Jane and Austen (23 page)

“That’s fake life,” Austen said, “and this is real life.”

I wanted to believe it as much as Austen did, but now I half-expected all the Bennet girls to descend on me with a flurry of gossip and girl talk.

“Is this why Taylor keeps crying?” Austen asked. “Jane? Did you hear me? Does she know what kind of a guy Bigley is?”

It looked like our Bigley was a drunk whose mother controlled him by threatening to take away his inheritance. I glanced over at Bigley with the ladies at the bar—he was a womanizer, too. And his stepbrother was Henry Crawford from another book. “I’m sorry.” I kneaded my forehead. “It’s really hard to think with my life unfolding like a novel.”

Austen grunted out in exasperation. “And you’ve just had your first misunderstanding. How long do you plan on dragging that one out?”

I realized that he was talking about our resident rock star. “Oh, that. Seriously, I don’t plan on talking to Dancey ever again.”

“Or you can just ask him what Ann-Marie was doing with him and ask Taylor what they had going on together and get all the facts . . . at least then you’ll know the truth.”

“What? That Dancey’s a snake!”

“That’s what a snake told you,” Austen said, jerking his thumb at Bigley.

I got suspicious of Austen’s motives. “Why are you defending Dancey?”

“I like this little thing called truth—as much as I want to throttle the guy for messing with you.”

My heart melted a little at that. At least he wanted to protect me. How sweet . . . and logical. Austen was so unlike any romantic hero I knew—he didn’t let misunderstandings cloud his judgment. And he actually trusted me to talk to Dancey. Once again, he defied fiction.

“Jane? Are you okay?”

I nodded.

He scooped up my hand in his, looking into my eyes. “Jane, I promised that you would have fun tonight, and we’re going to do it. Dance with me?”

I nodded vigorously. We pushed from the booth and I followed Austen out. He took my fingers and lifted them to rest on the curve of his broad shoulder. I liked the feel of it—the muscle there felt strong. After everything that was happening, he felt like an anchor.

Once we reached the dance floor, he swung me close. Nothing felt better than to be in Austen’s arms. The DJ played some oldies remix. It was fast and hardly romantic, but it helped me forget my troubles. Austen had a few moves of his own, and they involved swinging me until I laughed and then holding me close so that the breath caught in my throat. His arms were strong and comforting. I felt like I belonged in them.

I lifted my chin to see his hazel eyes deepen on me like they were drinking me in. Austen rested his cheek on my ear for a moment as if thinking. “Can you forgive me for not being a romantic?”

It took me a moment to understand what he was saying. Could he forgive me for being one? All of my sins came back to haunt me. To top them off, I was still waiting for the paparazzi to publish the photos and ruin everything that I had with Austen. “Only if you return the favor,” I said.

“How?”

Anything I said would ruin the dance, maybe even destroy the fragile truce we had set up for the night, so my hands tightened over him instead. “If you let me do this,” I said; then I brushed my lips across his cheek in a light kiss. I drew back to smile at him.

Austen reached up to trace the outline of my jaw. His light touch sent tingles over my skin. “I don’t know if I should allow that—we might cause a scene on the dance floor.” His eyes burned into mine as though he wanted to return my kiss, but he pulled me in for a hug at the last minute. The feel of his arms against my back felt more intimate than a kiss. As the music faded into the next song, he pulled away and gave me a smile that did something magical to my heart. “Are you hungry?”

I tried to clear my head to concentrate on my stomach and realized that I was starving. I wasn’t sure when I had eaten last. I nodded, and he took me to get some refreshments. We ordered drinks and nachos dripping with cheese and salsa.

Austen knew my favorite soda without asking. We sat at the counter and talked about everything except the troubles that weighed most heavily on my mind—the doubts about my relationship with Austen and the strange curse taking over my life. The night was almost over when I turned and met the eyes of the dreaded sea captain.

Redd sat across the bar, his normally straight back hunched over the counter. Junie was next to him, and they talked in low voices. She played with her hair, undoing it from her bun and rearranging it on her head in a movement that I recognized as one she did when deep in thought. I looked away. I didn’t want to become the next topic of their serious discussion.

As if on cue, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Austen’s must have too, because we both checked our phones at once.

ANN-MARIE: I SEE YOU!

I glanced over at Austen. “Did you . . . ?”

