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

sublimely dashing in an Errol Flynn kind of way, and he kissed every single one of the Stanley sisters. Especially Edith. Images of swashbuckling pirates in billowy, open-chested shirts danced in my head like sugar plums. Merry Christmas to me. I amused myself with that thought for maybe three seconds then shook it off when I remembered the uncivilized ogre playing the Pirate King in our production. I stole a quick glance at the movie star to remind myself of my dark and dismal fate and was horrified when his eyes glanced up and caught me staring.

Great.

I’m a professional, I’m a professional, I’m a professional.

I sunk my face deep into my sheet music as though it were the most interesting thing in the universe. As Fitz worked with the tenors on their harmonies, I did my best to look busy.

Avoid contact with every single person here. That was my new motto.

“Oh, gag me,” Lydia exclaimed.

“What now?”

“Kate’s already got her claws in the Pirate King’s britches.”

Lydia already had an intense loathing toward Caroline, the actress cast as Kate, who twirled her hair and laughed as she took the empty seat next to Will. He wasn’t laughing, though. He wasn’t even smiling. Nevertheless, I found it hilarious he had a clingy groupie in Caroline.

I didn’t particularly hate Caroline. More like felt sorry for her. Let’s just say Caroline was the type of musical theatre performer to look down her nose at any play that the actors didn’t break into spontaneous song. She would erect shrines to the genius of Andrew Lloyd Webber, Steven Sondheim, and Lin Manuel Miranda. But Neil Simon? Lame. August Wilson? Loser. Shakespeare? Imbecile.

In other words, people like her didn’t get straight plays. They wore leotards and character shoes e-ver-y-where, usually had a full face of makeup at rehearsals and would cling to the male leads like sequins on Liberace. I was being generous by calling her an actress. Plus, she was a first-rate snob. When she found out I worked nights as a server, she flipped her hair and laughed. She actually flipped her hair. Mean Girls style.

“Is there something wrong, Miss Bennet?” Fitz bore his icicle eyes on me. His eyes were a remarkable shade of arctic blue. He reminded me of 1995 Hugh Grant but more intense. An angry Hugh Grant.

Every set of eyes in the room swooshed in my direction. Most looked surprised, Will’s looked annoyed.

“No, I’m fine,” I said.

“Are you sure?” asked Fitz. “You weren’t singing.”

Oh snap. The sopranos were supposed to join in. I could see Caroline’s smug grin in my peripheral vision. She nudged Will with her elbow and said something snarky out of the side of her mouth. I could feel the weight of his intense stare. A wave of burning humiliation washed over me. I may have momentarily blacked out. Why was Fitz singling me out? Crazy Lips Denny wasn’t even facing the piano. He had somehow migrated behind Fitz to sit on a stack of eight chairs with his legs dangling. Lydia was chewing gum for crying out loud. The accompanist looked irritated. Furthermore, everyone stared at me, probably annoyed to have the song interrupted.

Mr. Action-Flick Darcy couldn’t be bothered to take part in any of the lowly ensemble numbers—obviously. He must have had a direct line to Gilbert and Sullivan, channeling their spirits through the divine talent bestowed upon him from heaven on high. He snorted, got up from his chair, and left the room.

Fitz, unfazed by this display of Hollywood entitlement, awaited my reply. I swallowed hard and looked down to my music. There were so many words!

“Uh.” I shifted in my seat. It squeaked. “It’s just…” I already regretted the words before they came out of my mouth because it was a stupid, small, trivial thing, which didn’t justify the interruption. But I was now the subject of everyone’s dog stare and rather than reveal the true reason for my distraction, I blurted, “There’s a typo.”

“A typo?”

“Yes. It’s no big deal.”

Fitz stared at me without blinking, his frigid, blue eyes piercing deep into my soul. He closed the gap between us in three easy strides.

“Let me see.”

I pointed to the error in the music and placed the sheets into his outstretched hand. He examined it with a squint, took the sheets to his music stand and compared them to his own, grunted, and brought them back to me. I was eighty-five percent sure I’d made a mistake and expected him to make an example of me by citing my ignorance of Victorian English. But he nodded and said, “Good catch. Everyone, mark your music. Measure seventy-eight, change infinity to divinity.” He stepped neatly behind his music stand as the cast whipped out pencils, all of them frantically making the change in the text. Then Fitz did something glorious. He winked at me. Not in a ‘hey girl’ way, but in a ‘way to go’ sort of approving way. Then he said, half to himself, “Beth seems to be the only one paying attention.”

High fives!

Also, I couldn't help but notice Caroline didn’t bother with a pencil and instead, opted to sip her alkaline water with an obvious scowl in my direction. So win, win.

For the next hour, I resolved to keep my head down and direct all my attention to my sheet music, like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Sixteenth notes. Fascinating. I was totally not thinking about Will Darcy or the way his beautiful eyes tore right through me, shredding all my pretend poise. It was almost as though he didn’t exist.

My perfect indifference was put to the test when I was packing up my bag after a long day of rehearsal. How was I supposed to know he was on the other side of the costume rack? Unfortunately, I overheard the tail end of his conversation with Bing.

“You should come out with us, Will. Just a couple of drinks.”

“A couple of drinks and then what?” There was a categorical frown in