Page 77 of The Great British Bachelor Chase

“The Jane Austen of it all?” I finish for him.

He nods. “Yes. That’s it. Sorry.”

Reeve gives a nod, clearly relieved. “How about we chalk it up to method acting and never mention it again?”

“Much obliged,” Hugo says gratefully, and gets in the car. I’m about to follow, when Reeve looks past us, back to the plane. “Where’s Suit Guy?”

I gulp. “He’s sorting a few things out, up in Scotland,” I lie, my heart aching. “He’ll be down soon enough, I’m sure.”

“And he’s still covering with the studio brass?” Reeve checks. “We only lost a day’s shooting, and we can chalk that up to the Great Seafood Debacle—” He pauses to gag, and hold his stomach. “I think I’m going to… No, false alarm, I’m good.”

He slides into the backseat, asking loudly about seltzer water.

“Shouldn’t he still be in bed?” I ask Hazel.

She rolls her eyes. “You try keeping him from behind his camera. He’ll pull through. And now we have our Darcy back, everything’s OK.” She squeezes my arm, smiling. “You did it, JJ. You’re our hero! I don’t know how you pulled it off, but you single-handedly just saved this whole movie!”

I nod along numbly. I may have saved the movie, but I don’t feel like any kind of hero.

When I remember leaving Fraser there in the driveway… All I feel is lost.

We head backto the hotel, which is bustling tonight: A bunch of the crew are hanging out in the lobby, watching an American football match on the big TV. They greet Hugo, friendly, when we all walk in. “Mr. Darcy’s back in action! Feeling better, mate?” one asks. Clearly, our flu story has stuck. Nobody’s any the wiser that Hugo’s been in a whole other country for the past few days, and not tucked up in bed, right here.

“Yes, tons better. Thanks!” Hugo quickly offers.

“Good to see you up and about again.”

“Talk about a rough start to production, eh Reeve?”

Reeve barks a nervous laugh. “Rough? Not at all. What are you talking about? It’ll be smooth sailing from here. Or smooth riding, if you guys get that carriage running the way I need.”

“First thing tomorrow,” they promise. “No worries.”

Reeve turns to Hugo. “Tired? No? Good. We need you in wardrobe fittings, then I’m going to grab Sophia so we can rehearse tomorrow’s scenes. You have a five a.m. call time, so it’s going to be a late one, but there’s no time to spare…”

He drags Hugo off, while I wander back to my room in a daze.

Mission: accomplished.

Was it really only a week ago that Fraser barged into that bathroom and caught me stark naked? I feel like I’ve lived a whole lifetime in the past eight days.

I sink down on the embroidered bedspread and look around the room. Quaint beams, antique rug… It’s all English and charming, just the way I left it, but my mind is a million miles away. Back in a warm, cluttered cottage in Inverness, wrapped up in Fraser’s safe embrace as the rain falls outside the bedroom windows.

I miss him.

Fuck. I already miss him so much it hurts.

So why are you pushing him away?

There’s a light tap on my door. “Come in,” I sigh, dragging my attention back to the present.

Hazel pokes her head around. “How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“Liar.” She smiles, stepping into the room. “I come bearing gifts,” she adds, holding up a pizza box. “It’s not exactly deep dish, Chicago-style, but the Brits make a valiant effort.”

“Thanks.” I muster a smile. “But I’m not hungry.”

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