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

just beyond the chain. Then it occurred to me I left the key with the valet. I’d have to walk back to the hotel anyway. I followed them, trailing a few feet behind so they wouldn’t notice when I slipped away. But something happened when we reached the porte-cochère. I just kept walking. My feet didn’t stop at the valet or the atrium or the lobby either. They were rooted in place as we ascended the elevator. They carried me down the hall on autopilot and right up to the bridal suite door, which the groomsmen pounded on with a command to open up. I could hear muffled screaming and giggles from the other side of the door. More pounding and demands to open up. Cries of ‘Go away’ and ‘No boys allowed’ came back from inside the suite. I nervously looked down the corridor to see if any of the neighbouring visitors might have poked their heads out to complain.

“We should go now,” I pleaded.

They didn’t listen to me. Elton and the tall guy each took one of my arms to keep me from breaking up our merry band. I think one of them said, “We need you, man. We’re in the end zone. Fourth and goal.”

Ah, good ole American football analogy. Come to think of it, that was probably the other guy, not Elton, but my ears were ringing. Who knew if I imagined it?

Then Randall slid down the length of the door and plopped onto the carpet. “Annie bear. It’s me. I looooove you.”

Oh, brother.

A soft voice called from the other side, “Randall?”

“Let me in, baby. I need to see you.”

Another female voice cried out, “Don’t let him in. It’s bad luck.”

There was some shuffling and maybe something got knocked over, followed by peals of laughter, then the deadbolt clicked, and Annie’s shining face appeared, beaming at Randall on the floor.

Somehow, we all piled inside—the bridal suite was a freaky pink explosion. How the girls managed to transform a plain hotel room into a princess war zone was a mystery to me. Gauzy pink streamers hung from the chandelier to the bed, twinkle lights draped everywhere, and a broken unicorn piñata dangled in the corner. Even the food was pink: fairy floss, cupcakes, pink champagne… all healthy stuff. Some of the guys flocked to the snacks leaving Randall in the arms of his bride while the other guys teased the ladies. They all wore monogrammed pink robes. Silk pink robes.

This was a bad, bad idea. I’d seen this scene play out in countless wedding comedy films. It never ended well. I instinctively sought out Emma. She sat by the window nursing her head with an ice pack. What kind of wild party was this? I flew to her.

“Emma, what happened to your head?”

“Hi, Jax. What took you so long?”

“I got held up fighting with myself.”

She grinned sweetly. “Oh. Who won?”

“The weaker guy.”

“He’s my favourite.”

“Well, here he is. What happened to you?”

“I found myself at the wrong end of a piñata stick.” She bent her head to show me the injured spot. No bump, so that was good.

“Hmmm. Did any sweets fall out of your pretty head?”

“No. Just a few colourful words.”

I kissed her sore head and held the ice pack for her. “Sounds delicious. Did you save me some?”

“I have a jar full of them at home with your name on it.”

“Can’t wait.” I glanced around the room, trying to make sense of the carnage. “Are you girls just sleeping on the floor… using the Twister mat for a blanket?”

That earned me a small laugh.

“I’ve got a room down the hall. The other girls have doubles, but I’m by myself, so…”

There was a tinge of sadness in her expression I’d not seen before. It was probably just the head pain. I couldn’t leave her like this—not until I knew she’d be okay. I doubted there was a chance of concussion, but still…

“I’ll bet you’ve got all the best cable channels,” I said.

“I guess.”

“How about we grab some of that pink popcorn and go watch some telly?”

She looked toward the other women throwing cake frosting at the guys.

“Unless you’d rather stay and clean…”

She shot up on her feet. “Nope. They’ll never notice I’m gone.”

She was out the door so fast I almost missed it.

We snuck down the hall to her room, hoping nobody (namely Elton) would follow us. She was wearing one of those pink robes the other bridesmaids had. And, cripes, where were her shoes?

Get her to her room, Knightly. Make sure she’s okay. And get the heck out.

“What movie do you want to see?” she asked innocently as she slid the key card. Like a lamb to the slaughter, I followed her in.

“Anything.”

She flicked on the lights, opened her suitcase, and untied the robe, letting it fall into a silky puddle on the floor.

Make sure she’s okay. Get the heck out.

The discarded robe revealed a pair of cotton pyjama shorts with a banana pattern and a matching tank top. Her hair was a proper mess, and she wore no makeup. My mouth went completely dry.

“Are you hungry?” she asked.

Make sure she’s okay… and…

“Huh?”

She pushed her arms through the sleeves of an oversized sweatshirt and slugged it on over her head, messing up her hair even more.

“I’m getting room service.” She picked up a menu from the nightstand. “The burgers look amazing.”

Forget burgers. Emma looked amazing.

“I can’t stay long, actually.” I reached inside my pocket and fiddled with the valet ticket. Escape was so close.

“You say that all the time, and then you wind up staying, and I have to share my chips.” She picked up the phone. “I’m getting you something.”

My stomach rumbled. I’d taken one bite out of that sausage Randall dropped in the barbecue ashes and rendered it inedible. As Emma ordered the burgers, I realized I hadn’t eaten since brekkie. I sat on the foot of the bed and scrolled through the channels, half-listening to Emma’s animated vocal expressions as she asked for