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

20

Cold Civility

Will

Let’s be honest, here. If I had known Elizabeth was going to be at Rosings, I still would have gone. But if I had known, I could have been better prepared. It was serendipity. Just like in the cheesy romantic comedy movies my sister made me watch with her, the crowd parted and there was Beth. When our eyes met, a jolt of electricity shot through me, temporarily stunning me in place. I couldn’t read her face. Was it surprise? Elation? Indigestion? It’s hard to say. It took me almost a full minute to recover from the stun-gun to my cortex—whichever cortex is responsible for gross motor skills. If my mouth wasn’t suddenly dry, a dribbling of drool might have formed on my chin. The way she looked in that dress. The word stunning does not do it justice. Ethereal. Sublime. Me want. My IQ plummeted into single digits.

As I drummed up the courage to approach her, Colin and Beth’s little bartender friend blocked my path. What in the world was that man wearing? I give him points for individuality.

I wasn’t interested in joining a group chat. That would entail being sociable when clearly my motor functions were barely working. Beth did that to me. The dress didn’t make it any easier. It was simply cut, straight and flowy. No frills. And it was held in place by two thin straps over her elegant shoulders. It was driving me loony. But then the trio disappeared through the crowd, shrouded by faceless blobs obstructing my view. Where were they going?

A few of the faceless blobs tried to strike up a conversation with me as I pursued Beth and her friends. I honestly couldn’t tell you what I said to brush them off or how rude I might have been. I didn’t want to lose sight of Beth.

A streak of pink swept around a corner. Colin’s powder puff tuxedo. I swear, he looked like bubble gum and cotton candy had a love child and well-meaning friends would visit to congratulate them on their new baby bliss but then snicker, saying, “It is unfortunate your baby is so ugly. Have you tried hiding it in a tower?” My eyes were in actual physical pain. But that didn’t matter because…Beth. The pink ruffles and top hat were like a beacon that led me to her—like a very strange light house on a foggy night when the captain of a ship at sea might be all “WTH?” As for myself, I was only interested in hollering “Land ho!” To my chagrin, the land came in the form of one Catherine de Bourgh. I should have known that clown was on his way to seek her approval for whatever nonsense he was currently into. Once he actually wasted a half hour of precious rehearsal time describing his new closet organizer. Shelves! What a concept. I didn’t have the heart to tell him he wasn’t really saving any space. Maybe if he wasn’t trying to channel 1970s Elton John, his closets would have more room.

I followed the trail to learn where they were going, keeping my distance like a stealthy love-sick James Bond. What was I doing? I was supposed to get this girl out of my thoughts. She assaulted my dreams, stole my peace. Kept me up at night. My trips to her workplace were supposed to fix that. Newsflash: It didn’t help.

She’d deliver me tasteless beer and charge my credit card for the most expensive items on the menu just to spite me. It was strangely alluring. Her moxie. Then I got that phone call and had to leave the restaurant. My sister wasn’t in any danger, but I couldn’t take the chance. It wasn’t the kind of distraction I would have welcomed. But it took my thoughts away from Beth—for a while. A quiet Christmas with my sister was perfectly adequate, thank you. Over the course of a week, I only thought of Beth three times: when I looked at the tree, when I looked at Christmas lights, and when I heard Christmas music play. Only three times. Totally not obsessed with her.

But then there she was. A vision of watercolor on an acrylic backdrop. All soft lines and diffused radiance. Everything else fell out of focus. Why? Why was she there? Surely some demented Cupid had it in for me.

And then that comment she made. Pumpkin pie. She was taunting me. Teasing me. I really loved pie.

I told myself I could keep my distance. Let Fitz show her a good time while I sulked in the corner watching dancers do a lyrical rendition of twister in plastic bodysuits. But then she bolted. Something upset her. What the blazes did Fitz do?

She ran into the gardens, hiding away under the archway of star jasmine vines. She looked like a sprite in a magical dream surrounded by moonlight and white twinkle lights. My heart leapt to my throat.

When she saw me approach, her eyes widened, and she recoiled.

“Are you all right?” I asked.

She answered with cold civility. “Peachy.”

This was new territory for me. Her eyes were leaking. I had no idea how to deal with that.

“Have you been crying?”

Real smooth.

She shot me a severe stare and walked away finding a small amphitheater shaded by billowy canvas sails. It was a creative breezy place to sit in the summer but now on a chilly winter night, it was quiet and still.

“Elizabeth,” I called softly. “Wait.”

She halted her steps but didn’t turn to face me, hugging her arms. She was cold.

“Take my coat.” I rid myself of my tuxedo jacket and offered it to her, but she shook her head vehemently.

“No,” she said in clipped tones. “Thank you.”

She wasn’t a shy woman. Until that moment, I’d never known her to be short on words. Usually the words were laced with pithy and quick-witted banter. Was this another side of Beth? Could it be she had the same paralyzing fears as