Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

no noise as I rounded the bend next to the hotel. The stone drive, just a drop-off area, curved by covered walkways overlooking the oceanfront. Bougainvillea vines crept up the arches of the rustic pergolas with quaint little benches lining the path. Just beyond that, before wrought-iron fencing prevented a drop down the small bluff, was a rather large fountain adorned in Talavera tiles. But what arrested my attention and had me slamming on the brake along the red curb, was the vision of Emma splashing her feet inside the fountain, the hem of her dress soaked through even though she had it bunched up. I was certain that fountain wasn’t made for swimming, yet part of me wanted to see how far she’d dip inside. It couldn’t have been very deep.

I put my car in park, letting it idle in the red zone, and threw my suit jacket in the backseat. The cool ocean breeze ruffled my shirt collar, sending a shiver across my neck. I looked around to see if Emma was with someone, perhaps cooling off after dancing in that hot banquet hall with Elton. But she was quite alone, having drifted far enough from the party for no one else to notice her splashing in the fountain. She dropped the length of her dress, letting the dusty rose fabric flutter along the surface of the water. She looked like the Lady of the Lake, standing there in the middle of the fountain, knee deep in the water. I took in her form: soft waves framing her face, cheeks flushed and radiant. Thin straps slung over her bare shoulders to keep the enticing dress in place—a dress with dozens of layers of sheer organdie making it seem full and light, ready to sweep her into the air like magical wings on the next gust of wind.

I was definitely writing this scene into my next film. Or perhaps I’d keep it to myself, to let it be something of her that would only be mine. I hadn’t even realized I was at the fountain’s edge until her eyes trailed over me, glassy and distant.

“I can’t feel my face.” She smacked her cheeks to demonstrate, flicking water all over them. I then noticed her flushed skin wasn’t aglow as I’d observed from yards away but was red and blotchy. She wavered on her feet, nearly falling in, but steadied herself on the head of an ornamental stone cherub in the centre of the structure.

“Don’t blink,” she slurred, teetering where she stood.

“I won’t,” I said, reaching out to her. “Come out of the water.”

What had happened in the short amount of time after I left the reception? How did she get like this? She’d been drinking water and apple cider all night. I knew that because I was watching her almost the entire evening, peering through the wedding guests from across the room like a stalker. But I dared not go near her because I didn’t trust myself. Now I realized I should have been by her side if for no other reason than to protect her. And that thought only stabbed at my gut because I knew she didn’t particularly want a helicopter guardian, or whatever the bloody hell I was to her. Friend? Colleague? Proverbial sounding board?

“The angels. They’ll get me if you blink,” she warned, even blinking as she said so.

“I’m not going to let that happen,” I assured her, extending my hand as far as it would allow without plunging into the fountain myself. She made a move toward me, stumbling as she did so and stopped short of my reach, bracing her feet under her shoulders.

“I’m going to hurl.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart. Just come out of the water, and you can hurl to your heart’s content.”

Her expression softened. “Aw, Jax, you say the sweetest things.” She took another step, unsure of her footing, and tumbled forward. I leapt to her, plunging a leg in the water to catch hold of her waist. She landed on my chest, arms draped over my shoulders as she looked up to my face with a helpless expression.

“Your beautiful shoe,” she lamented. “How will you walk?”

“I’ll manage.”

I let her lean into me, tilting her body enough to shift my weight on the leg not currently emerged in cold water, and scooped her up in my arms. Her cool cheek rested on my shoulder, and she let herself meld into my chest as if she belonged there always. If I wasn’t so worried for her, I would have let her hold on forever. Instead, I carried her through the flowered arches and sat down on one of the carved benches, cradling Emma on my lap. I brushed strands of wet hair from her face, tenderly assessing her features. Her skin was cool and clammy, a sheen of sweat forming on her forehead. I wanted to make it go away, carry this burden for her.

“Do you want to throw up now?”

Her eyelashes fluttered as she turned her gaze to me, taking in a fortifying breath.

“No. I feel better now.”

“Okay. Do you want me to take you back to your room?” For the second night in a row, I reminded myself. There was a bit of a pattern here. She squeezed her arms around me tight.

“No. I can’t go back in there.”

Why? What happened in there? I was only gone for eight minutes. I softly stroked her temple, and she sighed, trembling into me. My shoulder ached with the tension, and I remembered I’d left my car running in the red zone. A crisp breeze kicked in, and she shivered. She was wet. I couldn’t let her remain out in the cold.

“Can you walk?”

She nodded, swinging her legs off my lap. I got her into the passenger seat of my Tesla and buckled her in. I had no idea what I’d do with her at this point.

“Where are your shoes?” I asked. She pointed lazily to the fountain. I shut her in the safety