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

There were some scattered applauses and she smiled, nodding she’d like to continue.

“But don’t worry. You’ll find your tax write-off receipts in your goody bags along with Chipotle coupons and a shirt that says I donated to the Gardiner Arts Foundation and all I got was this dumb t-shirt.”

Soft laughter waved through the room. She was joking about the Chipotle coupons of course, but the t-shirts were a real thing. And the goody bags were filled with sponsored items like Bluetooth headphones and designer golf balls. My dining room table had been an assembly line of gift bags and tissue paper the week before.

“We will all convene for dinner in a few minutes, but first, I wanted to acknowledge the Darcy family for opening up their home and letting us ruin their grass with the carnival rides.”

She was spot on with that.

“Where’s Will?”

I raised my hand, and a few heads turned my way. When Stella spotted me, she raised her glass and said, “We promise to have your lawn fixed in time to ruin it again next year.”

A few chuckles ensued, and I bellowed across the room, “Not on your life.”

The energy was light and breezy, and everyone smiled, which was exactly what Stella wanted. She planned one last pitch for higher levels of sponsorship. She wanted the guests relaxed and tipsy before she made her plea. It would come after dinner but before dessert. She told me she planned to hold the poached pears ransom until she raised a few extra million dollars.

“You heard the man, ladies and gentlemen,” she said. “It looks like we’ve already worn out our welcome, so enjoy the Darcy house while you can and steal whatever ashtrays you find.”

That was a little inside joke. I was one of the few people alive that knew Stella was a bit of a kleptomaniac. Before California banned smoking in public places, it was ashtrays. Now, she liked to nab ramekins from restaurants.

“Our staff will escort you out into the grand tent and help you find your tables. Meanwhile, the lovely Georgia Darcy will play for us while we transition out of cocktail hour.”

As my sister began a melody, I ushered Anne to the side of the room away from migrating guests, but most importantly from view of her grandmother. It was for purely selfish reasons, though. I wanted to find Beth, and as much as I was looking forward to singing the duet with her, all I wanted was some more alone time, so we could converse freely as we’d done earlier in the day.

When we found her, she was chatting with Francesca by the piano. She and Anne hit it off like I knew they would, but there was something in her eyes I couldn’t put my finger on when I introduced them. What was it? Could it be a hint of jealousy? God, I hoped so. I’d be ugly jealous if Beth hung around some dude. I didn’t even have the right, but that didn’t stop my inner caveman.

Woman. Mine. Ug.

Eventually, we migrated to the dining tent, and Anne joined her grandmother. It didn’t take long before Catherine found us to complain she didn’t have a seat at the head table with Stella and me. She was particularly salty when the “entertainment,” as she put it, had better seats than she. Then she scowled at Beth and Francesca as she returned to her table, which was situated as far away from ours as Stella could have planned.

“I know you can’t exactly separate the two,” said Georgia, “but I wouldn’t have minded Anne’s company at our table if we could exclude the grandmother.”

“Oh, indeed,” replied Stella, wagging her brows. “But I have my reasons.”

I chuckled softly to myself because I knew exactly what kind of reasons Stella had. She loved playing matchmaker any chance she got. She couldn’t help herself, really. I had to love her for it; she was responsible for mine and Georgia’s existence. Dad probably wouldn’t have had a chance with my mother if Stella didn’t have her hand in the whole business.

“Who’s the lucky fellow?” I asked.

She was super glad I asked because her face lit up and put her whole body into it as she pointed with her chin.

“See that bloke sitting next to Anne?”

I glanced over, trying not to appear obvious. “I’m taking a chance here by assuming you don’t mean the older gentleman to her left.”

“Oh, I am more strategic than that, young padawan,” she chirped with a wide grin. “The position to her right is much better situated for an unobstructed view of her features.”

The gentleman to her right was presently engaged in a conversation with the previously mentioned gentleman to her left. Anne was stuck in the middle of whatever robust conversation they might be having and smiling timidly with her Bloody Richard. The young man, likewise, had the same hideous drink. He was a broad, tall man who reminded me of a young Denzel Washington, and he practically towered over Anne’s tiny, delicate form. Also, he wore a blue bowtie almost the exact shade of Anne’s dress.

“His name is Garret Townsend,” said Stella, “and he is someone to keep an eye on.”

“Oh? How so?”

“He’s a genius,” added Georgia. “He’s developing groundbreaking advancements in artificial intelligence. Plus, he’s right handed.”

Great. Not my sister, too. Was Stella running some kind of matchmaking apprenticeship?

“What does being right handed have to do with anything?” Beth asked innocently. She’d just joined the conversation after talking to Francesca for a while.

“Anne is left handed,” answered Georgia. “They’ll be practically facing each other all throughout dinner.”

Stella nodded vehemently. “That’s true, and she’s sitting right between his line of sight and the stage.”

“You think of everything,” I said, silently noting Beth’s position in relation to mine. To my left. In my line of sight to the stage. She wasn’t left handed as far as I knew. But I didn’t need any of those tricks to notice her. A man would have to