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

of my car and zipped back to retrieve her shoes. I found her little handbag on the ground next to them and quickly returned to Emma, tossing her things in the back. She’d already reclined her seat, her head pressed against the window. As I turned out of the stone drive and onto the street, I had no plan where we’d go but in the end, there was no other choice. It had to be the bungalow. In truth, somehow, I felt it would be safer there instead of her tiny hotel room. Safer for me, anyhow. I could set her up in the guest bedroom and let her sleep it off, whatever it was.

I stole a few glances at her dozing off while I raced down the freeway. She looked almost peaceful, curled up in the bucket seat. The bottom half of her dress was still wet but starting to dry from the heat I put on full blast. The suit jacket I’d draped over her shoulders had begun to slide down, exposing her ivory skin and the rise and fall of her chest when she took a deep breath. Her quiet beauty squeezed my heart even though she looked a bit peaky. If anything, she was lovelier to me in this vulnerable state. It gave me a primal sense of machismo, knowing I’d been the one to rescue her. I was messed up like that. I had no excuse.

A small groan escaped her lips, and she shot up, throwing my jacket off her like it was on fire. She was disoriented, her back ramrod straight, hands clutching on the dashboard.

“We’re almost there, Emma. Lay back down.”

She lifted one finger to shush me and focused on the road to gain her bearings. Whey-faced, she fumbled her trembling fingers along the door, finding the control to roll down the window.

“Are you hot? I’ll shut off the heater.”

I shifted my attention back and forth between the road and Emma, doing my best to stay in my lane, but it was dark, and she had her head hanging out of the car like a dog lapping up air. The next exit was almost a mile ahead and pulling over to the shoulder was too dangerous with so many semi-trucks whizzing by.

“Emma?”

She threw a thumb’s up behind her back. Maybe she just needed some fresh air. Half a mile to the next exit. Her hair blew in all directions, the thundering whum whum whum echoed inside my car from the whistling wind. I considered rolling down my own window just to alleviate some of the noise but really, I just wanted to get off the motorway as quickly as possible.

She didn’t last. In a harrowing defeat, she lurched forward and discharged the contents of her stomach all over the 5 freeway and the side of my car. I heard it splat as it hit the rear passenger window. Somehow, she had the forethought to hold her hair back while she retched forth, tossing her cookies to the wind. Still a quarter mile to the exit, I slowed my speed and rubbed my hand up and down her back, giving what comfort I could while driving. She let her head hang out the window until I pulled into a servo for some towels and a bottle of water.

She assured me after cleaning off that she felt much better. I took side streets the rest of the way to my bungalow, keeping the window cracked while preparing for round two. Fortunately, the projectile demons were exercised right out of her body in the last go.

We arrived at the bungalow without any more excitement, and she stumbled into the house, plonking herself on the sofa.

“No, no,” I said, leading her floppy body down the hallway. “There’s a spare toothbrush and some washcloths in the loo. I’ll get you something to change into.”

I wasn’t about to let her fall asleep in her damp bridesmaid dress, no matter how contented she looked on my sofa. I found a pair of sweatpants and a well-worn t-shirt so she’d be comfortable and set them on the dresser in the guest bedroom. I turned down the bedding, replacing it with fresh sheets and blankets before she emerged from the bathroom. She frowned at the simple accommodations but remained uncharacteristically quiet when I left her to change.

“G’night, Emma.” I kissed her forehead. “Mi casa es tu casa. At least that’s what it says on the doormat.”

She smiled sweetly, standing there in the middle of the room like a lost wet puppy. As I closed the door to give her privacy, I hoped the sickness was behind her. I returned a few minutes later with a bucket, just in case, and tucked her in snug under the covers. I realized by doing so, I was probably fussing over her more than she’d appreciate, but she was far too tired to protest.

“If you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”

I clicked her door shut softly, already hearing an evenness in her breathing. I leaned my forehead against the doorframe, barely able to think with Emma beyond the thin wall, so close and yet so untouchable.

I went through the house, checking all the doors and locks, set the timer on the coffeemaker, and took care of all the various sundry motions I did every night before turning in. Something told me, however, I wouldn’t get much sleep tonight. Not with Emma here.

I brushed my teeth and threw on some drawstring flannel bottoms. Even without a shirt, it was more than I usually wore to bed, but I didn’t want to chance anything should I come across Emma in passing. I also figured I’d check on her in an hour or so.

Before crawling into bed so I could toss and turn and replay the tumultuous weekend in my mind like the tosser I was, I set my mobile to charge. I’d forgotten about it all night, having put it on airplane mode. A few seconds after,