Move to England…  check

Visit everything Jane Austen… check

Get engaged… that went spectacularly horrible.

Mr. Wrong was sleeping with my ex-flatmate and they ran off to be married.

But I had my flat, my fun and I’d sworn I’d be fine… And then Mr. Scottish Seducer showed up.

Now I’m making a new list of everything wrong with Charlie Grannd.

1. He kisses like the devil is here for me.
2. He makes my ex upset.
3. He sees right through me.

Beep. 

Even this list must be wrong. He’s arrogant, bossy, and demanding. 

My pulse shouldn’t race.

There is absolutely no way we’d ever get together.

And when it happened once, it must be a one time thing, right?

Scottish business can’t be trusted, but what happened when we can’t stop and I stop writing my diary? Honestly I didn’t see happily-ever-after possible.

Stephanie Steel

London smelled a little wet, and I couldn’t quite see the sun, but honestly, I kept my chin up. Pittsburgh wasn’t much better in the spring. Days upon days of misty rain have always been my normal.

So I kept my head up and strode into Pure Industries and up to the third floor, where I now worked in acquisitions. Well, “worked” was probably a strong word for what I did, but someone needed to keep files and paperwork in order.

One day, maybe I’d head home and settle down, but I wasn’t ready. Here, so close to the amazing world where Jane Austen lived and wrote her wonderful novels, my life was almost exactly what I’d always wanted: living as much as possible in the Regency era.

The Jane Austen ball in Bath had been amazing, as always.

And my role on the committee for next year was to entice more Americans to visit. So I’d finally cracked into the upper echelons of my fandom and was now running an important project.

This was why I lived in London. The job was just to pay the bills so I could spend my fun time in Jane Austen’s world.

That morning, I was busy typing away at my desk, quite sure the past was never coming back to haunt me. But at noon, my sister in Pittsburgh, who always called as soon as she woke up, rang like clockwork, despite having just returned from her honeymoon.

After “hellos”, Olivia immediately asked, “How was the masked ball?”

Good thing it was lunchtime. I took my phone to the break room no one used, partly because of the refrigerator born to a different generation of people and no windows.

I slumped into the plastic seat, propped my elbows on the nondescript white table, and said, “I’ll have to spend a week mending that rip in my last good costume.”

But the ball had been amazing, especially when I was named to join the committee. I’d been attending for five years now, and finally my years of volunteering had been acknowledged with an assignment. For ten days in Bath, thousands of people wore costumes and pretended we lived in a world of whist card games, and where one dance alone might take a half an hour.

London was my base because my friends and I easily slipped into our fandom and wore our hand-stitched dresses with glee. I was determined that next year my muslin gown would be a masterpiece of brand-new fabric and cunning needlework.

Olivia asked, “Do you need anything?”

Never cry at family weddings, even if I’m the only single one left. For now I checked the door to make sure no one was listening and said, “I’m great. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Olivia’s voice was calm when she said, as usual, “You don’t have to pretend. We can wire you money until that new roommate shows up.”

Damn. I thought my day was going great. No one—till now—had brought up my failures, but this was one step closer to reminding me that I absolutely had to mail back the diamond ring.

Ann, my ex-roommate, and Richard, my ex-fiancé, needed to stay the hell away from me. I might prefer to behave like a lady of old, but cheating was cheating, and I half wanted to toss them both in the Atlantic Ocean, never to be seen again.

I let out a sigh and said, “I’ll be fine. I’m not a charity case just because my ex left.”

Olivia tsked—a sound she must have perfected when she was a teacher, before she married a billionaire doctor. “Don’t be prideful. One day soon, you’ll find a good man of your own.”

I rolled my eyes. Enough of this nonsense. “Because every woman must want a husband.”

She laughed at me. “Falling for the wrong British guy is no excuse for misquoting Jane Austen.”

Right. The same island that created Richard also gave me the men of my dreams. Mr. Darcy. Mr. Knightly. Colonel Brandon. Mr. Bingley. And, of course, Edward Ferrars.

Jane Austen never created the brawny, cowboy-type hero in her novels that changed my life. Instead, her heroes were all charming, sweet, misunderstood men with faults but also greatness.

My sister knew exactly when to bring up the Wisdom of Jane Austen, so I let out a sigh and said, “You’re right. Well, lunch is almost over, so I should get going. A new boss is coming in today, and I don’t want him to find me in the lunchroom talking about husbands and weekend costumes.”

Real life never measured up to my dreams, but I headed back to my desk and my boss, Margot Fletcher, ten years my senior, who liked to pretend she’s upper management because she finally got her degree. She waved me over to her desk before I even reached mine.

I adjusted my boring, black, size-twelve skirt that went to my knees…careful not to give her a reason to pick on my clothes…and scurried over. The second I approached, she said, “There you are, Stephanie.”

