Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

by Gigi Blume

  “Emma, please.”

  I spun around on him, hardly able to stand—so very weary from this devastating blow.

  “Please tell me you’re joking. You’ve had too much champagne, that’s all.” I forced a laugh. “Ha ha. See? I’m laughing. Let’s just forget this whole thing.”

  “I only had enough wine to muster the courage to act on my feelings. You’ve been flirting with me for weeks.”

  My jaw dropped. “Flirting? I’ve done no such thing. Take that back.”

  “No.”

  “Take it back.”

  “I will not.” He stuck his tongue out at me. Now who was twelve years old? But twelve-year-olds didn’t usually make a habit of groping women, so that’s where the similarities ended. His hands were heading straight toward me when, in my panic, I grabbed his champagne flute and splashed him.

  “How’s that for flirting?”

  Hand groping averted.

  “Really?” he spat. “This is my best suit.”

  With that, he stormed off, leaving me and my lurching stomach alone to think about all that had just happened. Not that I (or my lurching stomach) could think straight. The wild narwhal and bikini whale mating calls by the B-52s clashed into the headache I’d been trying to calm down all day. The dizziness was getting worse by the second. My ill-fated encounter with Elton wasn’t helping my nausea either. I’d felt it coming on for hours but now, it was accompanied with a sharp pain behind my navel. Mum was right. Wedding food was evil.

  I reached into my bag for another dose of Mum’s organic snake oil.

  She’d said it was flora with healing herbs. It was almost impossible to describe, but if pressed, I’d say it tasted like regret and homeless hippies. I gulped down as much as I could stand in one go. Ugh! It was even worse than I remembered. How could something so goopy make my throat so dry? Feeling irrationally like I might die of thirst any second, I grabbed my flute glass and chased the medicine with my sparkling cider. Only it wasn’t cider. It was Elton’s champagne. I must have splashed all my sparkling cider on him by mistake. My tongue felt oddly huge. The room was stuffy and suffocating. Stumbling for escape, I grabbed my clutch and went outside for some fresh air, leaving the muffled music and worst night of my life behind.

  16

  Don’t Blink

  Jaxson

  She was a vision walking down the aisle—all radiant with a glowing smile. The bride looked nice, too.

  When my gaze fell on Emma in that organza dress, my heart stopped. She had her hair pinned up in big curls like she’d just stepped out of a vintage magazine or a Bing Crosby film. My new resolution to keep my distance from her was only twelve hours old, and I could already find flaws in the asinine plan.

  I wasn’t even watching the bride and groom, and I suspected I wasn’t the only one. She was crying. And so, like any good friend would do, I used every glance she threw my way to make her laugh, thinking that would help. I certainly didn’t intend to draw more attention to her. But Emma was too magnetic, on and off screen. It was one of the reasons she was a star.

  The reception was in the terrace ballroom with floor-to-ceiling doors spilling out into a small courtyard. The bridal party took thousands of photos with the magical backdrop of the setting sun while the guests mulled about, snacking on prawns and posh grilled cheese bites skewered with tiny bamboo swords. It took forever. I occupied myself in conversation with mates from previous projects and had a few laughs. It was a good time considering the slew of texts from Pinky. I refused to check them—I had to set boundaries somewhere. Switching my mobile to airplane mode, I decided to make the best of the evening and sit at the table with my mates because it was the farthest in the room from the bridal party table, definitely not because my seat was strategically aligned with a clear view of Emma, frowning while she nibbled on the kale salad. Somehow even her frowns gave me a sense of joy.

  My respect for Emma was too severe to mess up our friendship. What almost happened in her hotel room the night before must never be repeated. Keeping my distance was the only way to accomplish that. I was determined to keep things strictly platonic, call her less often, dine alone.

  I was James Bond, watching her covertly from across the room. She seemed to enjoy herself while dancing or conversing with starstruck wedding guests brave enough to ask for selfies. I found her scanning the party, probably looking for me to hold me to a dance. But I wouldn’t be that guy. I wouldn’t be the friend to selfishly steal all her attention from someone, someday, who could give her the love she deserved. My insides clenched painfully to back away, to surrender her heart so she could fly free. Or in this case, dance free.

