Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set

by Gigi Blume

Without waiting for a reply, she lifted the covers and slipped in next to me, jarring me awake. My body tensed, awareness striking every cell, every inch of my skin on alert. Emma was in my bed, wiggling herself around on the mattress, burrowing her head on the pillow. The rational part of my brain tried to remind me that my California king-sized bed was big enough for a family of five; she was so far away on the other end of the mattress, she might as well be in another zip code. But it didn’t feel so very far away to my hammering heart and racing pulse. She had to know… had to… what position she was putting me in. And yet I couldn’t turn her away. It felt so right, having her near, just sleeping. Just sharing the same air. Her back was to me, but I could still make out the profile of her soft features cast in moonlight. Long, dark lashes fanned across her cheeks, soft lips parted ever so slightly, hair cascading in waves along the pillow, a study of Venus in the flesh. I watched her adoringly for a full five minutes while she drifted into slumber, enraptured by her delicate form, feeling a mixture of longing and benevolence. It was oddly familiar and soothing, the nearness of her, so perfectly befitting. The restlessness from earlier somehow lifted and melted away, and I found myself relaxed in her presence, my breathing in concert with hers. She was my home. Before I realized my eyes had closed, the welcome heaviness of sleep overtook me.

  Several hours later, I awoke to find her entwined in my arms. Her ankle tucked over mine, toes tangled in my flannels, her face buried in my chest, arm wrapped around my torso while I held her to me like a lifeline. Her skin was warm along my bare chest, her breathing even and heavy on my neck. She was cuddled into me so sweetly, easeful, and peaceful. I felt equal parts blissful and spooked. Why oh, why had I not built a barricade of pillows between us? There was no way I could get back to sleep now.

  The first promise of dawn teased the stillness of the hour. Darkness held on, not quite giving in to the sunrise, but slowly fading as the first chorus of swallows welcomed the new day. Who knew how much sleep I’d gotten, but I felt restful and contented. Happy.

  But I knew that with the dawn came the sobering reality of our lives. Emma wasn’t mine, and I couldn’t let her wake to find my hands on her, especially if her memory was foggy. Prying myself from her snug embrace inch by excruciating inch tore me up inside. With every nudge away from her, I was met with the coolness of morning and a mental slap in the face.

  Stay. Just stay with her, cocooned in warmth and credence. She sighed and flopped onto her side, tugging the covers along with her, helping my resolve to slip out of the bedroom and ride out the rest of the night in the spare bedroom. I smiled at that. So that’s how it would be. She was a cover hog.

  She was also a sound sleeper, not even so much as stirring when the floorboards creaked under my weight or at the high squeal of the door hinges. I took one last peek to be sure she was still sleeping before shutting her in, the little bed thief she was. But she was unfazed, snoring softly in dreamland with a slight curl to her lips. And I hoped against hope she was dreaming of me.

  17

  Elephant In The Room

  Emma

  I remembered there was mist… but instead of a boat, my dark knight brought me to his lair in a Tesla. The details of how I arrived were spotty at best, but I had vague moments of lucidity in which he swept me into his arms and carried me to safety. I also knew where I was with succinct clarity. I’d felt alone in that cold spare bedroom and had climbed under Jaxson’s warm covers and easily fell asleep, enveloped in his scent.

  As I padded around the sunlit bungalow in search of him, I found him outside, hosing the residue of my vomit from his car. Unfortunately, the memory of how it got there didn’t elude me: how I’d hung my head out the window and puked gloriously into the night. I was mortified. Jaxson shouldn’t have to clean up my mess.

  “I’m sorry.” I figured it was a more appropriate greeting than good morning in this circumstance. He smiled brightly and shut off the hose with a sunny cheerfulness. There was a bounce to his step as if cleaning up my unmentionable body fluids was the perfect start to his Sunday morning. Forget yoga on the beach or golf; let’s hose Emma’s barf into the bushes for fun. He might have even been whistling while he was at it.