I steeled my spine as best as I could. Sure, my last name is Steel, but I’m not like my strong sisters. I’m the one with my nose in a book, and I never knew how to talk to Margot on the days she’s been rejected for a promotion. Hopefully, that wasn’t today, but I took a breath, ignored the spike in my pulse, and asked, “Did something happen?”

She gave me a curt nod, like she was telling me something important I probably should already know and said, “The new boss isn’t coming today.”

I sighed out the breath backed up in my lungs and forced a bigger smile. “Oh, good. I wasn’t ready for more drama in my life.”

She rolled her eyes at me like I was an idiot. I managed to ignore the knots in my stomach from her reprimand until she said, “We need you to take the train up to Scotland and drive his car back.”

Our billionaire CEO, whose papers I filed all day, every day, now thought he’d send me – a file clerk with no office – to pick up his car and drive it to London.

“Chauffeur” wasn’t in my job description, so I asked, “Why can’t he use a courier service?”

Her eyes widened. “Because he has you.”

I crossed my arms like this job was beneath me. “I’m a clerk here.”

She handed me a manila folder. “And he’s the founder and CEO, and he’s paying.”

I lowered my arms. This wasn’t the worst thing in my life. I’d drive a nice car for a few hours and then head home. I opened the envelope to find directions, a set of keys, and tickets with a one-night hotel stay, as I said, “Okay. Thanks.”

I headed to my desk and read my job description. At least this paid a bonus. Margot Fletcher probably didn’t want this gig because she’d rather go home to her family once the day ended.

Actually, the money was enough to pay the rent until I found a new roommate. So I nodded to reassure myself that all would be well. I’d soon fix my immediate problem with only one night’s work.

Margot even let me out an hour early so I might pack. I practically bounced as I strode to the Tube then got off at my stop, humming as I walked along until I made it to my flat.

Someone had left a key in the door.

My heart raced. Burglars don’t use keys, so I didn’t run away. Instead, I pushed on the half-open door. I heard panting and my ears burned in recognition. I half backed out, then remembered that these days I lived alone. Adrenaline rushed in my veins the second I saw the ass with a star on its right cheek. Then man who’d broken my damn heart months ago. I’d believed he was my other half, my pretend best friend who’d enjoyed the Jane Austen reenactments and bought his own costumes.

A moment later, the perky breasts of my former roommate followed him out and they both stared at me.

Heat swamped my cheeks and I swallowed. Unlike them, I was in my bones an American, and I wasn’t going to abandon the small place I called home. So I ignored my goose bumps and pretended I was heartless like them.  “Richard? Ann? I thought you both left for Belgium.”

I put my bag down and snatched my water bottles out of their hands. They hadn’t paid for anything here in weeks.

Ann covered herself a little and said quickly, “I came to get my things. I didn’t think you’d be home.”

My sister, Indigo, would read them the riot act if she was me. I put the waters back and wished I was as strong as Indigo when I said, “So you thought, ‘let’s fuck one more time in the old bed that we no longer pay for’?”

Richard placed his hand on my shoulder. “Stephanie, don’t be jealous.”

Ann went to her old room.

I smacked his hand off me. “I’m so not.”

I bolted to the door, got Ann’s old key, and slapped it down on my table. “You’ve had your fun in my place, so get the fuck out.”

My heart hammered as Richard sneered at me.

“That’s not polite.”

Ann tossed his pants at him. I didn’t move at all except to fold my arms and say, “I’m not British. Now go, and never darken my doorstep again.”

While Richard finished dressing, I noticed Ann was clutching a small box of things I’d ignored when I’d decided not to hurl everything she owned out the window at them. Back when I’d found them exactly like this—only that time, I was wearing his ring.

This time, he had the gall to say, “You know, you could have joined us.”

My stomach twisted. “Eeeeww.” But then I held up my hand and said, “One moment.” I darted to my apparently untouched room, grabbed the ring box, darted back out, and tossed it at him, saying, “Now Ann gets all my worthless things.”

Well, that wasn’t true. I’d almost pawned it for 500 pounds to pay this month’s rent, but the universe rescued me just this morning.

They left and my entire body burned for minutes after I heard the door shut. Once I calmed down, I packed my overnight bag.

In another life, this trip would be the adventure where I met a great guy and laughed at my ridiculous year, but my dreams were usually just that. Silly dreams I’d written in my diary that never came true.

Once I finished packing, I glanced around my small abode and deflated a bit. I once imagined traveling across the globe and finding adventure while I danced La Boulangère, a dance Jane mentioned in Pride and Prejudice. However, most of the people at the events were already coupled, and men my age just weren’t into the novels like I was.

