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

every surface, strewn about in a way that proved they weren’t just for show. The wet bar where he’d gotten ice for my ankle and a cozy fireplace he lit while I rested.

“Actually,” I replied, “I wouldn’t mind if you’d bring me my clutch.” I gave him my pretty please face and told him where to find it. I didn’t think anyone would be interested in my stuff in this place, but I still felt more comfortable having it near me. I remember being so swept away with Georgia’s performance, I forgot to take it with me into dinner. No wonder she was at Juilliard. The piano was a Christmas gift from Will. She said something about it being the finest piano manufacturer in the world and was custom crafted in Italy. That was some Christmas present.

Will swiftly left my side like a man on an urgent mission. I thought I heard quick footsteps, like he was running. With the room to myself, I had an opportunity to take in my surroundings a little better.

This was probably where he spent most of his time. A large, fluffy dog bed caught my eye next to a ratty recliner. I imagined Will reading one of those books with his feet up and his free hand hanging over the side of the chair while Lady was the happy recipient of his scratches.

A pair of tennis shoes was strewn under the coffee table, and countless framed photos covered the mantel, side tables, and shelves.

But the most striking thing of all was a quaint (normal sized) Douglas Fir adorned with crafty decorations made by a child’s hands. I got up to admire it up close. My ice compress gave me some comfort, enough to hobble over through the dull pain. There wasn’t a designer ornament in sight. Every single piece hanging from that tree must have held some kind of sentimental value. Most of them looked homemade. And all of them had a year printed on them, either etched or written in permanent marker. Baby’s first Christmas, Will in second grade, Georgia’s little face cut out of a photo and glued to a clay gingerbread figure adorned with beads and glitter. Some of the beads had fallen off. She must have been in preschool or kindergarten at the time. A few of the year bulbs were dated over thirty years ago. It was the most colorful hodgepodge of Christmas ornaments and mismatched ribbons and lights I’d ever seen. A far cry from the fancy tree in the foyer.

“Your bag has been buzzing non-stop since I picked it up.”

Will held my bag over his head as he entered the room but halted when he saw me by the tree. “How’s your ankle?”

“A little better, thanks.”

He joined me by the tree and handed me my clutch. The entire thing buzzed relentlessly.

“See what I mean?” he said.

“It’s probably my notifications,” I said dismissively. “I’ll check on them later.” I waved the little, gold bag like a glitzy maraca. “I probably should have left it upstairs.”

I put my phone in the clutch because I’d wanted to take some pictures, but with the excitement of the evening, I totally forgot. Maybe I was just nervous about the duet.

“Well, it matches the dress,” he said. “I have to admit, when the packages came in for you last week, I didn’t know what Stella was up to. But I have to say, I really like the results.”

His eyes swept over me in open assessment, and the heat from his stare could have melted down the gold from my dress. I could almost feel it dripping hot and molten on my skin. It took me a moment to register what he’d said.

“Wait, what?” I said. “Last week?”

“Yeah. Imagine my reaction when I saw your name on those delivery boxes.”

“You mean this isn’t a rental?”

My thoughts raced to dinner, and the carefully planned-out seating arrangement with Anne and the super-hot, non-peanut-eating African-American man. Then to all the little comments Stella had been making lately, discouraging me from getting too close to Jorge, inviting me to the charity, the limo, the dress, the duet.

“Is this all part of some elaborate machination? The dress, the shoes, the bag, Bing cancelling tonight…” I used air quotes on the word cancelling. “the teenager with the slushy…?”

Will laughed from somewhere deep inside. It was a belly laugh. “Stella’s pretty ambitious, but I think that’s a stretch even for her.”

“Okay, maybe not the slushy.” I had to admit it was hilarious, and Will’s laugh, as I mentioned earlier, was unavoidably contagious.

“I’ll tell you what I do think,” he said with mirth. “Once Stella has it in her head she wants to do something, she’ll take every opportunity to make it happen. And the funny thing is, she’s one of those rare individuals that the stars align for. It’s her special kind of magic.”

“And what do you suppose she has in her head now?”

His eyes flashed over my features with awareness. There was an answer hanging in the air, just lingering there, perched on his lips. He opened his mouth to speak, or maybe for some other useful occupation that involved my lips, too. But then he froze like he just realized he’d been duped into eating mind-altering lotus flowers and turned his attention to the tree.

The tree.

The most interesting tree in the world with a trunk and branches and pine needles in a particular shade of green, some on the verge of turning brown and brittle.

“Which one’s your favorite?” I asked.

His face lit up at the mention of it. He made a contented hum, stroking through the branches in search of the one ornament he liked best. “I think this one.”

He cupped a simple glass bulb with his palm and lovingly stroked his thumb over the etched numbers. It was completely clear with a frosted etching of only four numbers. A year. And it was before he was born. A frayed red ribbon made a flat bow on the top