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

The untimely death of Greg Wickham brought Jorge once again to a crossroads in his unlucky life, and Martin, a single father himself by that time, in the hopes to give Jorge a family, took him in. Although Jorge didn’t find much of a brother in Will, he became like a mentor to Will’s young sister Georgia. She’d follow him everywhere. He was like a hero to her.

“She’s at Juilliard now, right?” I interjected, remembering the conversation Will had with Caroline.

“Yes, she is. She’s a truly gifted musician. They don’t let you in that school if you’re not. But it’s gone to her head. She used to be such a sweet girl. Now she’s almost as bad as her brother. I don’t know where they get that entitled attitude. Martin was such a humble man.”

I was sorry to hear that but not at all surprised. Will and his sister were born into privilege. They’d never know the struggles of people like Jorge—or me for that matter. We were worlds apart, and more often than not, people like that became conceited.

Unfortunately for Jorge, his suffering was only beginning. His studies at UCLA had opened all sorts of doors for him in film production and he was on course to a successful career. But his world came crashing to a halt when Martin Darcy died suddenly.

Jorge’s eyes welled up with tears as the memory flooded into view.

“He was like a father to me,” he said woefully.

Cue the tug on my heartstrings. Imagine the loss this man had to endure—first his mother, then his father, then his foster father and friend—it was overwhelmingly painful to hear. But that wasn’t the worst of it.

When Martin’s will was read, Jorge was left with a considerable sum as well as some sentimental personal items. He didn’t expect anything at all and only wanted a book of poems Martin would sometimes read to him. It was a special item and held a lot of happy memories. But once the dust settled from the funeral and following weeks, Will cut Jorge off completely from the estate. He had found some kind of legal loophole to shut him out. This in itself didn’t bother Jorge half as much as what he did next.

“When I came to claim the book,” Jorge winced at the painful memory, “he flat out refused to give it to me.”

“Why not give you the book?” I asked incredulously.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “At first, he said he couldn’t find it, but then after some prodding and looking around on my part, he finally admitted he had no intention of letting me have it. What would he want with a book of poetry? That was a little petty, don’t you think?”

“More than a little,” I agreed.

If I were a cussing person, I might have chosen a few choice words a little stronger in context than ‘petty.’ But there was even more to the story to add a gruesome cherry to an already distasteful pudding. Just as Jorge was making connections, close to advancing in his career, Will flexed his celebrity muscle and had Jorge blackballed from every studio worthy of working for. Nobody would hire him. All his hard work and Martin Darcy’s wishes wiped away with one sweep of Will’s callous influence.

I could hardly believe my ears, but Jorge was the sincerest I had ever seen in a human being. There was deep misery in his features. It was a fascinating vision to see such a different man than the one who’d been flirting with me all day. He was a broken, tortured man, afflicted with a life of disappointment after bitter disappointment, and here he was in my kitchen, telling me his heart-wrenching story, wearing nothing but boxers and my Hello Kitty bathrobe. I was moved beyond words.

“What a Delilah,” I said. “Why would he do such a thing?”

It didn’t make much sense to me. Then again, the rich and famous were an entirely different breed of human.

“I hate to say it,” he admitted, “but the truth is, Will was jealous of my relationship with his father. I was closer in temperament with Martin, and he loved me like his own son. That made Will blind with jealousy.”

He sighed and dug into a package of saltines on the table. “So here I am, getting odd jobs in stagecraft, trying to keep afloat.” He took a disappointing bite out of a cracker. “I didn’t expect I’d see William at the theatre of all places.”

I noted his use of the long form of Will’s name. Even after what he went through at that man’s hands, he still showed that small gesture of respect. I wondered if it was an ode to the great loss he felt, a wasted opportunity for a brother he never had and now never would.

“What about other family?” I asked. “Do you have uncles or cousins?”

“I never met any of my father’s family. He never spoke of them. And my mother was the only one in her family to immigrate to the United States. All my relations on her side live in Costa Rica. I have no contact with them.”

That was probably the saddest thing I’d ever heard. My own mother was a pain in the Coco, but at least I had a mom.

“So,” he said with finality. “Do you have a secret sofa hidden away somewhere, or do I sleep on the floor?”

I wasn’t sure if his question was laced with innuendo or if he was just sleepy. I hadn’t considered the sleeping arrangements when I made the offer. Now with Lydia on the couch and Jorge in my kitchen, there were more people than my little two-bedroom apartment could accommodate.

“You know what?” I said at length. “Take my room.”

His eyebrows shot up. “That was easy.”

I smacked him in the leg. This guy!

“Alone!” I chided. “I’ll sleep with Jane.”

Truth be told, I didn't expect she’d come home at all at this point, but I didn’t want to offer Jorge her room