Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

“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.”

1

Talk Like A Pirate Day

Jaxson

My mobile phone buzzed on my home office desk. It was Pinky Bates, the line producer for my movie musical, Field of Hearts. Everything in me screamed to ignore the call. There was no such thing as a short call with Pinky. And I had tickets for Pirates of Penzance. But I knew Pinky. She’d just keep calling until I picked up. She was relentless like that.

“Houston, we have a problem,” she said without preamble.

“What kind of problem?” I asked tentatively.

“Jennifer Fairfax broke her leg.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Is this a joke?”

Pinky had worked as a unit manager on some of the studio films I’d directed and was good with numbers, so the job fit. But she wanted to dip her toe in, so I decided to give her a chance while still maintaining a lot of the responsibility myself. She was a bit unorthodox in her methods. Okay, she was an odd bird. But she was reliable, and she seemed to know everyone in showbiz, which was a plus for overseeing the casting. Jennifer Fairfax was Pinky’s first choice to play the part of Isabelle, the scorned fiancée in Field of Hearts. The part had very little screen time, but it was in many ways one of my favourites.

I heard Pinky sigh heavily on her end of the line. “Poor girl fell while skiing in Canada. It’s so devastating. Devastating. Oh, lemons on toast. What are we going to do?”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Slow down. How bad is it?”

“How am I supposed to know?” she cried. “I got a call from Bill Campbell to tell me Jennifer broke her leg and can’t do the movie.”

Bill was Jennifer’s manager and a few roos loose in the top paddock. I’d never met him, but he insisted on a conference call when Jennifer was hired. I knew back then he would cause trouble. Now my brain was going five hundred kilometres an hour. Almost as fast as Pinky could talk. But I reasoned there had to be a solution.

“Can she sing?” I asked. “We’re only workshopping. Her leg will heal in a few weeks.”

“No, no, no, no, no!” Pinky said emphatically. “I already made that suggestion. Of course you know I would; I’m resourceful like that. You do know I’m resourceful, don’t you? Of course you do. Bill was adamant she could absolutely positively not do the movie.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Tell me about it,” she cried. There was a wobble in her voice.

There was a pause of several long moments, and then she sniffled. Yep. She was crying. Really, the poor woman became too attached to her dream cast. In this condition, she was practically useless. That was one of Pinky’s quirks. When she was on, she was on fire. When something (like a broken leg) threw her off, she was a puddle of Jello. We were in damage control mode now.

“Don’t cry, Pinky. She’ll be apples.”

“She’ll be ankles? She broke her leg.”

“No… it’s an Aussie expression. Never mind. What I mean is, I’ll figure it out. Everything will be fine.”

She sniffed through laboured breaths. “It will?”

“Sure,” I said. “I got this. I need you to get things ready for Monday’s read-through and make sure Randall can bring me the concept art next week. Okay?”

She took a minute to respond, sniffling and swallowing the tears. “O-okay.”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mr Knightly.”

“Please. Call me Jaxson.”

Silence. How many years had I known this woman and still she called me Mr Knightly? I groaned and checked my smart watch. I didn’t want to keep Emma waiting. Emma; my best mate and Hollywood’s sweetheart who just happened to be the star in my next film. It was Preview Night at her Aunt Stella’s theatre and we were both expected to make an appearance.

“Bye now, Pinky.” I tapped the end call button before she could respond again.

I felt guilty as soon as the line was silent. I sent her a quick text littered with sickeningly cute emojis. I wasn’t an emoji kind of guy. But Pinky loved them. She also loved