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

of cotton candy in every direction. The glorious aroma of popcorn and funnel cake drifted in the breeze, and I followed the wafting trail to a line of food booths and linen-covered tables shaded by navy umbrellas. It was a carnival but with a snazzy makeover. Even the game booths were covered in stark-white draperies. Live New Orleans jazz reached my ears from a nearby stage. There were stages like that all over the property. We’d passed a mariachi trio in our rush to find Emma.

I draped the lanyard around my neck. No flimsy plastic or cheap ribbon here. This lanyard was practically jewelry. I held onto the thick plastic of the VIP card. Just scan it, she said. She didn’t have to tell me twice. Mayonnaise-smothered corn on the cob called my name. But I really had to pee. After a brief argument with myself whether I should risk the port-a-potty or test the validity of the VIP pass, I decided to venture towards the house. If it didn’t work, no harm no foul. There were plenty of bushes if I couldn’t make it back in time to use the port-a-potty. The robust jazz and sounds of screaming passengers on rides faded as I reached the main entrance of the house. Two imposing men in dark shades flanked the doorway. Their black polo shirts had the word security printed over the pocket. I flashed my lanyard as I approached them, feeling much like my uncle at the U2 concert. I was ready for them to kick me to the curb. But they smiled and opened the double doors. The taller of the two (which was really saying something because they were both giants), regarded the gold print on my VIP card and gave me a warm greeting. “Good afternoon, Miss Bennet.”

“Uh, good afternoon.” It was all I could manage. The two men watched as I fumbled into the house, peeking at me as the doors closed them outside. I actually made it in. But whoa! This house. If it was impressive from the outside, it was absolutely heart stopping from the inside. The entryway alone was bigger than my whole apartment. The ceiling reached the height of three stories. The floor was a rich, dark-brown wood, and a beautifully adorned Christmas tree that had to be at least twenty-five feet tall stood proudly in the center of the foyer. The scent of pine needles reached my senses and found my happy place. Fresh garland swags were draped on the banisters all around. I was glad he still had his decorations up. It made me feel warm all over, like everything was right in the world just because I stepped into a Christmas wonderland.

I tiptoed around the tree and into what I assumed was the main room by the looks of it. Tall cocktail tables were scattered throughout, draped in floor-length, black linens. A few workers scurried about making final preparations for the evening festivities, placing centerpieces on the tables, large flower arrangements at every entryway, and candelabras on every available surface. Notably on and around a glorious, shiny, pink grand piano. Pink. I hadn’t pegged Will as a pink kind of guy. It was light—just a dusting of color, but undeniably pink. Maybe Mary Kay gave out pianos instead of Cadillacs.

Everything looked so elegant. This was no barbecue. I looked around at all the possible passageways. Where the Nigel was the bathroom? My badder protested with urgency. Ugh! I tried a few doors. No luck. There had to be a bathroom or ten somewhere in this castle. It was getting harder and harder to keep it in with every passing second. Finally, I found a corridor that looked like it led somewhere, but it was more like a labyrinth that went deeper and deeper into the house. Where the heck was I? There were some doors, but the ones not locked opened up to closets or weird rooms like one that looked like a microbrewery. At last, I reached a narrow stairwell. There had to be a bathroom upstairs. Did my VIP pass allow me access up there? It darn well should if they didn’t want a puddle on the floor. My eyeballs were about to bulge out of my head with the pressure. I had to relieve myself and soon. The stairwell was kind of dank for such an opulent mansion. It was just a simple flight of stairs like one would find in a regular house, perhaps leading up from a basement. Framed black and white photos lined the walls, but I didn’t have any time to look. I was on borrowed time here. A single door stood at the top. I prayed for it not to be locked. To my intense joy, it opened, and I found myself in a living area. Possibly bedrooms. Thank the Lord. Bedrooms meant bathrooms.

I made it just in time. I ran in there so fast, I didn’t have time to notice anything about my surroundings except where to find the toilet. It was while I was washing my hands that I was able to take in the gorgeous fixtures, the perfectly organized soaps and lotions and a neatly stacked tower of washcloths rolled up like egg rolls on a tray. A simple vase adorned the counter with fragrant gardenias perched on the rim and a photo frame sat right next to it, just far enough away from the sink to not get wet. It held a candid photo of Will, maybe five years younger with his hair caught in the wind. It looked like it was taken at the beach, and he smiled irreverently and carefree with a teenaged girl at his side. Georgia, if I could guess. The family resemblance was uncanny.

Panic struck in my chest. This was no guest bathroom. Family used this. I spun around to take in the rest of the space. A bath towel on the floor. Flip flops in the corner. A discarded shampoo