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

You’ve been acting weird ever since I got off the plane. You’re distant, quiet, most of the time you’re staring into space. I had to repeat your name three times yesterday just to get you to pass the salad dressing. And don’t tell me it’s work. You’ve always been a workaholic, but you’ve never passed up movie night with me before. So spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill,” I replied. “Look at our house. It’s turned into a circus. Literally. The carnival rides are sitting on our lawn, every day another batch of vendors comes to set something up, we’ve got a petting zoo, for crying out loud. A petting zoo!”

“They’ve brought the animals already?”

“No. But it’s here. On our property. With bales of hay everywhere.”

“Let me take care of the vendors,” she pleaded. “I like organizing events. I could get one of those headsets like stage managers use.”

“It’s ruining Christmas.”

“Nothing’s going to ruin Christmas. Just chill.”

I huffed and rolled my eyes. “I’ll chill when Pirates closes.”

“Don’t tell me a romp with Gilbert and Sullivan is stressful. You’ve always loved that show.”

“Just some personality clashes, nothing to write home about.”

“What? Some overblown egos in the cast?”

“Something like that.” There were two strong personalities at the theatre I wished to avoid. One was Jorge, but I was determined to never mention his name in Georgia’s presence again. The other was Beth. Unfortunately, nothing I did to avoid her did any good. She was still there in my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to forget her. I sighed like the pathetic fool I was and sank further into the pillows under my arms. It was actually pretty comfortable.

“Wait a minute.” Georgia narrowed her eyes on me and put on her Sherlock face. “It’s a girl, isn’t it? You’re twitterpated.”

“Twitterpated? Who says twitterpated anymore? Have we inadvertently stepped into the Hundred Acre Wood?”

“Maybe,” she said, stroking her chin. “Or another Disney movie. The one where you’re the Beast.”

“I’m not the Beast,” I said. “I’m the clock. Sensible. Practical. On time.”

“I still think you should have been considered for that movie.”

“Can we change the subject?” I exclaimed impatiently.

She wiggled her brows and grinned fiercely.

“Are we circling back to the Christmas present conversation? Because I’ve had my eye on a certain pair of shoes.”

I was almost tempted to give in to the idea. I didn’t want to think about Beth anymore. And I certainly wasn’t twitterpated. I could simply tell Georgia what I ordered her for Christmas, and the excitement alone would render her speechless. Hint: It wasn’t a pair of shoes.

She batted her eyes while she waited for my reply. “I could send you the link and act surprised when I open them.”

Her stare down wore on me. “Or…” She smirked. “You could tell me her name.”

I hated this game. The mere fact she was my baby sister gave her an unfair advantage. She was ahead of me from the cute factor alone. I was a total wuss.

“Elizabeth,” I admitted with a sigh. It was impossible to keep secrets from my sister, but I didn’t count on feeling such a relief in saying it aloud. Elizabeth. It was just a name. One word. But it was a weight on my chest that suddenly felt lighter with my sister sharing the load.

A giant grin formed over Georgia’s face. I swore her teeth occupied her entire head. She wasn’t making this easy for me.

“Elizabeth,” she repeated, taking the name out for a test drive. “Elizabeth Darcy.”

“Whoa. Stop right there. Personality clashes. That’s all I admit to.”

“Yeah? Well, you can’t see your face right now. It’s bright red.”

I did have an overpowering sensation of heat on my head. A layer of sweat formed on my scalp. I told myself it was only because Georgia interrogated me. I’d perform horribly on a lie detector test. Yes, Officer. It was a crime of passion. Guilty on account of trying to function in society while twitterpated.

“You want to go out for ice cream?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“Does this Elizabeth live in an ice cream shop?”

“Not that I know of.”

“And what’s the natural habitat of this Elizabeth creature? If I were to go looking for one. Asking for a friend.”

Where would one go looking for an Elizabeth if one were on the hunt? Not that I was. The theatre company was on Christmas break. I should have been happy about that. I had my sister with me. That was a good thing. Then why was I making her visit miserable by my sour disposition? Maybe if I did go into the wild jungles of Beth’s habitat (AKA Lucas Lodge) I could get her out of my system. I just needed a reminder how much she drove me crazy. A few days away from her snarky scowls and witty repartee, and I was already forgetting that irrational desire to suddenly jump off a cliff. I read somewhere the best way to discourage kids from smoking is to expose them to too much of it, therefore giving them an aversion to it. Maybe that would work for me.

“We could go to the Scoop Deck and take Lady with us,” I said, trying to deflect her questioning. “She likes the strawberry gelato.”

“You’re going to get this dog sick.” She bent down and scooped Lady from the rug at her feet. “Poor baby.”

She was overreacting. Lady was only allowed the drippings. But those big, brown eyes would watch every movement of the ice cream cone with a silent wish it would tumble out of my hands and into her waiting mouth.

“Suit yourself,” I said, getting up from the couch.

“Where are you going?”

“To get some ice cream.”

I threw both pillows at her head, careful not to hit Lady, and padded across the room towards the door. I wasn’t going for ice cream. Not unless they served butter pecan at Lucas Lodge.

“We’re not done with this conversation, big brother,” Georgia hollered to me as I retreated from the room. “I require answers.”

So did I,