The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(106)
“Thank you for not completely vilifying Henrietta in the film script,” she said quietly, and turned to look up at Griff.
“In Violet and Billy’s story, Henrietta was the antagonist.” Griff smoothed back Freddy’s hair, his touch very gentle. “And she made some extremely questionable choices. But she wasn’t a villain. It’s the same with everyone, isn’t it? We’re all a hundred different things at once. A different person to everyone who knows us. And there are very few people we’ll ever love and trust enough to let them have—well, as much of the whole of ourselves as another person can know.”
Their hands twisted together.
Her words were still barely a thread of sound when she said, “I think you let me know you.”
“Yes.” His brief response was a murmur against her mouth as he kissed her.
The easy passion between them flared hot and...well, hard, and Freddy dragged enough of her mind back to remember where they were. “I think we’d better hit the pause button until we get home,” she muttered into the kiss.
He lifted his head with a muffled sound. “Stop pushing your hips into me, then.”
Teasing, she gave him one last nudge with her pelvis. “‘Is that a ring in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?’”
It was a direct quote from Anathorn, and she expected Griff to recognise it.
She did not expect every muscle in his body to go stiff.
Pulling away, frowning, she looked up into his face, and her breath caught. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”
“Freddy. Jesus.” Griff rested his hands on his hips and glowered down at her. For the most part, he was a dedicated film producer now, but at this moment: full-on Grumpy Critic in the house. “There’s candlelight and champagne waiting at home. I was not planning to ask you in an attic. Albeit a very nicely decorated attic.”
“Oh my God.” She’d turned into a stuck record, and her hand went to her mouth as, with an enormously resigned expression, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a light blue, appropriately velvet box. When he opened it, the moonlight had something else to sparkle on.
And it was fucking huge.
“Frederica Carlton.”
“Well, that’s not a good start, is it?”
“For fuck’s sake, Freddy.” Griff looked more annoyed than ever.
“Better.” Finally managing to draw in a deep, shaking breath, Freddy shoved her left hand at him, and he caught it automatically.
“There was a little more to come.”
“Oh, sorry.” She started to pull her hand away, but he held on, and reluctantly, his grin broke through.
He shook his head, then cupped the back of hers and tugged her up on her tiptoes to smack a hard kiss on her mouth. “Oh, fuck it. I love you like hell, you brilliant, beautiful, exasperating woman.” Her eyes stung when she realised that the hand holding the ring box was ever so slightly unsteady. “You’re the light of my life, and I can’t imagine a future without your infuriating presence front and centre.”
Freddy held on to his wrist, shaking much harder than he was.
The hand on her head moved to her cheek, and Griff’s thumb rubbed gently. “Marry me?”
Her response was very simple. “Yes, please.”
He kissed her again, then broke away to press his lips to the sensitive spot on her neck, where he spoke in a tone so ardent and husky that she didn’t initially register the words. “We’ll bring it full circle. You can walk down the aisle to Springsteen.”
He twisted away from the swift movement of her foot, and she remembered that she’d once wondered what he would look like when he laughed.
Diamonds in the moonlight had nothing on it.
To find out about other books by Lucy Parker, and to sign up for her newsletter to be alerted to new releases, please visit Lucy’s website at www.lucyparkerfiction.com.
This just in: romance takes center stage as West End theatre’s Richard Troy steps out with none other than castmate Elaine Graham.
Read on for an excerpt from
Act Like It
by Lucy Parker.
Chapter One
London Celebrity @LondonCelebrity. 10h
West End actor Richard Troy throws scene (and a plate) at the Ivy...goo.gl/Pr2Hax
Almost every night, between nine and ten past, Lainie Graham passionately kissed her ex-boyfriend. She was then gruesomely dead by ten o’clock, stabbed through the neck by a jealous rival. If she was scheduled to perform in the weekend matinee, that was a minimum of six uncomfortable kisses a week. More, if the director called an extra rehearsal or the alternate actor was ill. Or if Will was being a prat backstage and she was slow to duck.
It was an odd situation, being paid to publicly snog the man who, offstage, had discarded her like a stray sock. From the perspective of a broken relationship, the theatre came up trumps in the awkward stakes. A television or film actor might have to make stage love to someone they despised, but they didn’t have to play the same scene on repeat for an eight-month run.
From her position in the wings, Lainie watched Will and Chloe Wayne run through the penultimate scene. Chloe was practically vibrating with sexual tension, which wasn’t so much in character as it was her default setting. Will was breathing in the wrong places during his monologue; it was throwing off his pacing. She waited, and—