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

from being one of Jorge’s victims? Melodramatic much? Still, if Will’s story were true, and he wasn’t embellishing it at all, those were some mighty bad things Jorge was guilty of.

I understand if you’re having a hard time believing all this. We haven’t been stellar communicators, you and I. Fitz is one of the few people who knows the details of what happened. He had given Georgia piano lessons while these events took place and was with me at Lucas Lodge the other night when I got a phone call from my sister telling me Jorge paid her a visit at our house. I’m sure Fitz would be happy to answer any questions you may have.

Perhaps, this will give you some idea where I'm coming from and why I act upon my instincts in the way I’ve done recently. You and I still have to work together once the show opens. My desire is that we come to an understanding and can at least bury the hatchet until we part ways. Not for my sake, but for the sake of the show.

Sincerely,

Will

I let the words sink in for a long time. It was a lot to take in, and I wasn’t sure how to process it. I didn’t know what to think. I swore to loathe Will for all eternity. How I wished to go back to those simple times. I reminisced fondly of the good ol’ days when Will was just a common jerk. Now, I felt sorry for the man, which was incredibly inconvenient. I was still angry about the whole Bing and Jane thing.

I went back to the first page and read the letter again with the knowledge I now had. I had a better sense of him, where his motives came from. On my third reading, I could almost read between the lines, running over every detail. I scanned the letter over and over until it was too dark to read. I reclined my head and gazed at the night sky. The palm treetops swayed in the soft breeze against the smoggy backdrop above. The rustle of palm fronds caressed in lulling, gentle waves while the roar of engines and swooshing of tires against pavement provided a counter rhythm. The tumult of my thoughts fell in line with the ambient sounds of Los Angeles apartment living. Every now and then, voices and clanging dishes would carry on the wind from beyond someone’s window. Iron bars would cast dancing shadows over the pool whenever headlights shone in passing. Sounds of footfall and sundry conversation whizzed by when families and couples took the path from the parking lot to their units. A dog would bark. Someone was watching TV. A guy spoke on the phone obnoxiously loud in Spanish. I must have been there for a couple hours when I decided it was time to go back inside.

The apartment was dark when I returned. Lydia left a drawing of herself drinking margaritas on the dry-erase board we used for grocery lists. Her eyes were bulgy and words inside a speech bubble said, Look out, Mexico. Here comes Lettuce. Under that, Jane’s fine handwriting stated BRB: gone to Hobby Lobby.

I was glad for the silence, but it was maybe a little too silent. I plopped on the couch, flipping through the thousands of channels the guy next door hacked for us. Nothing was on but reruns of the Rose Parade. I usually liked the Rose Parade, but all the smiling faces on the floats, waving cowgirls on horses, and marching bands made my misery even more acute by comparison. I returned to the letter and read it again. By this time, I almost had it memorized. I was a glutton for punishment. Looking back on my memories with Jorge only confirmed Will’s account of his character. Where I once saw a young, hot, fun surfer, I realized there was no redeeming quality in Jorge. He was just a party guy and a flirt. From the first moment I met him, it was all double entendres and stripping himself of his shirt at every opportunity. The attention he got from the chorus girls at the theatre—he was all over that. He was in his element. And then there was Caroline’s warning. As much as I hated to admit it, she was right about him—in her own bigoted, Caroline way.

I always suspected he was a player. That was no newsflash. But now that I’d read Will’s letter, things made sense. Jorge was so worried all the time. Could it be he thought Will might expose him?

Suddenly, I felt like an idiot. Jorge had me eating right out of his hands with his bedroom eyes and sad story about his childhood—how much he suffered because of the Darcys. Blah blah blah. Then I remembered how friendly he was to my sister—all the times he encouraged me to invite her along with us places. She was only seventeen—one year older than Georgia had been. I shuddered to think what might have happened if I’d included her as Jorge so often suggested. What was wrong with me? I’d always been proud of my excellent judge of character. But I was wrong about Colin and now, so detrimentally wrong about Jorge. I was even wrong about Will.

Every time I turned it over in my head, Jorge’s charm faded more and more. But the most disturbing thing of all was that I saw Will in a completely different light. It had been so fun to direct all my abhorrence toward him. Now what was I supposed to do? I couldn’t exactly join the Will Darcy fan club. That would involve attending weekly meetings with Caroline. It would majorly suck beans. I decided to let all this new information percolate for a while. In a week, I’d go to Stella’s charity carnival and after that, there’d be a few days before I had to face Will at the theatre. It would be awkward but doable and certainly