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

“Yeah. In a kind of innocent, girl-next-door sort of way.”

That put a wry curve to her lips, and she turned her gaze away again.

“But you’re so different in front of the cameras. Like you put on someone else’s skin. It’s rather fascinating.”

She shrugged. “I guess I got carried away.”

“Nothing wrong with it. I’m just surprised, that’s all.” I offered her my arm again, thinking how the evening took a pleasant turn. I was glad I brought her. “Shall we?”

We’d gone through most of the queue, steps away from the portico when a chilling breeze swept over us. Harriet instinctively shuddered and rubbed a palm over her bare shoulders. I didn’t think anything of it to drape my arm around her for warmth. But a thousand flashes went off in response, just as her wide hazel eyes rose to meet mine with an expression of complete gratitude. I dropped my hands to my side, wondering briefly if the images I’d seen on the internet of Emma and Frank were taken in a similar way. How the press, their response deafeningly loud, could misconstrue something as benign as a civil gesture.

All I could hear was my name, over and over again. Jaxson, Jaxson, over here Jaxson. Click, click, click. It wasn’t until Harriet tugged my sleeve did I realize one of those voices was Emma’s—her bright smile effervescent and lovely. She weaved through the line of actors, executives, and creatives waiting to enter the Dolby Theatre to get to me. Neither one of us was nominated this year, nor were we presenting, which was a first in a very long time, so it felt a little strange, but when her gaze locked onto mine, dazzling and shining, I forgot we’d come separately, and for one heart-stopping moment, Harriet and Frank ceased to exist. Emma’s arms wrapped around my shoulders, and she offered me a polite air kiss on the side of my face, careful not to smudge her hot-red lipstick. She was a study in classic Hollywood, enough to rival Audrey Hepburn. Her long, black gown was simple yet elegant, and her hair was pulled up and topped with a crown of something sparkly. To complete the ensemble, she wore a pair of long white gloves, reaching her upper arms and cuffed with diamond bracelets. But what struck me most was the diamond choker adorning her elegant neck. That was new—not that I memorized Emma’s jewellery collection or anything. But if I knew anything about Emma, I knew she wouldn’t have bought something like that for herself. Was that a gift from Frank?

“You look radiant as always, Emma.”

She laughed, the kind that brightened the room and all the surrounding zip codes. “You clean up well yourself, Jax.”

“Oh, this old thing?” It wasn’t much of an exaggeration. It was my lucky tux, the one I wore to all the award shows. I didn’t think anyone noticed my tux when all eyes were on the ladies. You’ve seen one tux you’ve seen them all. Nobody ever asked me who I was wearing. The Who was always the gorgeous woman on my arm as far as I was concerned. Unfortunately, my favourite companion was currently accompanying a guy who’d never appreciate her—never realize the privilege of her company. Presently, that guy caught up with her after tearing himself away from a particularly clingy vlogger and placed a possessive hand at the small of Emma’s back. My gut clenched into such an incredibly painful knot I almost excused myself to the gentlemen’s, hoping whatever it was would come out one end or another.

Frank clapped my shoulder and tugged me in for a selfie.

“Hey, Jax. Look at us. A couple of ladies’ men.”

“Speak for yourself,” I snapped as the flash went off.

The press went wild when Emma and Harriet jumped in the photo, making it a cosy foursome. Frank tweeted the pictures immediately. This year, the trending hashtag was #We’reAllWinners or some bloody thing like that to discourage hard feelings among the nominees. I felt ridiculous posing for it. Nevertheless, I wanted a copy of that photo just so I could crop Frank out of it.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” said Emma.

“I changed my mind.”

“Why didn’t you tell me so?”

I inclined my head toward Frank who had broken away from our group to interact with fans behind the stanchions. “You had other plans.”

“We could have all come together. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Yeah, a real blast. I noticed Harriet slide next to Frank which he didn’t seem to mind. That guy was nothing but a player.

“Which after party are you going to?” she asked.

“I rather prefer our tradition of taking hamburgers to Griffith Park.”

Emma glowed with mischief. “Let’s go right now.”

“Go where right now?” The weight of an arm pressed on my shoulder, and the other belonging to the same man rested on Emma’s. Henry Crawford slipped into my moment with Emma and squeezed us into him. “We’re quite the trio, aren’t we?”

More cameras flashed.

“We should probably get inside,” I suggested, using the movement to slug his arm from my shoulder. He took that as an invitation to shake hands.

“How the heck are ya, Jaxson? I haven’t seen you since we finished shooting that steampunk picture. Are you done with postproduction?”

“Just about,” I answered, returning the handshake with equal force. He only let go of his grip to turn his attention to Emma, raking his eyeballs up and down her body.

“You look super hot.”

She flinched, but only for a nanosecond. She knew well his meaning but was quick with her response. “I do? It’s actually a little chilly out here.”

He snorted. “Funny. Allow me to escort you inside. You don’t mind, do you Jaxson?”

Mind? Why no. I’ll just add my name to her already full dance card.

“You might want to ask her date,” I replied curtly.

As if on cue, Frank appeared next to us, followed closely by Harriet. A glint of amusement played over Henry’s features right before shaking Frank’s hand. Introductions were made although they were both