An uneasy smile touched his lips, and he scanned the room. “I think we’re about to get an Ann-Marie attack.”

“Jane! Austen!” She hugged Austen from behind and then ducked under his arm to stand between us. She looked terrible. Her face was all red, her eyes puffy from crying.

I got angry at Dancey when I saw it. “What happened to you?”

Her lip trembled. “I hate men.” She flipped her hair defiantly so that it hit Austen. “No offense, Austen.”

“Trying not to take it.”

My arm went around her. “What happened, Ann-Marie?”

Her lip trembled. “I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.”

“Okay, okay.” I nodded and imagined the worst. “We’ll take you home.”

She shook her head and wriggled free from me. “No. I’m going to have a good time tonight if it kills me.” She searched the room, only to brighten visibly. “Hey, there’s Harry Crawley!” She waved through the crowd at him. “If anyone can make a girl feel special, he can.”

My hand went to her wildly waving one to stop her. Crawley was the last person I wanted to see right now. He was with his friends, scamming the joint for girls. He wore a button-up with nice jeans, his blond hair a premeditated mess around his ears.

“Hey, Ann-Marie,” I said. “Why don’t you stay here with us?”

Her eyes narrowed at our nachos, then passed over me to Austen. “No thanks.”

“Ann-Marie, Crawley’s not . . .” I struggled how best to put it, “I don’t think he’s on the hunt for nice girls like you.”

“What? You mean like girls who aren’t exciting?” She looked angry.

“Uh, no.”

“Ann-Marie,” Austen cut in. He looked protective. “The guy’s a jerk. Don’t talk to him.”

Ann-Marie went limp like a noodle. She stared up at Austen with a slightly open mouth. “How sweet, Austen,” she practically cooed. “I love it when you’re jealous. It makes me realize how much you care.” Her hand went to his arm.

He looked exasperated. “Yeah . . . as a
friend
, Ann-Marie; as a friend.”

“Friends don’t do that,” she insisted,

“Yes, they do,” I said.

Her big eyes were fastened on Austen. “Friends don’t smell like sandalwood cologne, either.” She sniffed him as per tradition and batted her eyes up at him in pure enjoyment. “Delicious. I can sniff you all day.” Her hands clamped over his arm. “I’m going to put you in my pocket and take you out and inhale you when I need my Austen fix.”

“You know what, Ann-Marie?” Austen jerked away. “You’re on your own; but if you don’t listen to us—”

“Yeah, I get it. You warned me.” She gave a hard laugh and headed for Crawley.

I popped a nacho in my mouth, watching her meander her way to certain failure. She then proceeded to attack Crawley from behind with the same hug she had given Austen. “Looks like she’s on the rebound,” I muttered through a mouthful of chips.

Austen looked worried as we watched Crawley fend her off for a bit. I glanced to the side to see Redd’s eyes on me again. They were pointed and full of self-righteous anger.
Seriously, get over it already.
With everything going on, I felt like I was on a speeding train, seconds away from a wreck.

I jumped when Bigley joined Redd at the counter and then Bigley watched me, too. After a few words to Redd, he turned to Junie. She didn’t look happy, and her fingers twisted through her napkin. I really hoped that Bigley wasn’t saying anything about me. It made me wonder how well Junie knew him. Had she seen this side of Bigley in London when she had been there? Just like a villain entering the stage for the final act of a play, DeBurgy wandered over to the group as well, an easy laugh on his lips. If I had any doubts as to the subject of their conversation, those cleared when Redd broke from the talking to direct another glare my way.

This time Austen was on to him. He leaned over me and caught Redd’s angry look with one of his own. Redd flushed and turned. Austen swallowed his mouthful of nachos. “What’s Bigley doing with your favorite person?” he asked.

“Junie or Redd?” I lowered my head to sip on my soda.

“What? Now you’re angry at Junie? Aren’t you worried what Bigley’s saying to her?”

Yes, actually. Bigley whispered something to Junie, and she relaxed enough to laugh. Her eyes went to me, and they gleamed with satisfaction.

“I don’t particularly trust Junie,” I told Austen.

 “Why?” His voice turned lecturing. “Just because you think she matches some kind of villainous profile in your books?”

Junie slid her hand under Redd’s arm, and then her free hand found Bigley’s arm, too. If she had a third, it would go to DeBurgy. I swallowed hard, knowing Austen would never believe that she had it out for me.

