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

his brooding glower. I was sure there was a Hollywood Masterclass for that. Smoldering for the Camera 101 and A.P. Bedroom Eyes. I was both relieved and dampened to find no trace of him for the course of the day.

When I casually brought up the subject to Jorge, he grinned smugly and said, “He’s the one who should be avoiding me. I have every right to be here.” Of course I would never suggest Jorge not come to work, so I don’t know where that came from. Perhaps he felt threatened by Will’s influence over Stella. He certainly spent enough time in her office.

I concluded my visit to the scene shop with an invitation to my parents’ house for barbecue on Sunday. I quickly amended that it wasn’t a date or a ‘meet the parents’ kind of situation.

“My mom just wants to see what you look like with your clothes on,” I joked. Casting my eyes over his shirtless torso, I added, “And so do I, for that matter.” To ease him of any possible apprehension, I informed him I’d invited a few other friends and that Sunday barbecues at my house were totally casual.

“My dad marinates the tri-tip all weekend,” I said in an attempt to allure him. “And my mom buys cheap prosecco.”

“How could I resist?” He grinned, brushing my chin with his thumb. “And it’s not because of the free food.”

My toes curled at the contact. This was a guy who didn’t need to take a Bedroom Eyes Masterclass. He was a natural, and I was afraid I’d be in big trouble if I wasn’t careful. I had to protect the friend zone at all costs.

“Stop by the rehearsal studio later on,” I said as I walked away. “You’re gonna love our new choreographer.”

He did come to watch our dance rehearsal in the afternoon, but he didn’t stay for long. If he was looking for a laugh, Colin wasn’t one to disappoint. I just wished Jorge could have stuck around a little longer to experience the drama. But after only a few minutes, he bristled at something Colin said (probably all his bragging about Rosings Institute of Dance) and abruptly left.

It turned out I was the only one to bring pointe shoes. I begged Jane to let me take hers, even though they were too big for me.

“I won’t even put them on,” I pleaded. “I just want to bring them with me. Like show and tell.”

I didn’t know how to dance in pointe shoes per se, but that wasn’t even on Colin’s radar. He was too busy throwing a fit about everybody else’s unpreparedness.

“Never have I ever,” he spat, “in all my years at Rosings Institute of Dance under the patronage of Catherine de Bourgh…” (he loved to name drop and quite often) “have I seen such incompetence. Did I not instruct you all to bring pointe shoes today?”

Holly timidly raised her hand as if she were in grade school. “None of us are trained on point. We could get injured.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. I imagined if he were a Sith Lord, she’d be dead by now. But he growled and with a flip of his chiffon scarf, stormed out of the rehearsal studio.

“That’s why they call this the cry room,” chirped Lydia from behind my shoulder.

“What?”

“The cry room,” she repeated. “There have been many a tear shed in this room, from firing actors I suppose.”

“I’ve never heard that before.” I laughed. “You're making this up.”

She nodded her little head with energy, but Holly disputed her. “No, no, Lettuce. They call this the cry room because someone actually died in here and now, it’s haunted. Sometimes, late at night, a melancholy wailing can be heard coming from this room, but when theatre staff come to investigate it, the lights flicker, and the crying person cannot be found.”

She shuddered at the idea and crossed herself even though she wasn’t Catholic.

“You two are being ridiculous,” I exclaimed. “No one’s getting fired, and there are no ghosts.”

“Actually…” a girl spoke up, one of the altos I didn’t know very well. “All theatres are haunted.” Her name, I believe, was Mariah, and I sometimes would see her with Caroline—whenever Caroline wasn’t hanging all over Will. Since there was no Will today, it was Caroline and Mariah for the win.

Yay.

Lydia, who hated Caroline, didn’t seem to have a problem with Mariah and nodded in agreement. “That’s actually true,” she said. “The Majestic on Broadway is haunted. That’s a fact. And all the actors at Her Majesty’s Theatre in London confirm the ghost that lives there will sometimes tap someone on the shoulder.”

“A ghost that taps people on the shoulder?” I rolled my eyes. “Lydia—I mean Lettuce—both those theatres house Phantom of the Opera. It’s a publicity gimmick having an Opera Ghost in real life—or death, depending on how you look at it.”

Holly, Lydia, and Mariah all grumbled at my disbelief and agreed amongst themselves to ask Stella when they saw her next. Surely, Stella would have heard the Wailing Ghost, as they now called it, and she’d settle this dispute.

Colin’s return saved me from any more kooky stories. He was calmer but still had unrest simmering beneath the surface. “We shall dance on demi-pointe today,” he said through his teeth. “But I want to see those relevés high.”

For the rest of the day, we were treated to more of his tantrums whereby he would drill the choreography into us until we begged for mercy, pout if we asked for a bathroom break, and waste an immeasurable amount of time bragging about his accomplishments at Rosings or lecturing the philosophies of the Fordyce Ballet Company. He spent a half hour straight preaching on the virtues of a wide turnout. Then he showered all the girls with compliments, admitting he’d taken the time to rehearse a few lines of delicate flattery so we might feel encouraged to dance better. He batted his eyes as he said this, and I noticed his