Emma Ever After: A feel-good romantic comedy with a hilarious modern re-telling of Jane Austen. Brigid Coady
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href="#litres_trial_promo">Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
‘Wipe that smug smile off your face, Emma Woodhouse,’ Gee said, punctuating it with his elbow in Emma’s ribs.
She absently rubbed her side, her eyes not leaving the newly married couple who were posing for photos.
‘They make such a wonderful couple, don’t they,’ she said, as the feeling of a job well done bloomed, making her smile bigger.
‘Yes, they make a lovely couple. And yes, their kids will be genetic masterpieces. Yada yada yada. And they’ll both have to keep working forever to pay for the psychiatric help they’ll need,’ Gee grumbled as he slouched next to her. ‘So, when do we get to the drinks? I need something to numb my pain. You promised me a free bar when you dragged me along to this.’
Emma could feel her smile slip from smug to exasperated. She should’ve known what she was getting into inviting Gee as her plus one to the wedding. Weddings alone were enough to make him snippy and judgemental but when you added in the celebrity factor it made him exponentially worse. Celebrity things always rubbed him up the wrong way and made him cranky.
‘There!’ She tore her gaze away from the picture-perfect scene that she’d helped to create and pointed to the tuxedo-clad waiters who were starting to pour out of the stately home venue carrying silver trays replete with full champagne flutes. They looked like a black and white tsunami, the sun glinting off the crystal as they came down the ‘so-green-it-looked-fake’ lawn.
‘At bloody last,’ Gee stood up straighter, pushed his sunglasses back up his nose and headed to cut off the nearest unsuspecting server.
Emma watched him stride away.
The long lean lines of his back shifting under his tailored suit jacket. His legs eating up the ground easily, the muscles on his thighs bunching and releasing under the material…
No.
She looked away, and held a hand to her cheek.
Damn this weather. She hoped that her make up wouldn’t melt.
She glanced back at Gee – the waiter he grabbed the glasses from was blushing and staring at him as if he were a god. He had that effect on everyone, she needed to give herself a break. She was only human, and although she should be immune to his general hotness after ten years, there was something about him in a suit… It made him look like her perfect man. As if he could be that ideal partner she’d imagined. The one she had subsequently written a full page of bullet points listing his attributes and which she kept in her planning file. But, she thought, looking at him, it was an illusion; he wasn’t that ‘ever after’ man, he was Gee. She wanted calm and ordered, not emotional ups and downs.
Bloody hell, this must be a good wedding if it made her resurrect her Gee crush. The heavy, overwhelming smell of roses causing her brain to short circuit and making her want to believe in the fairy tales she told the general public for her job. No, her Gee crush, which had lasted until midway through their first term at uni, had been dead and gone for almost a decade. Now, he was her best friend and flatmate. Anything else was not part of the plan. She didn’t need the mess of being with someone who believed in living in the moment or someone who had opinions on everything she did. No, everyone had to stay in their assigned roles.
That was the way the world worked.
She took a deep breath to steady herself.
Definitely no mess in her life – she wanted everything tied up in a bow, the t’s crossed and the i’s dotted. A perfectly realised strategy that would roll out with no blips. Just like this wedding.
Emma smiled. She couldn’t help it.
To quote Hannibal Smith, she loved it when a plan came together.
Who would’ve thought that nine months ago, this relationship had been a bullet point on one of her PowerPoint presentations.
Take one semi-famous actor who wanted to raise his profile. Add a singer from a now defunct girl band. Mix together in a PR relationship, a fauxmance. Make sure there are multiple pap walks and public dates. Make sure there is a cute relationship portmanteau name, or a ‘ship’ name, that the media picks up on and that can be hashtagged. Include soppy social media posts written by their PR team, and quite brilliantly if she did say so herself. She’d been especially proud of the little nicknames she’d told them to give each other. And it all added up to both their profiles shooting up exponentially.
The actor had new jobs flooding in and the singer got a solo deal plus some TV presenting.
A-plus, happy clients, happy managers.
But who would’ve thought the fake snuggling would turn to real snuggling? And suddenly there were engagement announcements and weddings to plan.
Damn, she was good at her job.
‘You’re looking smug again. Stop it.’ He said in her ear.
She ignored the slight shiver it always gave her when he did that, and elbowed him in his side.
‘Oi, watch it. You almost made me spill the drinks.’ He stepped back to make sure nothing splashed on either of them.
‘I can’t help it,’ she grabbed the glass from his hand and took a sip. ‘I’m happy.’
‘For a product of divorce, you are remarkably chilled around the smug marrieds,’ he said, using his height to look round them at the wedding guests who were huddling together in pastel coloured groups.
‘My parents had a very happy divorce,’ Emma said, ‘as well you know.’
And it