  His gaze raked over me and took me in, pinning me to the threshold of his front door. There was an easy possessiveness to it, like we were playing house, and I was his little lady. He reached me in a few long strides. A grin played on his features with a secret only he knew. I’d be lying if I said the look he gave me didn’t make my heart gallop in my chest and jump to my throat. His steps didn’t falter when he was within speaking range, in fact he continued toward me until he was mere inches away, backing me up to the door frame without even touching me. He leaned in and rested his hand on the wall next to my head and smelled… smelled… me. I was instantaneously self-conscious of how well I may or may not have cleaned myself up last night. I half-expected him to cringe, or cry ‘Good grief, woman, take a shower!’. But instead, his grin grew exponentially, and he drawled, “Good morning, Emma. Feeling better?”

  Gah! I melted into a pool of lava on his Mi Casa Es Tu Casa welcome mat. In my defence, however, the man was in quite a state of undress. He wore what I surmised were his pyjama bottoms and… nothing else. Beads of water from the hose overspray spangled his form from the tips of his hair to his bare feet. My gaze followed a single droplet make its way down his collarbone, over the curve of a very impressive peck, along the ridges and valleys of maddeningly defined abs and then disappear into his waistband. Maybe he shouldn’t have turned off that hose; I needed a splash in the face.

  “Um, I don’t mean to alarm you, but someone stole your clothes.”

  He laughed, pushing away from the doorframe, eyes dancing as they studied my face. “I didn’t want to wake you. You did take over my room, you know.”

  A few moments passed with us just staring at each other; me marvelling at his sculpted physique, Jaxson assessing my sloppy appearance. At length, he inclined his head toward the inside of the house and stepped in. “Coffee?”

  “Please.”

  Even my breathy response to coffee sounded sultry to my ears.

  Please stay here so I can watch more water drip down your skin.

  Please put a shirt on.

  I followed him into the kitchen and took a seat on a barstool at the centre island.

  “I don’t have any milk, I’m afraid.” He placed a steaming mug in front of me. “But I do have croissants.”

  It made sense he wouldn’t have a stocked refrigerator; he was only there for the weekend, and he liked his coffee black. I never knew how he could stand it. I sipped with more disappointment than a cup of coffee should bring, but the warm liquid slowly brought life back into my system. The croissant helped.

  “There’s a Milton’s Restaurant down the road. We can go for some bagels and lox,” he offered.

  “Ugh! No seafood. Ever again. Ever.”

  His brows shot to his forehead. “Ever?’

  “Ever.”

  He took a sip of blackness and regarded me over the rim of his cup.

  “Why?”

  I made a helpless motion toward his car and back to me, trying not to say the word vomit while we were eating.

  “Have you gone vegetarian since yesterday?”

  “No.” I gestured to his car again. Didn’t he get it?

  “You want to go for a ride?”

  “No.” I threw my hands up and huffed, saying the words through closed lips. “The prawns. You know… the prawns you gave me?”

  “They didn’t sit well?”

  “Really, Jax, I’m surprised you didn’t get sick.”

  He shook his head. “It couldn’t be the prawns. If it was food poisoning, it would take longer to take effect. What else did you eat? Think back.”

  I tried to remember what I had on Friday. There was the poolside guacamole. Then the girls and I had salads in the hotel restaurant because we didn’t want to pig out in front of Annie who wa
s afraid of getting too bloated to fit in her dress. There were pink snacks and sweets in her room which I didn’t touch. Also…

  “The burgers came after you left Friday night. But I only had half.”

  In truth, I couldn’t eat more than a bite or two which was so not me. My stomach was too worked up in knots with the way Jaxson flew out of my room. I was embarrassed and sad and angry. Not angry with him. Angry with myself.

  “What did you have for brekkie yesterday?”

  “A banana.”

  “That’s it?”

  “And a supplement Mum gave me.”

  He gave me a serious look. “What supplement exactly?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t read Elvish.”

  He sprinted out of the kitchen and returned moments later with my clutch. He didn’t even ask me if it was in there—he just opened it and took out the bottle.

  “Is this it?”

  I nodded. Jaxson threw my clutch on the counter and opened the bottle taking a sniff at the contents.