So I called one of my friends who might understand, since the four of us, minus Ann, roomed together every year for the ten days as the American regulars of the Austen world in Bath. My friend answered on the first ring.

“Amelia,” I said. “Can we go get a beer before my train ride?”

Her very upper-class, New England, nasal voice that somehow blended with the London accent more easily than the rest of us relaxed me with the first syllable. “You’re going on a train ride? To where?”

I might have been born in Pittsburgh, but my soul belonged here. I double-checked to make sure I had my ticket and all the contents of my manila envelope in my bag as I said, “Scotland. I’m to drive the new boss’s car to London.”

Right, and she had zero idea what happened to me today.

I glanced out the window and saw the light rain fall in the evening sky as she said, “Seriously? That’s horrible.”

No one was on the street tonight pushing baby carriages or carrying groceries. It was unusually quiet because of the rain as I said, “Not all of us are journalists. And I need that beer, desperately.”

“Why? What happened?”

I tugged my ear and rushed back into my room to put on a small necklace as I said, “Richard and Ann were in my flat.”

“You’re joking.”

I adjusted my mother’s favorite small gold daisy pendant that she gave me shortly before she died and said, “They were both naked.”

“I’ll be right there and meet you at the bar.”

Perfect. I grabbed my toothbrush and now my backpack was stuffed. The tension in my shoulders and gut dissipated as I headed out.

While I hadn’t expected to see either one of those cheaters ever again, I was glad to have my key back. Now when I interviewed people to replace Ann, I’d have the original key to offer, and wouldn’t have to worry about her showing up and causing more trouble.

Hopefully, the next round of potentials would work out better.

I was almost in good spirits by the time I swung into the pub, where we reenacted Regency era dining protocols just as often as we simply sat and talked. I headed to our table but threw my arms open when I saw my besties all together. I squeezed each of them as I said, “Charlotte, Amelia, Sophia. I wasn’t expecting everyone.”

Sophia, my friend closest to my sister’s stand-up-for-herself personality, said, “We’re your squad, Stephanie.”

I plopped into my chair while Charlotte ordered me a beer. I put my bag down and said, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I took the beer as Amelia, the slightly neurotic planner of our group, asked, “What kind of car does your boss drive?”

I shrugged. I hadn’t bothered to notice whether there was a symbol on a key in my bag. Charlotte bumped me playfully and asked, “So when you go to Scotland, will you see Charlie Grannd in person?”

I sipped my beer. Friends made everything better. And the Guinness was good here. “Probably not,” I said. “He’s either surrounded by barely-legal females or spending an obscene amount of money to do something outrageous that no one in their right mind would do.”

Sophia clinked glasses with me. “Still, he’d be an amazing revenge fuck.”

I chuckled and shook my head. “I don’t need that.”

Amelia spoke for all of them. “Yeah, you do. Since you flew home from your sister’s wedding you’ve been…sad. Time to stop being pathetic and get out there.”

I gulped a little of my beer. Friends were good, but I missed how my sisters always watched out for me, though they were all married and had their own families now. As I took another sip, I gazed into the brew and said, “I suppose. But I don’t want just any man between my thighs. I want…Mr. Fucking Darcy.”

Charlotte asked, “What is your fantasy guy in real life like, exactly?”

Good question. I swallowed and imagined all the movie actors who played my favorite heroes. Then they all sort of melded and dissipated as I spoke, “He’s intelligent. Blows-my-mind intelligent.”

Sophia sat back and snapped her fingers. “So you want a nerd?”

She’d have set me up in a day with someone horrible, probably with glasses, who spent 24/7 slouched in front of his laptop.

I fiddled with my necklace, wishing I still had my mom as I said, “No. He has to be brainy, but also resourceful and chasing his dream. He’s absolutely not Richard or the rich and entitled Charlie Grannd.”

Finally, the conversation turned away from my recent horrible choices. I finished my beer but then the clock tolled on the wall.

“Ooops!” My job awaited. I jumped up, slung on my backpack, and waved goodbye. Amelia got up to walk me out and said, “You’ve had a long day. Don’t sleep through your stop.”

While the nice buzz in my head silenced all the doubts that usually circled, I took out my phone and showed her my steady hand. “I’m fine, and alert enough to set my phone on alarm.”

“See you tomorrow.” She kissed my cheek.

I saluted her like this was the Army and said, “Absolutely. We’ll do respectable wine tomorrow night.”

The rain that pattered on my face and arms didn’t matter. I was on my way to Scotland. A few hundred years ago, this sort of trip was made by couples wanting to escape and elope, but no one was in love with me.

Probably no one ever would be. I’d have to settle for moving on, and hopefully save enough funds to adopt my own children. It wasn’t a bad plan, especially since it was all I had left, other than writing in my diary until I passed out for a few hours.