Chapter 4
Josh
I’ve spent the past twenty hours thinking about Ellery Hart. I was still wasted when I sent that douchey reply to Perez this morning, but I know how to laugh at myself. Nearly twenty years in Hollywood have taught me that much.
The Twittersphere has gone wild today—I feel like we broke the internet—but I’ve spent most of the day over on Ile St Marguerite, ignoring it.
Mom’s not happy, but I could give a fuck.
A few of us chartered a yacht and headed over there mid-morning, where we hung at La Guerite, the iconic restaurant.
That place is sheer magic. The irony that you have to sell your soul and become rich as sin in order to sit at a table with peeling paint and pay top dollar for perfectly grilled prawns straight from the ocean below is not lost on me.
But it’s worth every penny. And it’s especially valuable when everyone in the world seems hooked on whether you had a public hard-on last night or when you’re gonna marry a woman you haven’t technically met.
Tonight I’m going to fix that last part. Because my moles tell me she’s due here, at amfAR, which is a huge annual gig for AIDS research that Hollywood always comes out in force to support.
Another evening in this most magical part of the world, another crazy Belle Epoque villa.
This evening we’re at the Villa Eilenroc, and it’s fucking amazing.
When you mention Cap d’Antibes, people think it’s pure glitz, but up on the tip of the cape itself you’re aware only of the majesty of nature.
Sure, you have to be richer than God to stay at the Hotel du Cap or afford one of those wedding-cake villas up here—most of the owners are Russian oligarchs, I believe—but it certainly hasn’t been over-run.
The scarcity of built-up areas only adds to its allure.
The Eilenroc gardens are a national park, and there hasn’t been an amfAR Gala yet where I don’t escape off into the famous rose garden and wish I lived here in some decadent, F Scott Fitzgerald-esque existence.
But right now, the intoxicating scent of the rose gardens will have to wait, because I spot my target as soon as she comes through the meet-and-greet.
For a newbie, she’s cool. I’ll give her that.
The bank of photographers screams her name, and I get a sudden rush from the thought that that’s partly because of me.
Having her publicly linked with me will hopefully make my job easier: unless she’s mad as hell about my tweet adding fuel to the Twitter fire.
She strolls into the room with a quiet confidence that impresses me.
This woman has serious poise. She’s in a strapless, bubblegum pink tulle concoction that’s fucking huge at the back and completely cut away at the front, showing off those great legs.
Her shoulders are bare again, her graceful neck glittering with a shit-tonne of diamonds, presumably courtesy of the Cannes Film Festival’s sponsor, Chopard.
I watch her accept a flute of Dom Perignon. I bide my time. She’s with Jackson James and Honor Chapman and another woman. Impressive allies for a first-timer. Though they’re British, I guess, so it makes sense they know each other. I know Jackson, but I won’t ask him for an intro. I got this.
I stuff one hand in my tux pocket and grip my tumbler of scotch more tightly.
There’s a crowd between me and Ellery Hart, but I have tunnel vision.
I make my way over. Jackson spots me first and nudges her, a cheeky grin on his too-handsome face.
But it’s her face I’m fixated on, her lips I watch as they curve up into a smile that’s both amused and curious.
She murmurs something to Jackson.
I wish I could lip-read.
They stand there and watch me sweat as I make my way towards them.
I hold eye contact the whole way over. I feel like bowing down in front of this queen and begging for mercy, but I stick out my hand.
‘I figured we should introduce ourselves properly.’ I give her my most successful, most Hollywood grin. ‘Josh Lander.’
She rewards me with a smile that’s sincere, but definitely not effusive. Shakes my hand. Her fingers are cool and soft. ‘Ellery Hart. How do you do?’
She speaks like the fucking Queen. So that soft, regional accent she had in Gracie was just for the part. I’ve heard two sentences in her real cut-glass accent, and I can confirm it’s fucking sexy.
‘I do very well, thanks. I enjoyed our dance last night.’
She shrugs her shoulder. ‘It was fun, I suppose.’
I suppose. Jeez, tough crowd. Last night she was sweaty and unleashed and Bardot-esque; tonight she’s a ravishing ice-princess, that golden hair swept back and the delicate bones of her collar bones perfectly on display under those diamonds.
Yet another side to her. Yet another side I’d like to get to know better.
