Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

He lifted his eyes to meet my gaze and studied my face, reading the meaning behind my words. He drew closer to me, gently trailing a feather-light touch over my hands holding the box. It had to be an enchantment. It was all there in the air between us, in front of a colorful memory tree. Magic Christmas dust descended on our heads, a chorus of angels serenaded us, a harp sounded from somewhere, and the earth vibrated where we stood.

No.

The earth wasn’t vibrating. That was my phone, which was in my clutch, currently on my feet. I read somewhere that one should never put their purse on the floor because it hurts your finances. I didn’t consider myself superstitious, but I wasn’t about to take my chances. So I’d placed it on my toes.

“Maybe you should get that,” he said, swallowing hard.

“Huh?” I was still somewhere in lala land.

“Or…” his eyes dipped to my mouth. “Shut it off.”

Right. My phone. Shut it off.

I snatched the clutch from my feet and pulled out my phone. Such a remarkable little device. It was capable of so many useful things. The world at your fingertips. But presently, it was nothing but annoying. What the Bottom couldn’t wait long enough to—

“Whoa.” My eyes went wide at the sight of the little red notification icon. My phone never saw that much action on my birthday, let alone a Saturday in January. “Holly called me seventeen times. And she left fifty-eight text messages.”

Will took the box from beneath my arm and ushered me to the sofa. There were also several texts and calls from Cole and Jane. My heart sank to my gut. My first thought was for my sister or my parents. My brain didn’t have the rationale to think there was no connection between Holly and my family. But they were all I could think about.

“Is everything okay?” Will asked tentatively.

“I hope so. And then I’ll kill my friends.”

I hesitated before reading the texts. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I wouldn’t like it. It wasn’t good. The most recent text from Holly was the first one I saw. It simply read Beth, I’m serious. Please call ASAP.

I scrolled to the top. My heart sank even more. Words flashed before my eyes.

Lydia. Worried. Missing. Jorge.

I went through every text, trying to make sense of her shorthand. It was one big blur. The room started to spin, and I suddenly felt the color drain from my face in a clammy sort of way. The phone slipped from my fingers and dropped to the floor.

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” I let my head fall between my knees, which wasn’t easy considering my dress was in the way.

“Beth?” Will’s voice sounded far away. “Don’t faint. Can I get you some water?”

I nodded with my face still in my dress. All I saw was a blur of gold fabric.

“Okay,” he said in a crisis negotiator tone of voice. “I don’t want you to faint while I’m getting you some water. I’m going to lie you down.”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just need to throw up. Totally fine.”

“What happened?”

“It’s all my fault.”

My thoughts ran a mile a minute. What would I do? Will ran to get me a bottle of water, and I took a few sips before frantically pacing the floor. “Stupid Lydia. It’s all my fault.”

Will stopped me, holding me in place by the shoulders. He leveled his eyes to mine and spoke slowly and gravely.

“Stop right there. Whatever happened, we’ll figure it out. But you need to stop blaming yourself.”

Stop blaming myself. No. Not possible. What was Jorge doing on the Mexico trip anyway? I nodded for him to pick up the phone off the floor.

“You won’t say that once you read the texts.”

He slowly stepped away from me and picked up the phone. He showed no expression in his face save for a tick in his jaw. He would understand the story soon enough. How Lydia and Jorge left Cole’s boat and went into town. How they never returned. How Holly thought they’d partied too hard to come back, but then she noticed Lydia’s phone—and all her things—in the cabin.

Lydia never left her phone behind. Another day passed and by the evening, they were worried. Jorge didn’t answer his calls. A search in town came up null. They weren’t in the usual places. Then by some wild coincidence, a taxi driver saw them inquiring at all the hotels. He’d given Jorge and Lydia a ride out of the tourist side of town and to the outskirts. He didn’t think it was strange until he saw Jorge walking the streets the next day. Lydia wasn’t with him, but he looked chummy with two dangerous-looking men.

“Jorge,” he said in a whisper. A sad, regretful whisper.

“I didn’t warn Lydia,” I cried. “I’m the one who befriended him. I’m the one who invited him to our house. He wouldn’t have even noticed Lydia if it wasn’t for me. It’s my fault.”

Will didn’t speak to refute my self-flagellation. He didn’t confirm or deny it.

He didn’t say anything at all. It was as if he calculated how best to get rid of the problem—AKA, me. He didn’t need the publicity this would bring to his career, and any association with Lydia or her roommate was bad press. If it got out, he could shrug it off and call it an unfortunate situation, that she was just an acquaintance. But me, her friend and roommate, would be asked countless questions.

At length, he said, “I won’t keep you any longer. I suggest you listen to the voicemail messages while I get you a car.”

And that was that. He walked out of the room and, although I knew I’d see him again in the show, he likewise walked out of my life. I didn’t blame him. Who in their right mind would want the kind of drama that followed me around?

A thorough