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

extra pickles and onion strings. Two more things to add to my list of things Emma loved.

We decided on a classic black and white movie and piled the pillows on the floor to get comfortable. I thought that would be a safer alternative to sitting on the bed. It wasn’t. Every so often, Emma decided the pillows needed more fluffing, so she wiggled until she was cosier. Then she was cold, so she wedged her frigid hands into my coat. Finally, she wanted all the blankets taken down from the bed—so I spread them out for her. I got a quick peck on the cheek for the gesture, and then she snuggled under my arm—too close to my battering heart.

“Thanks, Jax. I feel better now.”

That made one of us.

“Emma…”

I needed to tell her. It was better she knew the truth no matter how much she might hate me. But she was so sweet, cuddling in the folds of my pea coat (which I wisely kept on). I didn’t want to bring up her mum when she’d clearly had a bad night. It could wait for another day.

She lifted her shining eyes to me with a silent question. So trusting. So unaffected.

At length, I asked, “Did you have a nice time today? Other than becoming a human piñata?”

She sighed, burrowing her head deeper into my chest.

“I don’t think Annie’s friends like me. I’m a Star Belly Sneetch.”

“What makes you think that?”

“They just don’t really talk to me, that’s all. I feel…”

“Like you don’t belong?”

I felt her shrug her shoulder against my side. “I’m just being daft.”

“No.” I shifted away from her just enough to turn my body to face her, caressing her chin with my thumb. “You’re not daft. Well… that buddy movie you made last year was half-baked, but you’re not daft.”

“I just felt like Annie was torn between paying attention to them or me, and it shouldn’t be like that. I was like an outsider.”

I studied her sad face and had the passing thought that maybe I’d sheltered her too much. I’d built a bubble wrap fortress around her. That all my affection—however well meant—was suffocating her.

“You forget how famous you are, Emma. I know you don’t like to see it that way, but you are. And that intimidates people. It’s not anybody’s fault. It’s just the way it is.”

She crinkled her brows as she considered my opinion. I never could understand how she did it. All the fame and lights and paparazzi, and it never went to her head. She was just Emma. A funny, clever, sensitive, artistic, and intelligent English Rose. Too bad other people didn’t see her that way.

“Thanks for being here.” She held my gaze, letting her features darken with another thought. “What if I’d never ever met you?”

“You did. Don’t think of such silly things.” My fingers wrapped around a strand of her hair, twirling it, taming it.

“I’m glad Weak Jaxson won,” she said on a sigh.

My heart tugged in response. The jury was still out on that as far as I was concerned. Weak Jaxson didn’t seem to have any control whatsoever. Heat rose on her features, giving her an incandescent glow, and her gaze turned glassy and heavy.

“You’re not watching the movie,” I whispered.

She searched my features. “Neither are you.”

“Maybe I’m directing one.”

“Oh?” She swallowed the word, breathing shallow. “Where would the camera be?”

“Right over here.” I didn’t bother pointing. She wasn’t looking anyway.

“And what are my lines?” she said, her breathy tone barely audible.

“You don’t have any lines.”

A hint of something crossed her features. Fear? Shyness? Her irises grew wide and round with expectancy.

“Are you going to call action, Mr Knightly?”

“I need to frame the shot. Do you think I have a fair shot?”

She fisted the collar of my coat, and her eyes fluttered shut. Her lips parted slightly, just a sweet breath away. She smelled so good, like caramelized sugar and vanilla. Even in the dim light, I could make out the warmth of her bright face, those soft lips aching for contact, swollen with need.

Somewhere, buried beneath layers of longing, Smart Jaxson cried out, trying to reason his way back into the race. We’re not doing this. Not again. Emma’s affectionate touches and gentle displays of intimacy played me like a tightly wound violin, ready to fray the bowstrings. The memory of the celebratory kiss she’d given me months ago still weighed on me. How she’d smiled and embraced me. How her lips fell onto mine instinctively, freely, naturally. How familiar and homey it had been. Hot, yes. But also, artless and perfect. Then she’d laughed it off, pretending it was just the kind of thing we did sometimes. The innocent kiss of a friend. But she didn’t feel anything like a friend to me right now. And I hated myself for that thought.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

The rap at the door barely registered. It took a moment for Emma to acknowledge the sound. She just looked at me for several moments, not moving.

Another knock. Room service was fast in this hotel.

“The food is here,” I said softly, tracing her jawline with my fingertips.

She nodded and took in a quick breath. Then she padded across the room and cracked the door, keeping the chain in place. Good girl. But when she didn’t open up for our dinner, alarms set off in my head. She lazily leaned on the threshold and tucked her hair back, smiling politely. It was a friend, then. Not a friend like me, I hoped. Listening intently, I made out the voice of a man. Randall? No. Elton. Still, she didn’t move the chain.

“I’m fine,” she said in soft tones. “Thanks for checking.”

My chest constricted as I watched her nod and tell him good night. I had the sudden urge to challenge him to a duel. Emma was all dishevelled from burrowing into me, her hair a right mess. It made me feel possessive and macho.

Closing the door, she let out a deep sigh and leaned flat