  Presently, she was dancing with Elton. A slow dance. Elton? Really? It took all my strength not to march right over there and cut in and mark my territory like a ring-tailed lemur. It wasn’t like me to entertain the green-eyed monster, it really wasn’t. But for some reason, it reared its ugly head with gusto. Beyond my control.

  But I cared for Emma. Plain and simple. And one dance didn’t a courtship make. Of course, that didn’t mean I had to stand by and see any more of it either. I left like the coward I was.

  I slipped out of the reception unnoticed by my friends who were busily engaged in beating the world record in tomfoolery. It didn’t take long for the valet to bring my car around, something I was grateful for since I almost changed my mind to cut in to dance with Emma. With a fleeting thought, I decided to take one last loop around the hotel to take in the ocean view before skidding out of there. I could make it back to L.A. in a few hours if I didn’t stop back at the bungalow in La Jolla. The drive would calm me, help me to get my feelings into perspective.

  The moon cast a silvery glow on the water’s surface, waves crashing softly along the shore like a lullaby. My Tesla made almost no noise as I rounded the bend next to the hotel. The stone drive, just a drop-off area, curved by covered walkways overlooking the oceanfront. Bougainvillea vines crept up the arches of the rustic pergolas with quaint little benches lining the path. Just beyond that, before wrought-iron fencing prevented a drop down the small bluff, was a rather large fountain adorned in Talavera tiles. But what arrested my attention and had me slamming on the brake along the red curb, was the vision of Emma splashing her feet inside the fountain, the hem of her dress soaked through even though she had it bunched up. I was certain that fountain wasn’t made for swimming, yet part of me wanted to see how far she’d dip inside. It couldn’t have been very deep.

  I put my car in park, letting it idle in the red zone, and threw my suit jacket in the backseat. The cool ocean breeze ruffled my shirt collar, sending a shiver across my neck. I looked around to see if Emma was with someone, perhaps cooling off after dancing in that hot banquet hall with Elton. But she was quite alone, having drifted far enough from the party for no one else to notice her splashing in the fountain. She dropped the length of her dress, letting the dusty rose fabric flutter along the surface of the water. She looked like the Lady of the Lake, standing there in the middle of the fountain, knee deep in the water. I took in her form: soft waves framing her face, cheeks flushed and radiant. Thin straps slung over her bare shoulders to keep the enticing dress in place—a dress with dozens of layers of sheer organdie making it seem full and light, ready to sweep her into the air like magical wings on the next gust of wind.

  I was definitely writing this scene into my next film. Or perhaps I’d keep it to myself, to let it be something of her that would only be mine. I hadn’t even realized I was at the fountain’s edge until her eyes trailed over me, glassy and distant.

  “I can’t feel my face.” She smacked her cheeks to demonstrate, flicking water all over them. I then noticed her flushed skin wasn’t aglow as I’d observed from yards away but was red and blotchy. She wavered on her feet, nearly falling in, but steadied herself on the head of an ornamental stone cherub in the centre of the structure.

  “Don’t blink,” she slurred, teetering where she stood.

  �
�I won’t,” I said, reaching out to her. “Come out of the water.”

  What had happened in the short amount of time after I left the reception? How did she get like this? She’d been drinking water and apple cider all night. I knew that because I was watching her almost the entire evening, peering through the wedding guests from across the room like a stalker. But I dared not go near her because I didn’t trust myself. Now I realized I should have been by her side if for no other reason than to protect her. And that thought only stabbed at my gut because I knew she didn’t particularly want a helicopter guardian, or whatever the bloody hell I was to her. Friend? Colleague? Proverbial sounding board?

  “The angels. They’ll get me if you blink,” she warned, even blinking as she said so.