‘Come ‘ere, mate.’ Jackson moves in for a bro-hug and I tear my eyes away from Ellery to throw my free arm around him and slap him on his insanely ripped back before kissing Honor and introducing myself to their friend, Astrid, who apparently is responsible for the gorgeous concoction Ellery’s wearing.
‘Doesn’t she look good enough to eat?’ Astrid asks.
‘She certainly does.’ I can’t help it. My eyes rake down her body. Right now, I’d give everything I have to see her standing naked, that soft cloud of tulle at her feet.
‘Er, thank you; I’m actually right here.’ Ellery waves her hand.
‘You’ve stirred up quite the social media shit-storm.’ Honor assesses me. I wouldn’t want to mess with her, but her expression is amused.
‘Yeah.’ I go for a joke. ‘Sorry about that, Ellery. We ageing has-beens have to resort to whatever stunts we can pull with the hottest stars of the moment, just to stay afloat in this shark tank.’
A little smile from Ellery. ‘Has-been. Right.’
‘May I borrow you before they call us for dinner? Given we’re apparently engaged, according to TMZ, I figure we should get to know each other better.’
‘You may.’
I offer Ellery my arm, and she closes the gap between us and slides her hand through the crook of my elbow. Instantly, I feel a million fucking feet tall.
Jackson points in my direction. ‘Don’t go into any dark corners with him, Elle. The guy has no morals.’
Not fucking helpful, but also one hundred percent accurate.
ELLE
I float through the crowd in this dream of a dress, on Josh Lander’s arm, and I feel as though I’m losing my mind a little. I should probably find the loos and bite down on a hand-towel and scream out my excitement, but I resist the urge and instead attempt to maintain my outer poise.
Heads—many of them very well-known heads—turn to stare.
I was warned the guest list here would be model-heavy, but this is crazy.
I spot Gigi and Bella Hadid and Kendall Jenner, all looking willowy and ravishing and endlessly tall.
They are tall, of course; they’re also in heels.
Oh, and I’m five-foot-five in bare feet.
So no wonder I feel stunted in comparison, even in my four-inch Gianvito Rossi stilettos.
But more than the stares Josh and I are getting, I’m conscious of the heat of his body coming through his very nice dinner jacket.
I’m conscious of the regular grins he shoots me, and the care with which he steers me past well-wishers and onlookers.
He guides me out onto the terrace, pausing to gesture for me to swap out my half-empty glass for a full one with a server we pass.
A warm glow has been passing over my skin since Josh came over—a supreme sense of wellbeing.
Obviously, last night’s little encounter was extremely exciting (and I may have watched the video of it about three hundred and fifty times since this morning), but I didn’t get to enjoy him beyond the knowledge he was behind me and those few stolen glances.
Now, I’m enjoying every bit of him.
His heat.
His smile.
His attention.
I know he’s got that slick film-star smile down pat, but still. It’s effective, in that I feel like the only person on his radar. He’s seriously good.
We emerge onto the terrace, and the cool air hits me.
It’s really not very warm in the evenings at this time of year.
I must have shivered, for Josh releases my arm and shrugs off his dinner jacket, sliding it over my shoulders.
The delicious combination of warmth and the scent of him hits me, and I can’t stop the smile that breaks out at his chivalrous behaviour.
‘Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.’ I put my hand to my throat for the millionth time to make sure my gazillion carats of diamonds are still where they ought to be: around my neck.
‘Pleasure.’ He nods at my neck. ‘It’s still there. I’ll let you know if it disappears.’ He tugs the lapels of his jacket closer together around me and his fingers brush my collarbone. Everything inside me clenches in a most excellent way.
He really is gorgeous. I can study him up close now we’re alone and he’s standing right in front of me.
His dirty-blonde hair is raked off his face for the night, and tiny, white-blonde baby hairs line his hairline.
His face is perfectly tanned, and that famous bone structure certainly stands up to close scrutiny.
He has an admirably straight nose, flanked by warm brown eyes that are surveying me with frank interest. I could drown in those eyes; I really could. Quite happily.
‘I have to say.’ He shifts his tumbler from one hand to the other. ‘Your performance last night was extraordinary. And I don’t mean your dancing skills.’
He grins, and my ovaries salute him.
‘Gracie,’ he clarifies. ‘I don’t wanna patronise you, because you’ve already shown me how talented you are, but I’m not sure if you realise how much things are about to change for you. Because that performance was exquisite. Flawless. And I’m pretty sure the juries will agree.’
