Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TRUTH AND PROMISES
D avis doesn’t come over. Instead, he wants to go on a date. Since our first date didn’t end well and the subsequent interactions weren’t dates, per se, he wants to take me out.
“Up or down?” I hold my hair up and then release it, the silky strands falling past my shoulders.
While I trust my own opinion, for tonight I’m tapping into reinforcements. Hope is propped up in her bed amidst a rainbow of the outfits I brought.
Since we’re doing dinner and a movie, I went with a pair of hip-hugging black pants—minus the Spanx because I have intentions.
The gravity-defying power of my pushup bra, putting the girls on full display in my red V-neck flowy blouse, reiterates my hope to indulge in my very unfriendly desires about Davis.
“Since you’re wearing the denim jacket with your blouse, I vote for your hair up with some gold hoops.” Hope pets Wentworth, who rests his head on her thighs. “Should we anticipate a sleepover with this love nugget tonight?”
“Maybe.” I shimmy my hips.
She squeals and claps her hands, causing Wentworth to let out an annoyed huff. “Sorry, buddy, but your mom is dusting off her vagina. That calls for cheers.”
“It hasn’t been that long…” I crinkle my nose. Outside of a terrible one-night stand two years ago, my vagina’s only visitor has been my vibrator. “God, I hope I still have moves.”
“It’s like riding a bike.” She bats the air.
“Only it’s a dick,” I quip.
“Language! We have impressionable ears in the room.” She tosses a pillow at me. “I swear little Georgia’s first words may be a four-letter one thanks to Jackson and you.”
“But those are all the best words,” I crow, brushing my hair up into a high ponytail.
“Ha!” She mock laughs. “Your dusty vag, aside, how are you doing with all this?”
“You mean knowing that I based James on Will?” I sigh.
It’s probably the most disturbing thing about this entire day. Finding out the truth about James’s nature isn’t as traumatic as knowing who he’s based on. Worry nips at me about what it says that the archetype for the dashing duke was the man who so thoroughly broke my heart.
“It’s just strange. Until the guys showed up, I hadn’t realized how much of my characters I based on real people. You and Owen. Jackson and Lars,” I say, motioning with the hairbrush.
“There are a lot of similarities, but they’re not carbon copies of us.
Lars is like the unpolished version of Jackson…
And Owen lacks my sass.” She taps her fingers on her thigh.
“Though, it makes sense why you’d base those characters on us.
We are the two people you’re closest to.
Especially when you started writing the books.
Until the last three years, when you’ve expanded your social network a bit. ”
“Yeah, but why did I write a Will character?” I grimace. “Oh god, does my subconscious still want him?”
“No!” she laughingly protests.
“Then why?” I toss the hairbrush onto the bed. “Because I don’t want him. If this situation has taught me anything, it’s that, as painful as what happened was, I’m grateful for it. Will was a terrible boyfriend. That relationship wasn’t at all what I thought it was. I deserved better.”
“You deserve everything.” Her mouth lifts into a sweet smile. “Maybe you wrote The Duke’s Darling to say goodbye.”
My face scrunches. “We’d already said goodbye.”
“Yeah, but I think writing the book allowed you to finally let go of that relationship and the expectations you’d had for your life.
You may not have finalized, edited, and published the book until a year ago, but it was three years ago when you finished your initial draft.
Three years ago, when you started to get back out there again. To live your life again.”
Blinking, I sit on the edge of the bed. The writing and publication table flips in my mind’s eye like a picture book telling the story.
While indie publishing my books gives me a faster pace than traditional publishing’s glacial speed, I take time with each book.
Drafting may only take three to four months— well, until my current work in progress —but the revision, editing, and other stages of publication may take up to a year or more.
“If the book was about saying goodbye, then why did I have James end up with Lady Cecily?”
“You mean the Georgia-in-Regency-Costume character?” She smirks.
“Yikes! Am I a narcissist as well?” Cringing, I cover my face.
“One character flaw at a time,” she teases, tapping her bare foot against my hip. “You did it because you’re obsessed with the expected happy ending. You’d never write a romance where the rakish duke remains unreformed and the heroine ends up with the quiet, and a little boring, but sweet marquis.”
“She should have ended up with the marquis.” I shake my head.
“At least real-life Lady Georgia may end up with the marquis.”
“No dukes for me, reformed or otherwise. Never again.” Laughing, I stand up and move to stand in front of the mirror hanging on the closet door to slip on my earrings.
