This past weekend, I finished the first draft of my yet-untitled retelling of Jane Austen’s Emma (hooray!). In this version, Emma Woodhouse (or Brit Byers) is a socialite and daughter of former rock star and current music club owner Lonnie Byers.
Here’s a sample of one of the first scenes in the book:
Brit was supposed to go on a date today, but all she could think about at the moment was what happened last night.
She had somehow gotten home and somehow gotten in bed. She didn’t know who had gotten her there, but whoever it was, they had also stripped off her jumpsuit.
Oh crap. Had she peed in the jumpsuit? Barbara had warned her that wearing a jumpsuit was a bad idea, but Brit hadn’t listened. A hot up-and-coming designer had sent it to her, and she was determined to wear it. She wasn’t exactly sample sized, but she liked how the jumpsuit hugged her hips.
The jumpsuit, which Brit was pretty sure she was supposed to return to the designer, was balled up in the corner of her bedroom, feet away from the hamper. Who couldn’t even hit the hamper? She sat up gingerly and pressed her fingers into her temples to sooth the throbbing in her head. Her ears were still ringing from the pumping bass the DJ had been spinning.
Who the heck had tried to roofie her, and who had saved her? She hoped she was saved although by her current state of undress, she couldn’t be sure. Hopefully it was Daisy who had undressed her. Or maybe Lander had called Barbara to come get Brit. That would be the ideal situation.
Brit’s ears pricked painfully as something crashed outside of her bedroom. Her body jolted, and she pulled her comforter around her shoulders, shrouding herself completely in down feathers and satin. Please don’t let it be a rapist, please don’t let it be a rapist, she chanted to herself. Her eyes darted around the room, praying that she would spot her phone, but it was nowhere to be found. She couldn’t climb out the window—her apartment was too high off the ground.