“What can I say?” I asked. “She plays a great archenemy.”

Crawley’s hands landed on the counter between Austen and me, his fingers splaying out. His eyes danced devilishly when they met mine. “Help me, Jane. I’m throwing my life in your hands. That girl doesn’t take prisoners.”

Ann-Marie! It was true, but . . . I felt my own lips tug up in a smile, at the same time that Austen’s turned down. Despite everything Bigley had said, I couldn’t help liking Crawley—the guy could always make me laugh. “I didn’t think you ran away from girls,” I said.

“Just one. The other I’m running after.”

I wanted him to be talking about Bella. She was sweeter than me, gorgeous, and way more his style.

“We just talked to your brother,” Austen said. He still looked irritated about it.

“Yeah.” Crawley’s smile didn’t dim. “He’s a jerk.”

Wait. Did Crawley know what Bigley had done? Austen and I exchanged glances. “He wanted Jane to keep you busy,” Austen said, clearly digging for more information.

Crawley threw his head back in a laugh. “He said he might do something like that. What was your answer, Jane?”

“I . . .” He had tried to blackmail me, and smeared his best friend’s reputation to do it. Still, Crawley wasn’t taking any of this seriously, so maybe it had all been a joke. “Hey, if you’re really that lonely,” I said, “we’ll hang out with you.”

“Hang out?” Crawley remained standing, but his manner was still laid-back. “I doubt Chuck mentioned hanging out . . . and it wasn’t a group invitation, was it, Jane?”

He did know.
How twisted was that? “Does he always play your matchmaker?” I asked him.

“No; I’ve never met a girl I couldn’t charm, but I’m running out of time here. We only have two more days left.”

“But . . . but, who does that?” I sputtered.

Crawley shrugged, laughing a little. “I told you that Chuck’s just like me. Only he doesn’t get caught. Good thing too, or his mom would cut him off without a penny, as the old-timers say in Britain.”

“I didn’t realize you were foreshadowing.”

The silence that took over Austen had gone dark and moody—especially, I knew, because the talk had gotten so far out of the ordinary. Still, Crawley acted like it was all just a big flirt game. Maybe it was?

“Don’t you like Bella?” I asked.

“I’m done with her. She isn’t exactly hard to get,” he said. My hand itched to slap him on Bella’s behalf, but the glitter of sudden anger in his eyes stopped me. “Besides,” he said. “I don’t appreciate girls being thrown at me as a distraction.”

I thought I had been doing them both a favor—I could see now that I was wrong. Crawley broke his gaze with me to watch a blond head moving through the crowd. Such shiny, long locks could only belong to Bella. His lips turned up in a smirk. “Not that she isn’t hot. Maybe you prefer that I get my kicks elsewhere?”

Austen lurched in his seat, and my hand found his under the counter to get him to stand down. I could see how it would all play out if he didn’t: Austen would flatten Crawley, Bella would go to Crawley’s rescue, and Crawley would leave with the girl as promised. But I had a different scenario in mind; I knew the villain from the book, and it gave me an idea.

Luckily, Austen responded to the pressure of my fingers, as confusing as it was. He settled back in his seat, and I popped another nacho in my mouth, chewing slowly before answering Crawley. “You know, I could never go for a player.” I kept my voice light. “You have to prove that you’re serious about me.”

And then I’d throw Bertie at him to show that he never would be.

Crawley looked confused. “We only have two days . . . ?”

“And ours would be a lifetime commitment,” I threatened before tossing another nacho in my mouth. Those words were a death toll on any relationship suggested by a player.

Austen’s eyes went to the ceiling, and he breathed out slowly.

“I wonder what our kids would look like?” I asked. “I’ve always wanted eight. I hope you can support them all. What do you do for a living?” If he were a gentleman, I’d throw a glove at his feet to show that I was calling him out to a duel.

“I prefer to enjoy the moment,” he said through tight lips.

“I can’t,” I said brightly, “unless I know you’re for real. Are you?”

“And how do I prove that?”

“That’s your job, Crawley. Figure it out.”

Crawley didn’t look happy, but then after a moment of tense waiting, he returned my false smile—the confidence behind it made my stomach rub nervously against itself. “I think I can manage that,” he said and left, marching past Bella like she was invisible.