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

gifs of kittens and puppies. I sent her one of those for good measure. It was probably a mistake on my part because she responded with glittery animations every ten minutes for the next few hours.

I had to put my phone in airplane mode once Emma and I arrived at the theatre. She didn’t seem to notice my distraction, too busy with the tiny plastic cups and a bottle of rum she carried in her purse.

“What are you doing?” I whispered during the overture. The long length of her elegant back bent over as she fiddled with the contraband by her feet. The gentleman to her right offered a scowl in our direction.

Emma flashed me her million-dollar smile behind a curtain of hair draped over her knee and added a mischievous wink. I caught a glimpse of the bottle of Pyrate Rum she’d snuck into the theatre as she covertly poured two shots into the plastic cups.

“Aye, pouring the pirate grog, matey.” She handed me my portion. “It’ll put the wind in yer mainsails.”

I frowned at my cup. I was more of a scotch man, and Emma was the lightest of lightweights; she rarely drank anything harder than wine spritzers. But her penchant for theatrics turned the corners of my mouth into a wistful smile, and I humoured her by giving the liquid a sniff. Pyrate Rum to sip during a performance of Pirates of Penzance. No doubt we’d be drinking tea with jam and bread if the show was The Sound of Music. She was adorably geeky that way. I was so busy examining the contents of my cup, wondering how much longer the orchestra would play before the lights dimmed completely, that I didn’t notice Emma passing more plastic ramekins down the aisle.

“Ahoy, there,” she said to the two elderly ladies a few seats down. “Drink up, me hearties.” The ladies gratefully accepted the shots and toasted to Emma’s good fortune and health. The scowling man next to her wasn’t even paying any attention to the stage by this point. His disapproval was evident by his constant throat clearing, which wasn’t at all lost on Emma who offered him a shot of his own. If I’d attempted anything of the sort, we’d have been shown the door. But Emma’s charm won the man over, and he eventually accepted a shot of rum, or maybe five.

“What if the show had been Sweeney Todd?” I asked in a hush as the house lights dimmed. “What would you have brought then?”

A huge grin spread across her beautiful face, and I could almost discern a devilish twinkle in her eye.

“The worst pies in London.”

We enjoyed the first act, comfortably sitting together sharing the same armrest. Every now and then, I glanced her way to watch her profile, the way she smiled the entire show, the way her lips moved as though she wanted to sing along to the Major General song. For my money, she was more entertaining than the action on stage, but then again, I was partial.

She was the best actress I knew. I wasn’t ashamed to admit I chose films to direct with her in mind.

Did it help that she was gorgeous? Maybe. Did I do it because I preferred her company to anyone else? Most definitely. Directors did it all the time. Quentin Tarantino had Uma Thurman. Tim Burton had Johnny Depp. I had Emma Woods.

Our upcoming project was the film I’d dreamed about my entire career. A movie musical. It was like a soul mate who I knew I’d recognize at first sight. The story spoke to me. Made a connection in my spirit. And then I met Morris Tomlinson and Elton Wardlow, the Tony Award-winning composers of the Broadway sensation Lived Overseen. They were the geniuses destined to write the music for my film and, boy, did they deliver.

There was one other reason I was nervous about this project. I was to play the lead role. It would be my first time in front of the camera, so when I said I threw myself into my work, I meant it. I’d always had a love for acting. My background was in musical theatre. It just so happened screenwriting and directing were how I made a name for myself. But in my heart of hearts, acting, singing, and dancing were what I longed for. It was never a question of what or how, but when. Now that question was answered. This was my time.

Also, it meant I could play Emma’s love interest. Shameless, I know. But after all the times I had to call action and watch countless takes of love scenes of her with other actors, finally, I could be the one to take her in my arms. I could be the one to press my lips to hers. I could be the one to declare my affection to her through scripted dialogue. So what if it was only make believe? So what if we were only playing for the camera? I would have those moments forever imprinted on film instead of only my fantasies. Was I pulling a swiftie in my own film? I certainly wasn’t above it.

Producing a movie musical was a risky investment and, even after weeks of workshopping, there was no guarantee we’d be picked up by a studio. Everybody warned me they didn’t sell. Several people tried to dissuade me. Not Emma. She was the one person I could count on for encouragement. She was always the one person I could turn to. After all, she was the best part of me. If only I could tell her that.

By the time the interval came around, our entire row of theatre patrons was sloshed. Emma laughed while some of the ladies said something I couldn’t hear. They were clucking like a group of old chooks. In fact, I was certain they’d all gone to the loo together while I stayed in my seat to check my messages. Emma must have passed more