by Gigi Blume
I wasn’t the type to get emotional, but I was at such a loss for the right words (which was also unusual) that I could feel the beginnings of tears form in my eyes. Will leaned in and kissed me softly, several reverent pecks on my lips, each one stronger in intensity, and he embraced me in a fervid hug.
“I deserved everything you said to me that night,” he whispered into my hair. “It makes me sick to think about how I treated you and your friends. What a jerk you must have thought I was.”
“I think we both needed a lot of improvement.”
“No, Elizabeth,” he replied. “I was rude and assuming. I had to do a lot of soul searching after you accused me of acting like a misanthrope. You have no idea how much I beat myself up over what you said. And still, it was a long time before I could come to terms with it.”
“I would have chosen my words more carefully had I known the impact they made.”
“You probably thought I wasn’t listening to anything at all. How did you put it? ‘Even if you were the last man on earth and the existence of the human race was hinged upon my liking you, our poor species would fade quite spectacularly into extinction.’”
“Can you please forget I said that?”
“Nope.” He broke away from the hug just enough to speak eye to eye. “I cherish every word because it humbled me. I was so full of myself. I thought you’d be into me just because I deigned to pay attention to you. But I was so clueless that it would take a lot more than money and fame to impress a woman worthy to be impressed.”
“Well, you succeeded. In the end.”
“Oh?” He arched his brows expectantly. “So, you’re impressed, Miss Bennet?”
“More like… in love, Mr. Darcy.”
“In love.” He repeated my words with reverence. “That is infinitely better.”
He tangled his fingers in my hair and claimed my lips with more affection than I had ever experienced in a kiss. This man, who I misjudged in my finite understanding of the human existence, was now an intricate part of me I could no longer deny. I fused into him with every pass of skin, every breath, and every sigh. It was a truth reluctantly acknowledged yet forever avowed—how love born from loathing could be the deepest of all.
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Will
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Darcy.”
I waited until we were alone, and the carnage of our California snowball fight was under control before I joined Beth and Lady on the sofa with one last present. I made sure to hide it beneath the folds of the tree skirt where nobody would easily find it.
“Another gift, Mr. Darcy?” she cooed. “You shouldn’t have.”
She liked to act surprised, but she knew exactly what was in that box. It had become our tradition as was with my own parents. I’d given her the same gift for two years now. Still, she feigned a delighted gasp and tucked her finger under the tape, savoring the anticipatory thrill of opening a gift.
The year bulb was similar to the two previous ones. She was so in love with the blown glass and hand-painted design of the ornament I gave her the night of the gala, I made it a point to match the same aesthetic. She’d be happy with cardboard—that was the way she was—but her reaction to the glass bulb was guaranteed to ignite a special kind of gratitude. I’ll admit—I was unabashedly selfish.
“What on earth?” Beth freed the round ornament from its little silk bed and turned it in her hand to examine it on all sides. I could tell by her genuine surprise, I had outdone myself this year.
“Why is there an Oscar on our year bulb?” She winced.
“A little prediction for the year,” I replied with a big grin.
She wasn’t grinning.
“You don’t like it?” I couldn’t believe she didn’t like it. Did that mean she wouldn’t reciprocate with my special gift?
She leveled her eyes to mine and relinquished a playful smirk.
“Which one of us will win an Oscar next year?” she said.
Now she was just fishing. We both knew she was the Oscar contender in the family. I’d done some projects I was proud of, but she had already been nominated for a Golden Globe.
“Everybody knows the Globes are a predictor of the Oscars,” I said. “And if you don’t win, they’re all idiots.”
“You know that’s not how it works,” she objected. “But thank you for your faith. And thank you for the gift. It’s beautiful.”
She kissed me tenderly—her warm, soft lips tasting of peppermint from the candy cane she liked to dip in her hot cocoa.
“Are you ready for your present?” she coaxed.
“Mmmm, Mrs. Darcy,” I growled. “I can barely wait another minute.”
Slipping the box from her fingers, I set her gift on the coffee table and adjusted myself on the sofa for a more intimate position with my wife. I took my time to toss each of her shoes to the floor, dotting hungry kisses along her neck. I would never tire of loving my wife in every expression of it. Loving my wife bathed in the warm glow of Christmas lights serenaded by soft instrumental carols was an exceptional enjoyment.
“Ummm…” I groaned at something furry supplanting my position. “Lady has to go.”
Beth laughed and scratched Lady behind the ear. “She’s fine where she is.”
She scooted a little closer to the arm of the couch and resolutely placed her legs on my lap. Then she reached behind the overly large throw pillow she was leaning on and retrieved a square box wrapped in silver paper.
“What’s this?” I asked, bewildered.
“Your present.”
“You are my present,” I protested.
She had already spoiled me beyond reason. She’d gotten me so many gifts, I’d lost count. She insisted on celebrating the twelve days of Christmas as well as Hanukkah. Practically every day in December I found something in my shoe or on my breakfast plate. Most of the gifts were practical things I didn’t buy often enough for myself. Things like socks and razors and dental floss. But the one big gift she’d given me was the most thoughtful and beautiful present imaginable. She commissioned a painting of my parents from samples of different photographs. It was an uncanny likeness and a brilliant work of art.
But what could be in that square box, I couldn’t guess. Maybe it was that watch I’d been looking at—the one made of reclaimed whisky barrels. Or maybe it was the pair of TARDIS cuff links I saw online.
I ripped the paper, and as was our tradition, crumbled it in a ball and playfully threw it at her.
