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

After a few moments, she burst at the seams and said, “He was in New York!”

And I knew immediately that Bing in New York at the same time as Jane was no coincidence. As it turned out, he learned she was there through friends. I guess the theatre world really was that small. He followed her there in a grand romantic gesture just to apologize. Like he couldn’t do that in California. Nope. Had to go to the Big Apple.

But I was happy for her. If anyone deserved a second chance, it was her.

“I hope you can find a good guy too.” Her eyes were rimmed with happy tears as she gave me a gentle hug. “There’s someone out there who’s perfect for you.”

“You mean someone who’ll put up with my snark?” I laughed.

“It’s not snark,” she said. “It’s intelligence.”

Wonderful. Now she would get me crying.

“Well…” I said with a wink. “Maybe someday I’ll come across another guy like Colin.”

“That will make your mom happy at least.”

I know I said no secrets. Perhaps I should have told her all the details of the gala, how we walked the dog and sang and almost kissed in front of the tree.

“Oh no!” I cried.

“What?”

My ornament. The beautiful year bulb Will gave me. I left it behind in my haste to get home. I would tell her eventually, but it wasn’t the right time. I sighed and shook my head slowly.

“Oh, I just remembered something I lost.”

Wasn’t that the understatement of the year? It was more than the ornament I’d lost. So much more. I’d lost love.

“They found her!”

Jane and I shot our heads to the sound of the approaching voice. Holly burst through the dressing room, waving her phone in the air. “She’s okay.”

“Lydia?” Jane exclaimed. “How did they find her?”

“No time,” she answered. “Nora’s already in my car. Let’s go.”

Jane and I dropped what we were doing and ran out with Holly. She filled us in as best she could in the car.

“Cole got her across the border,” she said, speeding down the 101 freeway. “She’s in a Chula Vista hospital.”

“Is that where we’re going now?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Where’s Chula Vista?” asked Nora.

“A two-hour drive, honey,” said Holly. “But I can make it in one-forty-five.”

She was right. She had a lead foot, but she was right. One hour and forty-seven minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of Chula Vista Memorial.

I hated the smell of hospitals. It always reminded me of band-aids and sadness. But all that disappeared when I saw Lydia in her hospital bed, surrounded by plush toys and balloons. Cole and Stella were at her side, and although I wanted to be the first to throw my arms around her, I held back enough to let Nora have that distinction.

The reunion between the two sisters was beautiful and gave us all the feels. Lydia gave my hand a squeeze when it was my turn to approach the bed. I noticed several bruises on her face and arms. Probably more where the hospital gown covered. Her left eye was swollen, and a bandaged cut trailed across her eyebrow.

“Hey,” I joked. “You look great for a boxer.”

“Yeah.” She smiled, trying not to laugh. Laughing looked like a painful endeavor. “Lightweight champion of Penzance.”

“Maybe we’ll make you a pirate now,” said Cole.

Lydia nodded and cupped a hand over her injured eye.

“An eye patch can be arranged,” said Stella. “Would you like a parrot to go with it?”

“A foul-mouthed parrot,” Lydia said feebly.

“Consider it done,” replied Stella. “But in the meantime, how about some hot chocolate from the coffee cart? Cole and I will leave you to visit with the girls for a while.”

Lydia smiled and said yes to the hot chocolate. “Extra marshmallows,” she said as Cole and Stella left the room.

Nora sat on the edge of the bed and rubbed Lydia’s feet. “When can you go home?”

“Maybe tomorrow,” she answered.

“Then I’ll stay the night.”

Despite Lydia’s protests, Nora insisted she’d be perfectly comfortable in the visitor’s chair.

“I’ve slept in worse conditions,” she said.

She wasn’t fooling anyone.

Lydia was in good spirits considering what she’d gone through. I wanted to ask her how she got those cuts and bruises. Did Jorge do that to her? Holly had told us everything she knew from Cole’s phone conversations, which wasn’t much. She had a fractured rib cage, head injuries, and several skin abrasions. Holly guessed from rope or wire. It was disheartening to see Lydia like this. Still, I was grateful to see her alive.

We joked about the five-star resort she was currently staying at, asking about the quality of the room service and spa amenities. We all laughed when a nurse came in to check her IV. Lydia jokingly asked her if she could change the drip from a cava to a brut. She rolled her eyes. She’d probably heard that one before.

We all did our best to keep the conversation light. None of us wanted to ask Lydia what had happened. Eventually, she was the one to bring it up. The way she told it, one would think she was pitching a movie. She even winked at her sister and said, “Are you getting this down? This is Oscar material.”

I imagined some of the more spectacular moments in her story were elaborated for dramatic purposes, and most likely, the version she would someday tell her grandchildren would be completely outrageous, but for now, she basked in the warmth of being the center of attention and played off our pitiful expressions. She was scarce on the details. But her entire narrative was embellished with sounds and smells and how scared she was, but also brave when faced with the possibility of death.

Long story short. Jorge Wickham: bad, bad guy. Apparently, he had some connections in the Mexican Mafia where someone could make a lot of money in human trafficking. Especially with blond-haired, blue-eyed girls. Like Lydia.

A knot formed in my belly at the memory of Jorge, and how