The Proposal Laughbox (Laughbox Boxed Sets Book 2) by Julia Kent

Author:Julia Kent [Kent, Julia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-09-12T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

In the time since Declan and Shannon’s wedding, I haven’t gotten a haircut. The professor comes to my apartment this afternoon, exactly one week after our first encounter, for the final fitting and proclaims, “Your countenance suits the character! Dark, angelic hair with a touch of curl about your face. Pity you couldn’t grow out your sideburns enough to give yourself more authenticity.”

I think I paid her too much.

She insists on having me tuck my shirt into the breeches, and uses needle and thread to tighten the waistband, adding a few stitches at the back.

“Is that necessary?” I ask.

She seems offended. “I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t necessary.”

She sounds just like Dad.

By the time I evacuate her from my apartment and take a good look in the mirror, I realize she was right:

I could be a movie actor.

Amanda’s empire-waist dress, a dark beige on top and a billowy white skirt on the bottom, is slung over my arm, with a bonnet on the hanger. If I’m going to court her, she has to play the part, too.

Like it or not.

I arrive at the agreed-upon corner around the block from Amanda’s duplex just as the horse-drawn carriage makes its entrance. I drove here myself, in full costume, and I park the Tesla on the side of the road, hoping Newton is a decent town with low crime.

“Mr. McCormick? Will Sawyers.” The carriage driver is dressed in similar fashion to my own sartorial flair, though Professor Kensley-Wentingham was quite clear that my 1809 suit replica was one that an aristocrat would wear, while the liveryman’s suit was “for one of his station.”

Sniff.

I shake Will’s hand and look at the carriage. A throng of kids stands across the street, gawking. A few adults come out onto their front stoops and curiosity makes a few pull out their phones, snapping pics.

“We need to move fast, before social media beats us to Amanda.”

He doffs his hat and opens the carriage door. It’s an open-air barouche, with a single horse pulling the entire load. Lightweight and made of thick black material with huge metal wheels, it reminds me of a spider in carriage form. Amanda and I will sit next to each other, facing front.

Riding in a horse-drawn carriage along the streets of Newton, Massachusetts is a surprisingly uneventful process until you reach a stoplight. We’re stuck behind two cars, unable to make the quick right turn to go three houses down to find Amanda’s driveway.

“Filming a movie?” someone shouts from a group to our right.

I ignore them.

“Are there zombies? I loved that historical zombie movie!” a kid in a baseball cap screams.

“ZOMBIES!” a little girl shrieks. “I hate zombies!”

She bursts into tears just as the light changes.

“I hate zombies, too!” I call back, fist in the air. “Don’t worry.”

Her startled expression makes me laugh.

At least I don’t have to worry about the pictures finding their way to Jessica’s toxic stream of hatred in 140-character chunks.

A crowd follows, mostly full of pale kids who

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