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

was all alone, after all. He was probably bored out of his mind. I wondered how long before the groomsmen would arrive so Elton could join their frankfurter party.

We collected towels from the pool guy and spotted the girls in a private cabana. Finally! I don’t know why I thought Elton would go away after I took my place among the ladies, but he didn’t. Annie even went so far as to invite him to join us. He happily took the chaise right next to me.

Let the menstrual talk begin, girls.

“Annie tells us you introduced her to Randall,” one of the girls said to me, lathering herself with coconut oil. She had short black bangs like a 1950s pinup girl with more tattoos than Annie.

“Yes,” I replied. “But she gives me too much credit. She lured him in using her feminine arts.”

The girl, I swore her name was Betty Boop or something, forcibly laughed and then returned to her coconut oil lathering.

An awkward silence followed. I figured Elton’s glaring-white skin must have thrown them off since he was sitting so close to me. He did have a nice physique for a pasty lyricist, I gave him that much. At length, another girl who I secretly named Ruby because of her heart-shaped face and ruby lips, spoke up next as if reaching for something to say.

“How long have you two been dating?” She volleyed her eyes between Elton and me with an innocent smile.

“Oh, we’re not—”

Elton distracted me from answering by whispering in my ear, “We could pretend we’re dating so no one else will hit on us.”

I glared at him like he was crazy. “That is a terrible idea.”

“I could be your fake boyfriend like in those rom-com movies.”

“No.”

“Is this one of those Notting Hill relationships?” Ruby was still talking.

“What do you mean Notting Hill?”

Really? I wasn’t about to let my life become some chick flick.

“You know, the movie star and her ‘normal’ boyfriend.” Oh, that Ruby, she wouldn’t let up, would she? Also, she used air quotes.

“Wait a minute.” Elton sat up defensively. “Define normal.”

“Like, I dunno. A regular Joe. The Hugh Grant character. Not a celebrity.”

I’d have face palmed if I wasn’t wearing a fabulous sun hat.

“Are you serious?” cried Elton. “You’ve never heard of me?”

And so it began. Ruby shrank under Elton’s outrage, Annie giggled, and the rest of the girls pretended they were asleep. They heard every bit of Elton’s speech, though. Practically everyone at the pool did. We all had to sit through the tale of Elton Wardlow, Broadway sensation. How he began writing music with Morris in college and had small success at clubs like 54 Below before making it big time with his smash hit Lived Overseen. Ruby just nodded like he’d jogged her memory, but really, she hadn’t heard of him. I couldn’t help but think, however, that once Jaxson’s movie broke all the box office records, everybody would be singing along to Elton’s music.

After that long speech, nobody asked us any more questions. On top of that, Ruby still thought we were dating.

We ate nachos for lunch, had margaritas poolside, and things got back to normal after that. Most importantly, Annie seemed to be in pre-wedding bliss. She wiggled her painted toes and reclined on her chaise with a lazy smile. I took the opportunity to study her, admiring her effortless beauty. Her friends all had the same retro style with their winged liner and vintage polka dot bikinis. I couldn’t wait to know them better.

14

Frankfurter Parties

Jaxson

When a woman bewitches you, throw yourself into work and try to forget her smiles for a few hours.

Bloody rubbish.

Directing a feature film was exhausting enough without putting everything you care for on the line. I knew I was ready to produce. I was chomping at the bit to perform. An original movie musical was a gamble. The pure scale of the project was mammoth. I was insane.

Yet Emma was at the front of my thoughts.

The roar of the waves behind my little bungalow in La Jolla was lulling and soothing—almost too much. I loved my old post-World War II cottage. It was a place I could go to escape whatever it was about Los Angeles that constricted me. A tiny patch of solitude where I could distance myself from Hollywood and reboot. Some of my best ideas for screenplays had come to me here—sort of my creative dwelling place where my mind was clear of all the extraneous noise.

But today, my headspace was crowded with a single preoccupation. And no matter how much I worked out, listened to music, or tried to clear my mind, all my attention circled back to her.

Her.

How we danced the beginning of the waltz before I called the rehearsal short. How much of a fool I felt for casting myself as her romantic lead. Where was she at this moment and what was she doing? What did the weekend have in store for us?

I unlocked my mobile screen to text her so many times, my home button was wearing down. My resolve not to bother her was slipping away with every ounce of my sanity. I glanced at my smart watch. I could still make it to Randall’s tailgate barbecue before things got too rowdy. I wasn’t a stag night type of guy. Never understood it. But I could go for a couple of cold ones while getting to know Randall’s mates and then sneak away to check on Emma.

No. Bad idea. The worst thing to do when my head wasn’t on straight was to get into a run-in with a bunch of Sheilas. Who knew what crazy activities women occupied themselves with the night before a wedding? I was certain I didn’t want to know. Worse if I caught Emma in the throng of a wild party throwing dollar bills at strange men.

Struth.

Why did my mind go straight there? I would text her. Or not.

After a battle of wills between the ‘stay in’ or ‘go