  “I’m not going to let that happen,” I assured her, extending my hand as far as it would allow without plunging into the fountain myself. She made a move toward me, stumbling as she did so and stopped short of my reach, bracing her feet under her shoulders.

  “I’m going to hurl.”

  “That’s okay, sweetheart. Just come out of the water, and you can hurl to your heart’s content.”

  Her expression softened. “Aw, Jax, you say the sweetest things.” She took another step, unsure of her footing, and tumbled forward. I leapt to her, plunging a leg in the water to catch hold of her waist. She landed on my chest, arms draped over my shoulders as she looked up to my face with a helpless expression.

  “Your beautiful shoe,” she lamented. “How will you walk?”

  “I’ll manage.”

  I let her lean into me, tilting her body enough to shift my weight on the leg not currently emerged in cold water, and scooped her up in my arms. Her cool cheek rested on my shoulder, and she let herself meld into my chest as if she belonged there always. If I wasn’t so worried for her, I would have let her hold on forever. Instead, I carried her through the flowered arches and sat down on one of the carved benches, cradling Emma on my lap. I brushed strands of wet hair from her face, tenderly assessing her features. Her skin was cool and clammy, a sheen of sweat forming on her forehead. I wanted to make it go away, carry this burden for her.

  “Do you want to throw up now?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered as she turned her gaze to me, taking in a fortifying breath.

  “No. I feel better now.”

  “Okay. Do you want me to take you back to your room?” For the second night in a row, I reminded myself. There was a bit of a pattern here. She squeezed her arms around me tight.

  “No. I can’t go back in there.”

  Why? What happened in there? I was only gone for eight minutes. I softly stroked her temple, and she sighed, trembling into me. My shoulder ached with the tension, and I remembered I’d left my car running in the red zone. A crisp breeze kicked in, and she shivered. She was wet. I couldn’t let her remain out in the cold.

  “Can you walk?”

  She nodded, swinging her legs off my lap. I got her into the passenger seat of my Tesla and buckled her in. I had no idea what I’d do with her at this point.

  “Where are your shoes?” I asked. She pointed lazily to the fountain. I shut her in the safety of my car and zipped back to retrieve her shoes. I found her little handbag on the ground next to them and quickly returned to Emma, tossing her things in the back. She’d already reclined her seat, her head pressed against the window. As I turned out of the stone drive and onto the street, I had no plan where we’d go but in the end, there was no other choice. It had to be the bungalow. In truth, somehow, I felt it would be safer there instead of her tiny hotel room. Safer for me, anyhow. I could set her up in the guest bedroom and let her sleep it off, whatever it was.

  I stole a few glances at her dozing off while I raced down the freeway. She looked almost peaceful, curled up in the bucket seat. The bottom half of her dress was still wet but starting to dry from the heat I put on full blast. The suit jacket I’d draped over her shoulders had begun to slide down, exposing her ivory skin and the rise and fall of her chest when she took a deep breath. Her quiet beauty squeezed my heart even though she looked a bit peaky. If anything, she was lovelier to me in this vulnerable state. It gave me a primal sense of machismo, knowing I’d been the one to rescue her. I was messed up like that. I had no excuse.

  A small groan escaped her lips, and she shot up, throwing my jacket off her like it was on fire. She was disoriented, her back ramrod straight, hands clutching on the dashboard.

  “We’re almost there, Emma. Lay back down.”

  She lifted one finger to shush me and focused on the road to gain her bearings. Whey-faced, she fumbled her trembling fingers along the door, finding the control to roll down the window.

  “Are you hot? I’ll shut off the heater.”

  I shifted my attention back and forth between the road and Emma, doing my best to stay in my lane, but it was dark, and she had her head hanging out of the car like a dog lapping up air. The next exit was almost a mile ahead and pulling over to the shoulder was too dangerous with so many semi-trucks whizzing by.

  “Emma?”

