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

“Where is she?” I didn’t want to sound too anxious, but it was killing me to no end.

“How in heaven should I know?”

“So, you’re just going to search aimlessly for her in the crowd?” I said. “There must be a few thousand people here.”

She waved her hand around in a circle like she was conjuring something out of the air. Expecto Elizabethum.

“Find her on the tweet box.”

“I don’t have a tweet box.” I sighed. Did she think cell phones were some sort of magical tracking device? “Can’t you call her?”

She smiled wryly and wagged her brows. “That’s exactly what Beth would say. Fancy that.”

Uh uh. Fancy that. It’s only common sense.

“Oh, Stella,” said Georgia. “You left your phone on my bedroom dresser. It was charging when I came down. Do you want me to run up and get it?”

“Oh, would you, love?” Stella reached out and touched her arm with gratitude. “Too much walking back and forth for these old bones.”

“I’ll go,” I said. Some breathing room away from these women would do me good. Stella threw me a sweeter-than-honey grin and as I walked away, I could hear her say to my sister, “Pour me a Guinness, poppet.”

I stormed through the crowd. Sing a duet with Beth! Really! We’d have to spend the afternoon rehearsing, and we all know how that went between Beth and me. Why did I ever agree to this debacle? A flock of screaming children blew past me. A warmth bubbled in my chest at the sound of their flittering giggles. I sighed. That was my answer. It was all for them. Ugh! I was starting to sound like a Whitney Houston song.

Twelve hours. I just had to last twelve more hours. I could do this. I steeled myself and strode inside the house. I gave a nod to the security detail we’d hired and was about to run up the grand staircase when something disturbing caught my eye.

“What the…? Who put this here?” Candles and flower arrangements littered the surface of my sister’s brand-new piano. I ran to the instrument and threw off the offending objects, cursing without restraint. I was so angry my words were more like a fierce growl. Maybe my sister was right. I wasn’t the clock. I was the Beast.

“I’m so, so sorry, sir.” An attendant was at my side in a moment, gingerly removing the items from the piano. “We’ll take care of it right away.”

I rounded on him, poor guy. He was the closest person in my vicinity and therefore received the brunt of all my rage.

“This is a two-hundred-thousand-dollar Fazioli Concert Grand,” I spat.

The man cowered as I pointed menacingly with my index finger.

“Fix this.” My finger now jabbed at his chest. “There better not be the slightest scratch or water ring.”

I left him to do his work and stormed up the stairs. My head burned like the Heatmiser from that old animated Christmas movie. I needed to get a grip. Over the course of a week, I’d slept a total of ten or twelve hours. I was delirious and grumpy, the women in my life were driving me over the edge, and now, I was yelling at the vendors. I’m sure the piano was fine. They’d taken the precaution to use felt to protect the surface, but anyone with a brain knows not to put anything on a piano. How would you open the lid to play if it was covered in crap? Music-hating idiots.

Fury embedded itself in my bones. What had gotten into me? As I ascended to my sister’s room, I marveled at how my life had taken such a wild turn. I wouldn’t say I was happy. Happy was an illusion sold to the masses on a thirty-second time slot between pharmaceutical commercials and the Progressive ad. But it was fine. I didn’t need happy. I was content. I made bucket loads of money on the royalties of my movies alone, and a nice sum for each new project. I was set for life if I wanted to call it quits. The house was paid off. My sister was finally in a secure place. What more could I want? Then Beth came along and kicked sand around, messing up my perfectly formed sandcastles. She was the tide eroding at my comfort zone. But what was the shore without water crashing on land? A desert. Ah crap. I could have been fine with a desert. Deserts are awesome. The Space Shuttle used to land in the desert. Vegas is in the desert. Palm Springs!

Maybe once the run was over, I’d get a room at the Bellagio and sleep away my days by the pool and throw money at the blackjack table at night. I could do the desert fine.

Stella’s phone was exactly where Georgia said it was, and I was just resolving to mend the head of that vendor I’d bit off downstairs—I’d find that poor guy and give him a nice tip. Maybe even apologize. It could be the new me. A contrite, penitent Will Darcy. I could try it on for size. For Beth.

But irritability rose anew at the sight of my bedroom doors ajar. A fresh bout of anger boiled through my veins as I pounded my feet on the floor to cross over and lock the door. I shouldn’t have to lock a bedroom door in my own house. The workers were explicitly instructed that access to the upper floors was strictly prohibited. I hoped the intruder was still in there, so I could make a proper complaint. But no event staff worker was to be found. That would have been infinitely more desirable. Unless my eyes deceived me. Which admittedly wasn’t a far-flung possibility because they took in the sight of Beth in my bedroom, on the floor, with my dog in her arms. I had to be dreaming. She was a