turned, seeing Junie carry in another platter of food.

Austen turned professional. “Can we help you bring those in?” he asked her.

She gave me a knowing look, and I tried to appear more closed off because I was confused again. Jane. Junie. Jane. Junie. No wonder Austen had to give her a nickname to tell us apart. Was she the reason that Austen had let go of my hand?

“Austen, I would love
your
help,” Junie said.

I gathered the flowers so I could finish off the room. “Why don’t you help her, Austen?” I asked. I broke off in a light laugh. “And while you’re at it, make a list of demands she has to follow before you do it.”

Junie made a sound of disgust behind me and came up to Austen, a seductive swing to her hips. “I did promise that you could take me out to lunch today, Austen. We could head out to the beach after you help me take in the last of the food.”