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

I wished I could go to Disneyland. Only a couple more hours until my shift was over. I’d have to content myself with watching videos when I got home. That would do for a mediocre substitute.

I was deciding upon a comforting stack of carbolicious pancakes to soothe my woes when the air around me was suddenly disturbed by the arrival of Will Darcy. He looked horrible. Like he hadn’t slept. In fact, I don’t think he had slept. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair looked like small birds could make it their home. I gave him kudos for changing out of his tux at least. He didn’t go to his usual table. Instead, he made a straight line in my direction and stopped an arm’s length from where I stood. He looked at me with his sad eyes and unshaven face like a deflated balloon. It was depressing.

I didn’t say anything to him. What do you say to a guy who, less than twenty-four hours ago, kissed you like you’ve never been kissed before but there was that little caveat of swearing to hate him forever? Yeah. There were no words.

He held out an envelope, handing it to me without an explanation.

“Will you please read this?”

That’s all he said. Nothing more. Then he walked out the door, leaving me astonished and bristled. He was such a drama llama, making an exit like that. Clearly, he watched too many black and white movies. That thought upset me because I loved black and white movies, too. Ugh!

The envelope burned at my curiosity for the next few hours until my shift ended. I was acutely aware of its presence in my apron pocket as I set about my chores. Filling the salt shakers, wiping down the menus, doing fifty roll-ups. All those menial tasks gave me ample time to contemplate what might be in that envelope. It was kind of thick. If it was a letter, it was a long one. Who wrote letters in the twenty-first century? I pictured Will at an old writing desk with a quill and ink. It was the best I could do to lighten my mood until I could have some privacy to read whatever it was he couldn’t put in an email. Maybe he knew I’d delete it without opening it.

Once I left the lodge for the day, I decided to pull into a Home Depot parking lot to open the letter in my car. If it exploded in my face, I’d be able to use their fire hydrant. I gingerly opened the seal and retrieved four sheets of stationary filled with scribblings front and back. A word here and there was crossed out, and since there were no lines, the sentences curved down in a slant and weren’t uniform in size.

The letterhead was personalized, like he actually wrote letters on a regular basis. Maybe he did use a quill. Will with a quill. The words he used, careful in execution and somewhat formal were as follows:

From the desk of William Martin Darcy

Bahh what a dork.

Miss Elizabeth Bennet,

Please don’t think this letter is a repeat of my advances. I suppose by writing you, it would seem that I’m not giving up the hopes and wishes I expressed to you last night. Believe me, I’d rather not drag this out longer than is comfortable for either one of us, but as a matter of principle, I felt I needed to clear the air of a few misunderstandings. I can almost see you roll your eyes as I write this, but please bear with me.

Rolling my eyes! I was SO rolling my eyes. Curse him for knowing that. Grrr.

Last night, you made two incriminating accusations against me. One, I convinced Bing to detach himself from Jane—to put it in your words—played with their emotions and made them miserable. The other grievance you expressed concerned Jorge Wickham. According to your accounts, I stripped him of his dignity and ruined his life, casting him out into the world to live out his days in poverty and obscurity. You make me out as a tyrant.

Well, if the shoe fits…

To cast out a childhood friend who was practically family, someone my father loved like a son, who lived with us as a brother would be a pretty crappy thing to do, but it’s not even in the same ballpark as keeping two people apart who hardly know each other. By the way you rained down your fury last night, one would think I was some kind of mustache-twirling super villain with a secret vendetta on all that’s good. I hope after you read this, you’ll understand the truth enough to put this behind us. I’m sorry if what I have to say offends you, but I have to get this off my chest. As far as I’m concerned, it’s pointless to apologize.

You would think that, you arrogant Caiaphas.

As you’re probably aware, Bing and I came to the Gardiner straight from a national tour. What you don’t know, however, is that I was responsible for introducing him to Stella, which got him the lead role in Pirates. I promised I would guide him in his career—to steer him in the right direction so he could enjoy some success. I did this selflessly, taking a job in a venue far below my skill level all as a favor to him. (I won’t get into the particulars of my arrangement with Stella that came with the deal.)

Because I felt so protective of Bing’s success, I grew increasingly concerned with the amount of time he was spending with Jane versus his craft. He’s a talented actor, but he has a lot to learn, and in this business, it takes tireless dedication and hard work. Having a girlfriend is just a distraction. Even so, if I thought there was any true affection, I wouldn’t have said anything. But I watched them. I