She scrunched her adorable nose and grinned expectantly. She loved giving gifts. Especially Christmas gifts. She always said her favorite part was watching the expression of the person opening something she thoughtfully and carefully picked out. The way she bounced her legs on my lap, I could tell this was something she was particularly excited about.
It was a midnight-blue, hinged box with a small, gold latch. I flipped it open, watching her watch me. It seemed this part of the experience was mutually entertaining. What I saw in the box, however, perplexed me. It was a year bulb similar to the one I'd gifted her, but the hand-painted number was a year ahead. Was she trying to beat me to it for next Christmas? Or did the artist make a mistake?
Beth didn't seem fazed by my confused expression. She smiled mischievously and continued to stroke Lady like an adorable Dr. Evil.
“Turn it over.”
With curiosity bubbling at the surface, I obeyed, carefully taking the ornament out of its case. I cradled it in my palm, appreciating the fine artisan details. It was a brushed gold with burgundy accents and lettering. Gorgeous, really. But as I examined it more closely, I noticed the embellishments weren’t the usual holiday designs. And the three words in a script font were definitely not what I expected. In fact, I was in such a state of surprise, I forgot to breathe.
Baby's first Christmas.
I couldn't tell if I was having an outer-body experience or if my heart stopped completely. All I remember was Beth shaking me until I
came to.
“Will?” she said, poking me. “Are you okay?”
No. There was a good chance I was dead.
My eyes glazed over, and I stared at my wife wide eyed and speechless. When I did finally gain my ability to speak, I could only stutter.
“Is this your way of telling me you… wa-want to try?”
She shook her head. “No, William.”
She usually reserved William for when she was serious. Also when she was amorous. At this point, it could be both.
“Then…” I said, “is this your way of telling me you're… that I'm…”
“That we're,” she corrected, “going to be parents.”
Lady instinctively placed a paw on my arm and regarded me with her big, brown eyes.
“Parents of a human,” Beth amended. “No Siamese cats allowed.”
I gave Lady a loving scratch and leaned over her to kiss my wife. Then I kissed her again just to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
“What have I ever done to deserve this?” I said between kisses.
“Well, first of all, it was your irresistible charm when we first met,” she quipped. “Then it was chivalry in the way you wooed me.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmhmm. But it could also have something to do with the way you loved me despite my snark.”
“Don't you mean spunk?”
“You were patient and long suffering, and you believed in love when I couldn't see past my own prejudice.”
“That was probably just my abominable pride,” I said with a laugh.
Beth smiled warmly and stroked my cheek reverently.
“With your pride and my prejudice, we were a match made in heaven, weren't we?”
“No, Mrs. Darcy,” I replied. “We were a match made by Stella.”
“I don't know,” she said thoughtfully. “We’re so stubborn, you and me. I'd like to think we would have found our way to one another anyway.”
I clasped the hand she had on my cheek and kissed her palm. She was radiant, even more so than the day I married her. I guided her hand down and cupped it over her belly. In a few months, it would be swollen from the life inside. The thought of it made me feel possessive and a little macho.
“Thank you, Elizabeth,” I whispered. “This is the most perfect gift.”
“Ha! Just wait until I tell you off in the delivery room.”
I hitched the corner of my mouth in a sly grin.
“I’m looking forward to it.” I laughed. “Do your worst.”
THE END
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Acknowledgments
A million thanks to the following beta readers for helping me whip this book into shape:
Rachel John – This book is better because of you, and that’s all there is to it. I am astounded by the generosity you have shown me. Actually, I’m floored that a busy author would come to the aid of a complete newbie and give the gift of time and insight. I didn’t know where I belonged in this world of romance authors before. Now I’m the girl with the lanyard. I’m eternally grateful.
KG Fletcher – My musical theatre sister from another mister. I am so blessed by your friendship and all the golden advice you’ve offered me in this journey. I could always count on you to guide me and answer any ridiculous questions I had. Thank you for critiquing this book when it was a hot mess, especially over the holidays while you were on tour with your band. You rock.
Cinnamon Worth – Thank you for the wealth of information you have shared with me. There are so many nuggets of writerly wisdom in your feedback of this book and the correspondence we’ve enjoyed. You opened my eyes to see revising a manuscript with renewed awareness.
Brenda St John Brown – I am humbled and thankful for the time you took to offer your expertise through your comments and suggestions. Your knowledge and experience in the romantic comedy genre are an invaluable resource I will return to in all my writing endeavors.
About the Author
Gigi is a hopeless Musical Theatre nerd far too obsessed with Phantom of the Opera.
Former professional wedding singer turned wordslinger, Gigi lives in Southern California with a husband who cooks all the meals, a bookworm teenage son, and a theatre-loving teenage daughter (wonder where she got that from?).
When Gigi's not writing like a crazy woman or hanging out with other authors on Instagram, she likes to binge watch Doctor Who and spend all her free cash on Broadway shows.
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Also by Blume
Confessions of a Hollywood Matchmaker
Lights. Camera. Fall in love.
Hollywood’s sweetheart Emma Woods is perfectly content without a boyfriend, thank you very much. But what’s a girl to do when she’s a romantic at heart?
Play Cupid, of course!
She’ll do whatever it takes to set her makeup artist up on a date with the studio’s gorgeous set designer. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.
But when her swoony BFF Jaxson Knightly disapproves, her matchmaking scheme comes at a higher price than she’d bargained for. He may be the nicest man in showbiz, but he’s about to get downright icy if Emma can’t prove her antics won’t end in disaster. Again.
How can she win other people’s happily-ever-after without losing the friendship of the one man that matters most?
A modern Austen-Inspired romantic comedy novella and a prequel to the Backstage Romance Book Series.
