by Gigi Blume
“Ha! I left the studio last week. Charlotte convinced me to start my own business.”
He squeezed Charlotte’s arm and scrunched his nose, making pucker lips at her. It was disturbing and adorable at the same time. Charlotte was on board, so that was all that mattered.
“Colin’s teaching tango classes at the lodge every Thursday,” she said proudly. “Dad’s not charging him, so he can save up for his own studio.”
“That’s fantastic news,” I exclaimed. “Congratulations.”
“Yes,” Will echoed. “Congratulations.”
“You’ll have to come one Thursday after the show closes,” said Charlotte.
I glanced up at Will with a questioning look. Would he be up to that sort of thing?
He shrugged and shot me that devastating smile. “I said anywhere.”
He did indeed. As long as we were together.
We exchanged more hugs and handshakes with Charlotte and Colin before they took leave of us. I could tell Will was itching to call it a night—at least where this party was concerned. The anticipation played on his features like a child expecting birthday cake.
“Why did you say the whole Catherine de Bourgh drama was your fault? I’m the one that ticked her off.”
Will, who hadn’t let go of my hand since I exited my dressing room, lifted his free hand to my chin.
“She waited backstage for me and chewed my head off after my solo. She told me everything. All your responses to her threats. And I laughed.”
“That must have really chapped her hide.”
“Yeah,” he said with a grin. “But it gave me hope. You could have said anything to appease her. But instead, you refused to promise not to be with me. I didn’t think I had a chance with you until then.”
His eyes searched mine, and softly brushing his lips to kiss me, punctuated his sincere declaration. And for anyone in our vicinity who might have witnessed that, my inner fangirl was fist-pumping in their faces.
Oh yeah. Who’s with this hunk? This girl!
Satisfied we’d done our duty to make an appearance, we resolved to get to wherever anywhere was. We almost made it, too. But Stella caught us and made a desperate plea for us to stay for a moment longer.
“I won’t keep you for very long,” she said with the hint of a slur. She wasn’t drinking champagne, I could tell that much. By the oaky aroma wafting from her snifter, my guess was tequila. She winked. “We’ll make this quick.”
She led us into a supply closet off the ticket booth where programs and those velvet stanchion ropes were kept. As we stuffed ourselves in there, I noticed it was already occupied by two other people. Her grand-niece Emma and her director friend Jaxson. They giggled like teenagers, probably at some joke, but most likely aided by the bottle of Pyrat Rum on the shelf. Not tequila, then. When she saw me, Emma threw her arms around my neck and gave me a huge smack on the cheek.
“You, mate, are brilliant. Why didn’t you tell me she was brilliant?”
Stella rolled her eyes. “I did.” She held out her tumbler to Jaxson who took the bottle off the shelf and gave her a refill.
“Ummm…” I responded. “Thank you?”
I didn’t want to argue or anything, but I hardly thought my performance was brilliant. I only had five lines.
Jaxson held up the bottle of rum to offer us a glass. Will and I both declined respectfully. Alcohol wasn’t a good idea on an empty stomach.
“We really enjoyed the show,” said Jaxson, toasting his glass in the air. “Congratulations on your success.”
Will returned the sentiment with a sincere smile and tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you. That means a lot.”
Emma broadened her eyes at Will in surprise. I knew that look. It was the expression of someone who had the same opinion of him than I did and was maybe softened by the idea she misjudged him. Then her eyes drifted to my hand in his, and she raised a brow at Stella who returned the eyebrow wiggle with a triumphant smirk.
“So, Beth, what does your schedule look like for the next few months?” Jaxson asked.
“My schedule?”
Other than reconsidering my whole life?
Jaxson went on. “We have a project in the works, and we begin rehearsals in a week. One of the actresses we cast broke her leg. Literally.”
“Ski accident,” chimed in Emma.
“We were wondering if you’d consider doing a screen test.” Jaxson reached in his inside breast pocket and handed me a business card. “It’s a small part, but she has a power ballad.”
“Think Another Suitcase in Another Hall,” said Emma. “A minor role with an iconic song.”
“This is a musical?”
“Isn’t this exciting?” Emma bounced on her toes, wildly clapping her hands. “The world would be a better place if only there were more movie musicals.”
“Just doing my civic duty,” said Jaxson with a wink.
“Okay,” I beamed. “Thank you.”
“All right, now that’s settled…” Stella poked at mine and Will’s shoulders and ushered us toward the door. “Beth and William have to go. We’ve taken up enough of their time.”
As she hastily pushed us out, I glanced over my shoulder at Emma, who had collapsed into Jaxson with more giggles giving me a slaphappy wave. Then Will and I were shoved out the door and the last thing I saw through the closing threshold was the wild, animated look in Stella’s eyes. The door closed with a thump, and we could hear the muffled sound of bubbling laughter seep through the wood.
“Can we go now?” pleaded Will.
“Yes!”
We’d dilly dallied long enough, and although I would have liked to catch a glimpse of Rita Moreno, I was so over the interruptions. Will skirted the lobby perimeter in an effort to avoid more people and we were able to tuck backstage without notice.
“That was a nice offer from Jaxson Knightly,” he said as we reached the stage door. “If you get the part, your life will change.”
“My life has already changed,” I whispered.
Will drank me in with his gaze with an expression filled with wonder, as though I was something entirely new.
“I have a confession to make,” he said tentatively. He seemed suddenly nervous, like, whatever it was he had to confess gave him more apprehension than everything leading up to it. After the whole business we put ourselves through over the course of the previous months, anything else he had to say would be like a walk in the park.
“Bring it on.”
“Elizabeth Bennet,” he said, “I… I…”
“Spit it out, Darcy.”
“I… hate Bud Lite.”
The contagious outburst of giggles finally made its way from the box office supply closet, where rum flowed like a river to my lips, and in a glow of admiration, I wrapped my arms around Will and hummed, “I know.”
He drew me in with a squeeze.
“But,” he posed, “I love you.”
“I know.”
He pulled away just enough to focus on my face with speculation.
“Did you seriously just quote Star Wars on me?”
“Not seriously,” I replied. “Very un-seriously.”
“Okay.” He nodded once and fished in his jeans pocket for his car keys. I could see, even in the dim light, his Adam's apple catch in his throat as he gave me a small disheartened smile. It wasn’t my intention in the least.
“Will?” I said, stopping him from turning to the door. “Three little words seem woefully insufficient to tell you how much I truly love you.”
His face brightened immediately.
“Especially,” I continued, “after all the wasted energy I spent trying to convince myself I felt the opposite. I said some dreadful things to you, and I don’t know how many thousands of I love yous it will take to make up for that.”
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 cufflinks 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.”