“Not to mention, your marquis doesn’t sound boring. Not in the least.”
Happiness fizzes inside me. Davis is nothing like I thought, and somehow, everything I want all in one handsome package. Just like Lady Cecily with the birdwatching Simon Davenport, the Marquis of Hampton, I could have missed out on a sweet man.
“I almost missed my chance with Davis, not just because our first date went so poorly, but because of my own preconceived notions. He could have done everything right, and our time together may still have ended with just that date. When I play back that first date, I see the little ways in which I’d gone into it with the idea that he’d not be it . That he wasn’t like?—”
“The boyfriends from your books.”
“God!” I laughingly groan. “Such a cliché.”
“We’re all a little clichéd at times. I was the girl who pined for her best friend’s older brother.” She pats her belly. “And look how that turned out. My money is on a happy ending for you.”
“Whether things turn out with Davis or not,” I add. My gaze meets hers, and certainty curves my lips.
For the first time in my life, I have no idea how things will turn out, or even a sense that they will. If they don’t, it doesn’t mean my story won’t be happy. Every story ends. But how it ends isn’t certain. What is certain is that if I only focus on the endings, I miss all the pages in between.
“More importantly, it doesn’t matter how it ends. What matters is that I just live it.”
“Good girl,” she purrs, making us both laugh. “Now, important question, do you have condoms in your purse? Because I know you’re wearing your sexy, barely-there black lace panties and I’m sure they won’t be on long.”
“Eww…gross,” Rem groans, appearing at the door. “I did not need that thought in my head. I may have to give Davis the talk .”
“You certainly will not.” Eyes narrowed, I place my hands on my hips.
“Why do you have your keys?” Hope points at him.
“I’m trying to decide if I want to stay here and be the intimidating older brother when Davis picks her up or head over to Jackson’s and be the enraged older brother there with Jim or whatever the Duke of Dickery is called.”
Per my younger brother, James is currently brooding in his guest room.
Needless to say, it’s been awkward at Jackson’s, but where else is James supposed to go.
As much as I’d like to knee him in the balls, I still have a responsibility for his safety.
Even if he’s been careless with me, I won’t be with him.
Jackson and Lars are on strict orders not to kill him, nor let him out of their sight.
At least until after I meet with the witchcraft consultant tomorrow.
Thankfully, Owen will be back from the catering gig soon.
If anyone can ensure the peace, it’s him and his baked goods.
“I’m leaning toward brotherly intimidation of Georgia’s gentleman caller,” he teases.
“Why don’t you crawl into this bed to snuggle with me and Wentworth instead?” Hope bats her lashes.
“Are you using your feminine wiles to entice me to get in that bed with you, ignoring my brotherly duties?” He arches one blond eyebrow.
She holds up the remote control. “We can watch Law & Order .”
“Temptress.” Laughing, he tosses his keys down on the bedstand and turns to leave. “I’ll make some popcorn.”
“How quickly he’s gone from being pined for to being the besotted one,” I snark with a playful lilt.
“I assure you, I’m equally besotted.” She sighs with contentment. “That was ten percent distraction and one hundred percent me wanting to snuggle with my hubby.”
“One hundred and ten percent… Overachiever.” I wink.
Saying goodbye to Hope, I grab my purse—which does have an ample supply of condoms—and head down to meet Davis. He’s going to pick me up at Hope and Rem’s front door.
“Davis,” I greet, opening the front door.
“Peach,” he murmurs, his gaze sweeps down my body, its heat rouging my cheeks. “You look so pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“God, calling a woman pretty sounds so cheesy.” He rubs his nape. “But it feels right with you. You’re probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
“I like cheesy.” I don’t try to hide my giant grin and flushed cheeks.
“Good, because I may be your own personal cheese factory.” Mouth tugged up, he holds up a small gift bag. “I brought you this.”
“You didn’t need to…” I take the bag and a swoop flutters in my abdomen.
“I know, but when I was at the bookstore the other night, I saw them and thought of you.”
“You had this with you the other night?” The flush on my cheeks deepens, thinking of his shopping bag bearing witness to what transpired against the back gate.
“Yeah.” His expression is unrepentant.
Digging into the bag, I pull out a small box. Inside are a pair of dangly earrings in the shape of bookcases. Giddiness invades every inch of my being at how adorable this is.