Hearing this from the mouth of an A-lister is beyond surreal. I stammer a thank you in a very British, self-deprecating way, but he puts up a hand.
‘Don’t even think of trying to argue the fact. I’m not saying that to get in your panties. Well, I am. But it happens to be true.’
Oh my God. Oh my good Lord. Josh Lander has just told me he wants to—I begin to unravel, but he keeps going.
‘The reaction I had to watching you act—well, it doesn’t happen very often. I had goosebumps.’ He pauses. ‘And I couldn’t take my eyes off of you on screen. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.’
My jaw drops open. I cannot believe he is saying this stuff. To me.
Josh gestures to a stone bench beside us and I sit gratefully. These shoes are murdering my feet already. He drops down right beside me and twists his big body to face me.
‘It was a big relief to see you all happy and normal on the dance floor later. That was one of the reasons I went over to dance with you—you looked so free and alive. I wanted to punch that guy’s lights out, though,’ he continues. ‘Your boss in the movie.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ I laugh. ‘David. I promise you, he’s a sweetie. He has a wife and three kids, and he’s not remotely pervy in real life.’
He frowns. ‘Still. He was way too convincing for my liking.’
‘I should say that’s a compliment to his acting skills,’ I say lightly.
Josh’s overprotective vibe is not unattractive, to put it mildly.
And he’s gazing at me as if I’m the only woman in the universe, which is also having an effect on me, stirring up butterflies in my tummy (and slightly south of there).
He seems to realise he’s being a little too heavy, and visibly pulls himself together. He grins at me. ‘So, how are you enjoying your first Cannes?’
‘It’s fabulous. And full on. Not much rest for the wicked.’
‘Yeah, I imagine they’re working you hard. That movie is all you. It’s a lot to carry. Junkets all day?’
‘All day,’ I groan.
He laughs. ‘It’s a fucking nightmare. You’ll have to come back when you don’t have a movie premiering—it’s a lot more fun. Have you even gotten into the ocean yet?’
‘They haven’t let me anywhere near a beach. Or a pool. Though I’d say the sea’s a bit cold at this time of year?’
‘It’s gorgeous. Refreshing. Where are you staying?’
‘The Martinez,’ I say, and his grin broadens.
‘Well, imagine that. Me too.’
I shake my head in mock disbelief. ‘What a coincidence.’
‘Isn’t it just? Very convenient for my intentions toward you. You got a full day tomorrow?’
I ignore his innuendo. ‘I do from midday. My publicist took pity on me and gave me the morning off so I could enjoy myself tonight.’
‘Did she now? You fixed on sleeping in, or can I proposition you?’
I narrow my eyes at him, Jackson’s warning ringing in my ears.
He laughs again. He seems to find me endlessly amusing. I have no idea why. ‘Come with me for a minute? I wanna show you something.’
I humour him and take his hand, and he leads me across the beautiful gardens, with their intoxicating mix of manicured flowerbeds and luscious greenery. The air is definitely cool up here, in this elevated position, but the view is spectacular.
‘This is so heavenly.’
‘The whole place was built by a Dutchman.’ He turns to me. ‘He named it after his wife—Eilenroc is an anagram of Cornélie.’
I’m impressed. ‘Good knowledge.’
He shrugs. ‘I’ve been here a lot of times outside of the festival.
It’s a fucking circus at the moment, the whole area, but it’s more fun when all the douchebag movie stars go home.
I fell for this place at amfAR one year and did some research.
Got talking to a local server, who told me there are steps from the street outside all the way down to a hidden cove.
Not really a cove, because there’s no sand.
But there’s a little concrete platform you can jump off of, and it’s super quiet.
I’ve never seen anyone else down there.’
I have an image of Josh in a T-shirt and shorts, exploring the hidden corners of Antibes alone with a backpack, and feel a sudden pang. This guy gets a bad rap.
‘It sounds absolutely gorgeous.’
‘It really is. Especially first thing in the morning. And you can walk all the way around the cape to La Garoupe beach on the east side.’ He points. ‘It’s a really fun hike. It’s pretty brutal in high summer, but at this time of year it’s perfect.’
He turns to me, and smiles down at me, and tugs the lapels of his jacket more closely around me. ‘What do you say? We take it easy on the shots tonight, and then tomorrow morning we come back early. You, me and a picnic. Bring some sneakers and a bikini.’