Ever since Emma Pierce read Pride and Prejudice, she’s been in love with Mr. Darcy and has regarded Jane Austen as the expert on all things romantic. So when it turns out that what her boyfriend Blake wants is more of a hook-up than a honeymoon, Emma is hurt, betrayed, and furious. She throws herself deeper into her work as CMO of Kinetics, only to find her job threatened when her boss brings in a consultant to help her expand the business to the East Coast. Her frustration turns to shock when that consultant turns out to be Blake’s younger brother, Lucas. Emma is determined not to fall for Lucas, but as she gets to know him, she realizes that Lucas is nothing like his brother. He is kind and attentive and spends his time and money caring for the less fortunate. But as perfect as Lucas seems, he clearly has his secrets. After all, there’s an angry woman demanding money from him and a little girl who Lucas feels responsible for. Realizing that her love life is as complicated as anything Jane Austen could have dreamed up, Emma must figure out the truth—and soon—if she wants any hope of writing her own “happily ever after” ending.
About the Author
Julie Wright wrote her first book when she was fifteen, and has since written twenty-three novels. She has a husband, three kids, a dog, and a varying amount of fish, frogs, and salamanders (depending on attrition). She loves writing, reading, traveling, speaking at schools, hiking, playing with her kids, and watching her husband make dinner.
Read an Excerpt
Chapter One "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife."--Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice Jane Austen is a horrific liar. I used to believe that Jane, my Jane, could never be wrong about anything. She was the quintessential authority on all things to do with love, romance, and matrimony. Her complete works were the guidelines and rules I lived my romantic life by: from my first introduction to the Regency period when I'd been fifteen years old, and my best friend's mother begged us to join her in watching the movie Emma-the version with Gwyneth Paltrow in it. How could I not love an author who wrote a book and named it after me? It didn't hurt that I had a lot of the same features as Gwyneth Paltrow: pale blonde hair, pale skin, pale blue eyes. But as I moved into my mid-twenties, and no men ever acted as gallantly as Mr. Knightly or Mr. Darcy, where no one ever called my blue eyes fine or tucked my hair behind my ear, I came to a startling and wretched revelation: Jane never found love. Experience from my collegiate years taught me that it was far better to take advice from people who had walked the walk instead of just talked the talk. Jane died an unmarried woman, which in her day was something disastrous. In my current residence of modern day America, married or not married didn't matter much. But to be unloved . . . that was disastrous. And I spent so much of my time being unloved that I knew something had to change if I wanted a different ending than my once-hero author. I had to stop believing her. The bad thing, the little secret I carried with me all through my liberal education and feminist discussions with my friends as I worked my way to executive levels in my company, was that I loved love. I wanted to be loved and to give love and to fight and make up and smile across the room at the one my heart raced for-smile because I would know he was mine. I wanted it too much and was disappointed too often. Jane and I had to split up. Breaking up with Jane was far worse than breaking up with any boyfriend. I felt as jilted by that lady author from two hundred years ago as I'd ever felt in love. The revelation of Austen-style deceit allowed me to turn my focus to work instead of romance. That shift in focus was how I found myself at the office at the end of a Friday before a holiday weekend instead of chasing ridiculous romantic dreams.