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

was acutely aware of Jaxson’s tiniest movements. The rise and fall of that glorious chest. The uneven, ragged breaths as his fingers tightened around my knees. Those heavy, hooded eyes.

GAH. Nothing to see here. Just silly Emma, a proper mess.

I mentally slapped myself for being so daft and smiled wryly as I zipped that leather jacket up to his chinny chin chin. Take that, rock-hard abs. For good measure, and because I was feeling especially ornery, I snapped the collar nice and tight with pointed finis.

“Now I’m ready to hear you out. But don’t try to trick me.”

“I don’t do that.” His voice was low and rumbly, and he was still so incredibly close. I could essentially fall off my stool and land conveniently on his lips. Just sayin’.

Instead, I chose to pretend I had some dignity.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” I said, pointing to my chin.

He unsnapped the collar of his jacket and unzipped it enough to not choke and stepped back a few steps, clearing his throat.

“Pinky called.”

My ears perked up. “Beth’s back?”

“No,” he replied with a slight wince at my misplaced enthusiasm. “Not Beth.”

“If not Beth, then who?” I tried to think if any of the cast or crew left somewhere or if we were missing anybody.

And then it clicked, and I looked up at him with wide eyes as he replied, “Frank Churchill.”

18

Coffee In Bed

Emma

It was a swoonfest on Monday. Every woman in the rehearsal studio was quite smitten with Frank Churchill. Every woman, that is, except Jennifer Fairfax. Frank was gorgeous, charismatic, and magnetic. A real triple threat. No warm-blooded female human was immune to his magic. It was rather unfair really—how he filled the room as though he was glowing in some sort of angelic way. Even Stella stopped by the rehearsal space for a tad longer than usual.

And me? I considered myself an impartial observer. The view wasn’t bad either. Even though I vowed never to play cupid again, I could still put my talents to use for my own amusement. I would no longer influence the hearts of would-be lovers, but I could watch infatuations unfold on their own. All I needed was some popcorn and 3-D glasses. It was due to those talents that the charms of Frank Churchill didn’t affect me. I lived on the fringes where affairs of the heart were concerned. It was like I had a hazmat suit to protect me from the flames of love. I wasn’t against falling in love—quite the contrary. But even the most brilliant matchmakers admit that romance, while extremely necessary for most, is not beneficial for all. Statistically speaking, the extremely necessary camp falls somewhere in the 99.9 percent range.

I knew this to be true because I read it on the internet. And since statistics in an Albert Einstein meme never lie, the chances of there being two of us in the same room were less probable than getting struck by lightning. I jest, of course, but the truth of it was I knew Jaxson and I were cut from the same hazmat suit cloth.

There was no chance we would ever encounter a third. In other words, Jennifer Fairfax was in the extremely necessary camp. And since Frank didn’t seem to ring her bell, it could only mean one thing: she was consumed by another chap to such a degree, she was blind to hot guys. Yep. She had it bad. For whom, it remained to be revealed. And I had popcorn, a front row seat, and 3-D glasses to enjoy the show.

Presently, her focus was on the floor. Such an interesting floor. Also, her ears were pink. Frank was busy showing off his tattoo—Lancelot’s coat of arms, according to his extensive research on the subject. His giggling audience (which consisted of Pinky, Harriet, a production assistant, and our dialect coach) all teased him about who his Guinevere might be. He shook his head and cackled as though he’d heard that a thousand times. Jennifer gave a minuscule eye roll.

Hmmm. Interesting.

I imagined she wouldn’t have bothered to pay much attention to Frank at all if she didn’t have a scene with him. She played the part of his scorned lover, and they had an explosive few lines of dialogue before her heartbreaking torch song. In modern cinema, a solo like that would be cut or given to a principal character. But Jaxson felt strongly about that scene and knew it was a showstopper—even though it belonged to a minor role. Beth would have been better, but I almost hated to admit that Jennifer was quite convincing in the part. She was more talented than any reality television star I’d ever seen. I surmised it had less to do with her acting abilities and more to do with her mystery man—and possibly her aversion to Frank. There was a juicy story in there somewhere, and happy hour with the girls was the best way to get her to spill.

All things considered, we did end up having a fun time after rehearsal. I convinced Jennifer to join Harriet and me at Tapeo, selling her on the potato bombas. But, to my surprise, we were joined by Jaxson, Frank, Pinky, and even Morris who usually popped off early to FaceTime with his wife and kids.

Harriet was in good spirits and didn’t seem tremendously bothered by Elton’s absence. Jaxson had been overly vague at rehearsal when he’d announced it to the cast and crew—only saying Elton was in New York on business. I hoped Harriet would take it well; once we were alone, I’d have to be the one to snap her heart in two with the news. The more I thought about it, the more I resented Elton. He had to know she fancied him, yet he led her on just to get to me. Oh villain, thy name is Elton, and I shall smite thee. Or… maybe I’d just shave his eyebrow while he slept.

Frank was an intolerable flirt, but