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

I joined her at the bar and uncorked the wine. She had two glasses ready before it had a chance to breathe.

“Thank you, Stella.” I gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. “You’re the loveliest date I have ever had.”

“Bloody right,” she said. “That last girlfriend of yours wasn’t good enough for you. You’d think she could afford clothing that covered her bits and bobs.”

She was referring to Raquel. That woman was a walking ad for silicone. She also had the personality of a lampshade. Albeit, more like the lampshade in A Christmas Story, but a lampshade all the same.

“Let’s change the subject, shall we?”

Stella sipped delicately at her wine. Her painted lips left a mark on her glass, and she looked upon it as one would admire a painting in the Getty.

“All right,” she began. “We need to finalize the entertainment at the gala, and I also have two seats to fill.”

“Let me guess. Emma and Jaxson aren’t going.”

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling. Emma Woods was Stella’s grand-niece, a flighty little chit, and she happened to be the proud owner of one shiny statue named Oscar, which was one more than I had in my collection. It didn’t hurt that she was notoriously famous for starring in the coolest movies of our generation, directed by Jaxson Knightly. Word on the street was that he only cast her because he was sweet on her. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out. As far as I was concerned, Stella’s niece had it too easy. All her success was handed to her on a diamond-studded platter. All she had to do was ride on her aunt’s coattails and bat her pretty eyes at Jaxson. But she was no Stella Gardiner. She didn’t have half her genius. Still, the public went gaga over her—and so did the Academy.

Stella shrugged. It didn’t seem to bother her that her own niece snubbed the gala banquet. Sure, she and Jaxson paid the expensive donation for the dinner tickets, but the gesture would be better received if they bothered to show. So now Stella had two empty seats to fill, free to whomever was in her good graces.

“I was thinking,” she said, “I’d like to sing some songs for the gala with you and Bing.”

Not a chance.

In a sly move, she topped off my wine. “It would be good P.R. for the show and for your friend. He and I could sing Oh, False One and from there, you can enter the stage and we’ll go right into A Pair of Ducks.”

“It’s Paradox, Stella,” I corrected. “Not Pair of Ducks.”

I wasn’t sure if she sang the wrong lyric on purpose during rehearsal or if she was being silly. As it was, the title of the song was When You Had Left Our Pirate Fold, but everyone insisted on calling it A Paradox.

“Please tell me you don’t intend to be in costume,” I begged.

“No. Heavens!” Her laugh was a little too forced. She did intend to wear costumes. I took another gulp of wine. I could’ve used something stronger. Maybe opium.

“So, I’m guessing you want Bing to take Emma’s dinner. And what about the other ticket?”

“Elizabeth Bennet.”

I almost spat out my wine.

“Whaaat? No.”

“And why on earth not?”

How was I to tell Stella all the reasons inviting Beth to my house for a charity gala was a bad idea? How could I explain to her I crumbled all over the carpet whenever Beth was in the same zip code, let alone in my house—dressed in a sexy gown no less. No. That was a bad idea.

“Why Beth?” I protested. Even the thought of that little girl had my tongue twisted in knots. Images of Beth flooded the forefront of my thoughts. Beth on stage, Beth in the costume shop, Beth slung over my shoulder so close to my face, I couldn’t sing properly. The brief kisses we rehearsed for the show. I didn’t know what to do with this feeling. It unraveled me, and I was lost without the confidence I prided myself on. I swore not to let a woman destroy me. My father’s second wife almost destroyed him. I wouldn’t let that happen to me.

A thick silence formed between us as Stella set down her glass. “I don’t think you pay that man enough.”

I drew my brows together. “What man?”

“Ephraim.” She rolled her eyes as if we’d been discussing him all along, and I was too thick to remember.

Ephraim was my personal assistant. I hired him to take care of tasks I couldn’t do myself, like organize my calendar and pick up my dry cleaning. I would have been content had he only performed the tasks I hired him for, but he was a superstar and before I knew it, he handled all my business—running my household, fixing things when the groundskeeper couldn’t be reached. He even walked my dog. Yeah. I couldn’t live without Ephraim. And I paid him handsomely. Stella was just being dramatic.

“Did you know he sends almost all his money to his mother in Mexico?” she said. “He’s such a good son.”

“I agree.”

“He’s still driving that old Toyota. Poor fellow.”

Poor fellow indeed. The truth was, he made more than my accountant, but Stella wouldn’t believe that. I imagine her tactic to change from one uncomfortable subject to another was her way of bullying me to concede to her insane idea to invite Beth to the gala. One guess who she’d be paired with on the seating chart. Yours truly.

I pushed my wine glass away and leaned on the bar, bearing my eyes into Stella. I had my father’s eyes, and they were my only defense against that great woman.

“By all means,” I said, “let’s take Ephraim to the gala.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about that, William. I only need your participation in the Pair of Ducks song. The committee will plan the rest of the event.”

As far as she was concerned, all was settled. I