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

“You see, Harriet?” I added. “You never know. Your soul mate could be in this room at this very moment.”

I shifted my gaze toward Elton, but Harriet only looked around nervously.

“You just need to have more self-confidence.” I wrapped my arm around her shoulder and squeezed. I had a good five inches on her without heels and even more on Beth. I felt like an Amazon. I glanced down at her sensible flats. “We’re going shoe shopping after this.”

Beth was invited, of course, but she declined the offer. Before returning to the theatre for her evening performance, she had to go with her famous boyfriend to pick up a new car. According to her, he gave away his Ferrari and bought a new Prius online.

“My Volvo finally gave up on life, and Will insisted on buying me a new car. But I don’t take handouts. So next thing I know, he’s suddenly a low-profile Prius owner and hinted he’d let me ‘borrow’ it sometimes. I think I’ll buy myself a big truck just to mess with him.”

I was liking Beth more and more. She was funny and charming with a sprinkling of snark thrown in for flavour. I was looking forward to spending time with her and desperately wished she could go shopping with us. It was exactly the girly thing I needed in my life: gal pals shopping and having lunch with a little gossip on the side. I decided I’d be the Carrie Bradshaw of our group. #friendshipgoals

I ended up finding Harriet a few gorgeous pairs of stilettos and fashionable boots with cute outfits to match. She admitted she expected a shop more along the lines of a TJ Maxx and almost refused to try anything on. The only way I could convince her to let me buy her stuff was to say it was part of her work uniform as my personal assistant. After all, she might have to meet with producers and studio executives on my behalf. She lit up at the idea. Her arm didn’t need much twisting. What surprised me was how much I enjoyed taking part in her transformation. The clothes seemed to break her out of her shell, and the shoes—after a few wobbly mishaps—gave her a definitive strut. If only she’d do something with her hair. Which gave me a brilliant idea.

Annie Taylor, my favourite makeup artist, would know how to fix Harriet up with a good do. I was delighted she could meet me at my house with such short notice. Before I knew it, Harriet had her hair in curlers while Annie applied contouring to her round face. Harriet was all smiles. She said she felt like that girl in Princess Diaries.

I brought up a bottle of Prosecco to the master bath, and we sipped our feminine cares away. I liked having my girl tribe. I really had missed out on this stuff in my unconventional formidable years. At one point in the evening, Mum came upstairs having just arrived from a drop-in yoga class. She took one look at Annie’s electric-blue hair, sneered at our champagne flutes and covered her nose with her scarf.

“Ugh. Those products you’re using are full of toxic chemicals.” She fanned the air in front of her for emphasis. “Please tell me you don’t have aerosol cans.”

Annie looked guiltily toward her big caboodle of radioactive carcinogens, and Mum left the room, coughing dramatically.

“Is your mom okay?” asked Annie.

“Oh, she’s fine.” I flicked my fingernails in the ether. “She claims to have chemical allergies. I’m not allowed to wear perfume in her presence. Or deodorant.”

“That sounds horrible,” cried Harriet. “Poor woman.”

I wanted to point out said ‘poor woman’ hadn’t bothered to acknowledge the humans in the room and was likely throwing away all of Rosario’s cleaning products at present. I sighed, hoping I’d successfully hidden any food not considered organic. I had a vision of my merry father back in Blighty gleefully munching Jaffa Cakes on the sofa in Mum’s absence.

Annie worked for some time, teaching Harriet various ways she could style her hair on her own without much faff. Harriet was a vision. I made her give us a mini catwalk jaunt while Annie put her supplies away. I wanted to applaud.

“Watch out, gentlemen,” I said. She was a bombshell on wheels.

Harriet blushed. “Are you sure it’s not too much?”

“It’s never too much,” replied Annie, washing her hands. “Switch out a lighter shade of lipstick for your day look, and that guy you like will be eating out of your hand.”

“Martín?”

“For heaven’s sake, Harriet,” I cried. “You could have any guy you want. You could aim a little higher, you know.”

Annie giggled, replacing her jewellery. She loved to wear lots of silver bangles and rings, but they often got in the way while she worked. And that’s when I noticed the huge rock on her left hand.

“What’s this?” I snatched her hand before she could finish adorning her wrists. She grinned brightly and bit her bottom lip, bursting with news she’d been waiting to tell.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” she said. “When you called today, it was the perfect opportunity to come over and give you the good news.”

I jumped up and down and screamed with such enthusiasm. Mum heard me from her guest room and ran in like gangbusters wearing a medical mask.

“Who’s hurt? Flush your eyes with saline.”

“Nobody’s hurt, Mum.”

She glanced disapprovingly at Harriet. “Chemical burns? Inhaled toxic fumes?”

I rolled my eyeballs at her zealous panic mongering. “Everything’s tickety-boo.”

She glared at me suspiciously and retreated from the room. I wouldn’t be surprised to find her next time in a hazmat suit. Harriet kicked off her heels and rushed next to me to admire Annie’s engagement ring. It was a princess-cut diamond the size of a small country and was set in marcasite-encrusted platinum.

“That’s gorgeous,” exclaimed Harriet.

“Yes,” I agreed. “But you should never take it off, dear. Even while you’re working.”

Annie shrugged and said, “I know. I’m