  “Bleh. This is nasty. You drank this?”

  “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “Was the bottle full?” He examined the level of the goopy liquid.

  “Yes. It was sealed.”

  He pressed his lips together like he was trying to hold back a reprimand and huffed through his nose. Without another word, he strolled to the bin and threw the bottle away, brushing his hands together.

  “No more of your mother’s crazy potions, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Now I felt even more pathetic. That could be my new endorsement deal. I could be a spokesperson for ridiculous women. After everything that happened over the weekend, I was sure to get the job. We hadn’t even addressed the elephant in the room AKA Emma making a fool of herself where Jax was concerned.

  Was I supposed to be the one to bring up the misunderstanding in my hotel room? Or that I snuck under his covers the very next night? Or that he should reeeally put a shirt on? It was all too confusing.

  Jax took the barstool directly across from me and rested his forearms on the counter. He had something to say, maybe something about my elephant, or maybe many, many elephants I didn’t know existed. His brows furrowed, and he sighed—a whole lot of elephants.

  “I have some good news and some bad news.”

  I frowned at my black coffee. “Worse news than your lack of dairy products?”

  “It’s a close second.”

  “Okay, bad news first.”

  He quirked a brow. “Really? You usually prefer good news first.”

  I shrugged. “I like to take a ride on the wild side.”

  “Okay.” He braced himself for the impact of my reaction, afraid to say the words. When he spoke, the delivery was slow and tentative. “Elton went back to New York. Indefinitely.”

  My face dropped. I hadn’t thought about Elton all morning, and the memory of what happened with him hit me in the gut. Jaxson must have seen my expression, so he added, “We’ll make do without him. We still have Morris.”

  This was all my fault. Every hope, every wish I had for Harriet fell to the bottom of my sad heart, only to be replaced by the sour taste Elton left behind. All this time I’d encouraged Harriet, certain of Elton’s affection for her. How could I have missed the cues? The glances he threw our way, the little compliments, the song he wrote. He meant them for me. What a dodgy prat. What would I say to Harriet? To Stella? Oh, the whole thing was a dog’s dinner. Not even that—Elton wasn’t a dog person. He didn’t appreciate the adorable Bouji Chihuahua I had for him named Harriet. How dare he hit on me when I was clearly putting my gorgeous friend in his path?

  I was so, so, so wrong. Abominably wrong. Epically wrong. Horrendously wrong. Poor Harriet. True, Elton was a prat, but I was the one to advise Harriet’s attachment. I was the one to inspire the match in the first place. And to think Elton had the hots for me all along. He propositioned me, for crying out loud. How does one break that kind of news to a trusting friend?

  Sorry, the bloke you like doesn’t fancy you—he just fancies a shag.

  “Ah, bollocks.”

  “Emma!”

  “Jax, I’m a fraud. I’m never matchmaking again. Ever.”

  “Ever? Kind of like you’ll never eat seafood again?”

  I nodded furiously, threatened by the sting of tears.

  “This is all my fault, and now I’ve ruined your movie.” I couldn’t hold them back. The tears were just too persistent, the buggers. Jaxson rounded the kitchen island and gathered me in a gentle hug. My senses were on high alert with the feel of his skin, the scent of his man smell, and the warmth of his embrace. I wasn’t sure if I should hug him back or not. I was afraid my fingers would betray me. I let my hands hang to my sides. I did bury my nose in his neck, though. I’m not that daft.

  “There, there,” he said in a soothing tone. “You didn’t ruin the movie. What makes you think that?”

  I pulled away from him to focus on his face; I didn’t want to use his chest hair as a hankie.

  “You were right, Jax,” I exclaimed. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I looked into his beautiful eyes and admitted defeat. “Elton… is a cat person.”

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t the understanding expression when he said, “I know.”

  “You know?”

  He sighed, smiling tenderly, and ran soft strokes along my hair. “Emma, anybody could see that guy was into you. Sometimes I wonder if you’re clueless or just modest?”

  “Clueless, apparently,” I said with a pout.

  “Hey, I still have the good news. Want to hear it?”