  She threw a thumb’s up behind her back. Maybe she just needed some fresh air. Half a mile to the next exit. Her hair blew in all directions, the thundering whum whum whum echoed inside my car from the whistling wind. I considered rolling down my own window just to alleviate some of the noise but really, I just wanted to get off the motorway as quickly as possible.

  She didn’t last. In a harrowing defeat, she lurched forward and discharged the contents of her stomach all over the 5 freeway and the side of my car. I heard it splat as it hit the rear passenger window. Somehow, she had the forethought to hold her hair back while she retched forth, tossing her cookies to the wind. Still a quarter mile to the exit, I slowed my speed and rubbed my hand up and down her back, giving what comfort I could while driving. She let her head hang out the window until I pulled into a servo for some towels and a bottle of water.

  She assured me after cleaning off that she felt much better. I took side streets the rest of the way to my bungalow, keeping the window cracked while preparing for round two. Fortunately, the projectile demons were exercised right out of her body in the last go.

  We arrived at the bungalow without any more excitement, and she stumbled into the house, plonking herself on the sofa.

  “No, no,” I said, leading her floppy body down the hallway. “There’s a spare toothbrush and some washcloths in the loo. I’ll get you something to change into.”

  I wasn’t about to let her fall asleep in her damp bridesmaid dress, no matter how contented she looked on my sofa. I found a pair of sweatpants and a well-worn t-shirt so she’d be comfortable and set them on the dresser in the guest bedroom. I turned down the bedding, replacing it with fresh sheets and blankets before she emerged from the bathroom. She frowned at the simple accommodations but remained uncharacteristically quiet when I left her to change.

  “G’night, Emma.” I kissed her forehead. “Mi casa es tu casa. At least that’s what it says on the doormat.”

  She smiled sweetly, standing there in the middle of the room like a lost wet puppy. As I closed the door to give her privacy, I hoped the sickness was behind her. I returned a few minutes later with a bucket, just in case, and tucked her in snug under the covers. I realized by doing so, I was probably fussing over her more than she’d appreciate, but she was far too tired to protest.

  “If you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”

  I clicked her door shut softly, already hearing an evenness in her breathing. I leaned my forehead against the doorframe, barely able to think with Emma beyond the thin wall, so close and yet so untouchable.

  I went through the house, checking all the doors and locks, set the timer on the coffeemaker, and took care of all the various sundry motions I did every night before turning in. Something told me, however, I wouldn’t get much sleep tonight. Not with Emma here.

  I brushed my teeth and threw on some drawstring flannel bottoms. Even wi
thout a shirt, it was more than I usually wore to bed, but I didn’t want to chance anything should I come across Emma in passing. I also figured I’d check on her in an hour or so.

  Before crawling into bed so I could toss and turn and replay the tumultuous weekend in my mind like the tosser I was, I set my mobile to charge. I’d forgotten about it all night, having put it on airplane mode. A few seconds after, I set it back to rights; it lit up like a Christmas tree.

  “Well, what do you know?” I mumbled as I scrolled through Pinky’s numerous texts. Really, that woman. She could have said in one sentence what it took twelve messages to deliver. Half of them were emojis and gifs. I chuckled to myself. Emma scoffed at emojis. She never understood them. In fact, she shunned technology as much as a twenty-first century woman could without joining an Amish commune. I’d talked her into online video games a few years ago, and she had her mobile. Other than that, she didn’t do much with her social media accounts except post pictures of her food. And even that was only because she was an unmitigated foodie. Every meal to her was like a birthday gift, the way her eyes would light up before digging in, the way she savoured every morsel, licking her lips as not to waste a single bit.

  Blast. Now wasn’t the time for my mind to go there. I was already running on empty from the previous sleepless night. I should have passed out the minute my head hit the pillow. But who was I trying to fool? I was doomed to trudge through my workday on Monday like a zombie.

  I don’t know how long I lay there. Maybe hours. Maybe minutes. Only that once I finally started to doze off, the creak of my bedroom door roused me to find Emma tiptoeing toward me. I almost thought it was a dream until I heard the coo of her sweet voice.

  “My back hurts.”