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

“We haven’t told you the best part,” said Georgia, bubbling over with excitement.

I exchanged a look with Beth. She was just as amused as I was, but much more tolerant.

“Oh?” I said. I wished this silly conversation could be over already. Actually, I wished the whole night could fast forward to when I could give Beth a goodnight kiss.

Goals.

“Garret’s brother has a peanut allergy,” replied Stella.

Beth’s little nose scrunched up, and she asked, “How is that the best part?”

I answered her with a soft reply in her ear, “Anne is highly allergic.”

Her beautiful mouth formed an O, and she nodded silently.

“Garret, out of habit, won’t come within a ten-mile radius of a tree nut,” said Stella. “But since he’s adopted, he doesn’t share his brother’s DNA, so there’s a good chance the allergy won’t be passed down to any potential offspring.”

Francesca, who silently listened next to Beth, almost did a spit-take with her water and coughed. Georgia got up and rubbed her back, which does absolutely nothing for a choking person, but she likely didn’t know what else to do to be helpful.

“I’m okay.” Francesca held up a hand in the universal sign that means ‘chill.’ “Went down the wrong pipe, that’s all.”

When she had recovered, Beth asked, “Is that sort of thing passed down? Peanut allergies?”

“Oh yes,” replied Stella with energy. “There’s research that pinpoints a region in the human genome associated with allergies. It’s like anything else—hair color, artistic talent, terrible taste in fashion…”

“Wow,” Beth replied. “You certainly have done your research.”

“I always do.”

Stella grinned and took a long pull of her wine, volleying her eyes between Beth and me. She’d done her research, all right. This whole thing with Beth was no accident. It was highly orchestrated. Somehow, I had the suspicion my sister was in on it, too.

“Sorry I’m late.” Clay Tilney pulled out the sixth chair at our table and slid into it, smiling apologetically. “I had to run home and change, and traffic was… well, you know. It’s L.A.”

Stella assured him there were no apologies needed and introduced him to everyone at the table. Clay Tilney was the heir to Northanger Productions, a famous but has-been film company. I honestly couldn’t tell you what they’d done in the past ten years. In Hollywood, that was an eternity.

But Clay was a cool-enough guy. I wondered what Stella had planned for that poor soul. Currently, he sat where Bing would have, had he not left us hanging.

Dinner turned out to be good—what I ate of it. My stomach was tied up in knots with the proximity of Beth quietly nibbling at her meal. It was a traditional English roast. I noted with some amusement the Yorkshire pudding was way off the dietary restriction wagon. Not a tree nut in sight, though, which was good. I was so distracted with my own thoughts, I didn’t notice until halfway through dinner that neither Clay nor Francesca ate any meat. Vegetarians. That was the one I’d forgotten on my list earlier. I stole a glance at Stella and my sister to gauge their involvement in this particular seating arrangement. But they were watching Clay and Francesca all throughout dinner, conspiring and shaking their heads as if to say, No, this will never work.

Hmmm. So there was a vetting process? What on earth did Beth and I have in common? Nothing—except pride and prejudice. And those weren’t good virtues with which to begin a relationship. Still… perhaps we were beyond all that.

I had to kick myself for thinking in those terms. This was no relationship. Whatever it was between Beth and me was anything but. I’d be wise to remember that.

Coffee and tea were served, a few people had aperitifs sent from the bar, a few speeches were made, and Francesca announced the Herschel Gardiner Endowment awards. I didn’t even notice when she got up from the table. It was all a blur. All my attention was focused on the woman to my left, the exquisite creature in gold.

At one point, we were ushered off backstage, and Francesca sang a song about hair. ‘Hair, hair, hair’ were all the lyrics that registered to me. It must have been a comedic piece because the audience laughed throughout the song, and when she hit a ridiculously high note at the end, the room erupted in thunderous applause. Beth certainly was impressed, watching from the wings and smiling brightly at the performance. My hands were too sweaty to pay attention to much of anything beyond my breathing. What had gotten into me? I never had stage fright. Never had I been nervous before a performance in my entire life until now. I told myself it was the material. It wasn’t exactly opera, but the score from Pirates of Penzance was way more legit than contemporary musicals. I’d only learned the song a few hours ago. Also, my dinner was still digesting. I preferred to sing on an empty stomach. And that there were colleagues in the audience that didn’t see me as a song and dance man. To them, I was an action star and nothing more.

I told myself those things, but none of them were true. The woman within an arm’s reach, a woman with whom I was about to sing a love duet, caused my disquiet.

Stella gave her sales pitch now. Fitz came backstage to get a sip of water and hang out with us while we waited for Stella to finish. If he spoke to me, I don’t remember. I probably nodded and laughed at a joke I didn’t hear. My eyes must have glazed over and maybe lost consciousness (if that’s possible while standing), because Fitz snapped his fingers in my face amidst the distant sound of applause. The kind of applause that’s a cue to go on stage. Stella was in the spotlight, waiting like the timeless star she was, and suddenly, I snapped