  “Does it involve a cave I can crawl into—or ice cream?”

  “Not quite so exciting, I’m afraid, but good news just the same.” He winked, and heaven help me, if that man had any mercy, he’d put a shirt on that sculpted chest.

  I squeezed my fingers over my temples. “Jaxson Knightly, if you bought another karaoke bar, I swear—”

  “No. I may be daft, but I’m not crazy.”

  “I’m not going to fall into your good news, bad news trap again. Jig’s up, smiley. You can turn off the smoulder now because I’m on to you.”

  “The smoulder?” He took a step closer to me, almost pushing my legs aside to invade my space. “Like this?” He made the most ridiculous flirty face I’d ever seen and wagged his brows. I smacked his leg with my foot.

  “Stop that. Just tell me your ‘good news’ that isn’t really good news at all.” I used air quotes. “And for goodness sakes, put on a shirt.”

  He guffawed, striving to respond between peals of laughter. “You… this… does this bother you?”

  “Yes! Good heavens, nobody wants to see that. My eyeballs are bleeding.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll be right back.”

  He was gone maybe three seconds, hardly enough time to ease the burning in my cheeks. When he returned, he had on a leather jacket, wearing it wide open like Fabio, flashing his bare chest tauntingly.

  “Better?” he teased, sauntering up to my barstool.

  “Do you plan to go out like that? Those flannel bottoms really make a fashion statement.”

  I reached for the jacket and pulled him close to me with the strength of my fists. His lips parted with amused astonishment, and his hands moved reflexively to my knees. His eyes searched mine, dipping momentarily to my lips. My heart raced to the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, and I was acutely aware of Jaxson’s tiniest movements. The rise and fall of that glorious chest. The uneven, ragged breaths as his fingers tightened around my knees. Those heavy, hooded eyes.

  GAH. Nothing to see here. Just silly Emma, a proper mess.

  I mentally slapped myself for being so daft and smiled wryly as I zipped that leather jacket up to his chinny chin chin. Take that, rock-hard abs. For good measure, and because I was feeling especially ornery, I snapped the collar nice and tight with pointed finis.

  “No
w I’m ready to hear you out. But don’t try to trick me.”

  “I don’t do that.” His voice was low and rumbly, and he was still so incredibly close. I could essentially fall off my stool and land conveniently on his lips. Just sayin’.

  Instead, I chose to pretend I had some dignity.

  “That’s a matter of opinion,” I said, pointing to my chin.

  He unsnapped the collar of his jacket and unzipped it enough to not choke and stepped back a few steps, clearing his throat.

  “Pinky called.”

  My ears perked up. “Beth’s back?”

  “No,” he replied with a slight wince at my misplaced enthusiasm. “Not Beth.”

  “If not Beth, then who?” I tried to think if any of the cast or crew left somewhere or if we were missing anybody.

  And then it clicked, and I looked up at him with wide eyes as he replied, “Frank Churchill.”

  18

  Coffee In Bed

  Emma

  It was a swoonfest on Monday. Every woman in the rehearsal studio was quite smitten with Frank Churchill. Every woman, that is, except Jennifer Fairfax. Frank was gorgeous, charismatic, and magnetic. A real triple threat. No warm-blooded female human was immune to his magic. It was rather unfair really—how he filled the room as though he was glowing in some sort of angelic way. Even Stella stopped by the rehearsal space for a tad longer than usual.

  And me? I considered myself an impartial observer. The view wasn’t bad either. Even though I vowed never to play cupid again, I could still put my talents to use for my own amusement. I would no longer influence the hearts of would-be lovers, but I could watch infatuations unfold on their own. All I needed was some popcorn and 3-D glasses. It was due to those talents that the charms of Frank Churchill didn’t affect me. I lived on the fringes where affairs of the heart were concerned. It was like I had a hazmat suit to protect me from the flames of love. I wasn’t against falling in love—quite the contrary. But even the most brilliant matchmakers admit that romance, while extremely necessary for most, is not beneficial for all. Statistically speaking, the extremely necessary camp falls somewhere in the 99.9 percent range.