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

wanted to reply with something witty and charming, but my tongue felt like it had been injected with Novocain.

“Um…” was all I could manage.

I took her hand to escort her into the party and as her little fingers settled into my palm, I was acutely aware of every ridge, every pore, every skin cell where her touch seared into mine. I held on for as long as I could without becoming awkward, but even as I let go, her brand remained etched on my fingertips.

I had to soberly remind myself that she wasn’t my date. She wasn’t interested. She’d made that perfectly clear.

Stella appeared at my side, accompanied by a pretty Latina young woman in black sequins.

“I see you’ve found our stunning princess,” she said with a wink.

A princess indeed. The Beauty to my Beast.

She caught Beth’s arm before she was lost in the crowd.

“My dear, don’t go running away just yet.”

“Oh, I didn’t see you,” said Beth, rolling her eyes at a rather large man next to her. “Short people problems.”

“I hear ya.” The girl in black held her hand out to Beth. “I’m Francesca.”

“Francesca Precio is the graduate from NYU I was telling you about,” said Stella as the two girls shook hands. Awareness lit Beth’s expression, and she shook her hand with more enthusiasm.

“Yes, yes,” she said. “You’re presenting tonight. Such an honor to meet you.”

Beth and her new B.F.F. Francesca seemed to hit it off immediately. There was so much girl power in the air, I felt invisible. But Stella, ever the diplomat, gave me the proper introduction to her young Latina friend, then linked arms with both ladies.

“I’m afraid I have to steal Beth from you, Will,” she said, already turning away from me. “You don’t mind, do you?”

I guessed that wasn’t the kind of question she expected an answer to since she was gone before she finished her sentence, taking my date that wasn’t really a date with her.

I was suddenly so incredibly alone in this crowd. Where the heck was my sister?

“I expect a little more hospitality from you.”

An icy voice from behind pierced into the last of my warmth. As I turned toward the owner, I took every one of those seconds to shrug on the Hollywood schmooze face.

“Catherine.” I feigned a smile. “So glad you could make it.”

“We’ve been here a half hour, and you haven’t so much as brought a glass of champagne to Anne.”

Aaaand there went my last drop of joy.

“Oh, is Anne here?” I replied. “I hadn’t realized.”

She scowled. “Oh, please. There’s a guest list at the door.”

I shrugged. “I have no control over those things. I just live here. Where is Anne?”

I actually got along well with Anne. Her grandmother was a pain, but she was pretty cool.

“She was looking for you,” she clipped. “Now I’ve lost her.”

“Leave it to me,” I said. “I got this.”

I gave her hand a squeeze because that’s what a gentleman does, and I left her to harass some other poor soul.

I kind of felt sorry for her though. Clearly, she had designs to set her granddaughter up with me, but Anne was just as interested in me romantically as a peanut butter sandwich. And since she had a severe peanut allergy, I was off the menu. Catherine would be so salty once she found out.

After a few polite interactions in the crowd, I finally found Anne way too interested in the contents of her beverage.

“All the food is allergy friendly tonight, well, except the Yorkshire pudding,” I said with a smirk. “No nuts, no gluten, no soy, no shellfish… and some other dietary restriction I forgot. It’s a mystery why we bother to serve food at all.”

Her face lit up at the sight of a friendly face, and she threw her arms around my neck.

“I’m glad I found you before my grandmother did,” she said. “She’s got the Evil Queen theme song following her around.”

“I know. Apparently, I have to get you a glass of champagne, or she’ll cut out my heart.”

She lifted her beverage. “I’m good.”

“What is that?” I asked. “Looks terrible.”

“It’s a Bloody Richard.”

“Such a delightful name.”

“It’s named after King Richard. War of the Roses?”

“Okay.”

“It’s like a Bloody Mary, but with bacon instead of celery.”

“I take back my earlier comment. It’s vile.”

“Oh, man,” she said. “Don’t look now. My grandmother spotted us.”

“Do you think she’ll come over?”

“What else does she have to do? We’re her favorite victims.”

“Well, it was kind of her to donate to the charity.”

She laughed. “Ha. Don’t you know Rosings cuts a profit from these things? It’s an Arts Fellowship. The money goes to art schools. And Rosings is a top school on that list.”

Whoa. That woman really did have her fingers in dozens of different pies. I wouldn’t be surprised if she ran her own ballerina mafia ring.

I shook my head in disbelief. “I don’t think the Evil Queen theme song is right for her.”

“No?” Her eyebrows arched curiously. “What’s her theme song, then?”

“I’m thinking more Don Corleone.”

She laughed a bright, flittery laugh like a finch. I wondered if she really loved dancing or if it was her grandmother’s influence. I’d seen how hard she worked, rehearsing until her feet bled. And she was so thin. Did she dance because it was her passion? Or did she not have a choice? Sort of how young Michael Corleone didn’t want to have anything to do with the family business but ended up becoming the mob boss. Anne was a free spirit. I didn’t see her as a future mob boss.

The ambient music ceased, and the crowd hushed as Stella made a few sound check noises into a microphone. I could see the silver of her hair beyond the heads of the people in front of me. She was standing next to my sister’s new piano.

“Thank you all for coming,” she announced. “I’d say something cheeky like you’re only here for the hosted bar, but we all know that isn’t true. Your very generous donations are what