Chapter 10 Elle
Elle
Despite how high I am over winning Best Actress (not sure when, if ever, that will sink in), I’m absolutely dreading saying goodbye to Josh.
I feel sick to my stomach every time I think about it.
I’ll never have this time again: the insanity of my first Cannes, getting my award and the growing understanding that everything is about to change for me.
But the biggest deal this past week has been falling for Josh Lander. It’s surreal to think that, a few short days ago, I was in such a tizz over him brushing up against me on the dance floor (although that was one of the craziest moments of my life).
Now, I know the noises he makes when he comes. When he sleeps. When he’s waking up. I know how the inside of his mouth tastes, and the feel of his thumb pad tracing the curve of my spine. I know how soft the fine baby hairs on his hairline are when I brush my lips against them.
I also know lots of other things the public never will, because he’s let me in.
For someone who’s been shafted by the press so many times, he’s been incredibly open with me from the start.
Maybe it’s because I’m so obviously new to this game and he wants me to learn from his tales of woe.
Or because I’m pretty clueless and highly unlikely to sell our story to the highest bidder.
Or, hopefully, it’s because he trusts me.
Feels close to me.
Is as drawn in by this instant bond we have as I am.
Whatever the reason, he’s let me into his life, and it’s even better than him letting me into his bed.
I’m aware he and his mum don’t see eye to eye, that she’s an amazing businesswoman and deal-maker, but makes every decision based on numbers and little else.
Certainly not based on what Josh wants. He joked with me the other day that if she wasn’t his mum, he’d sack her.
I’m aware he’s horribly self-critical and continues to beat himself up over his performances, even years later.
He detested his performance in Hey, Jude, for example. It was a long-running series on the Disney channel in which he, of course, played Jude, and it made an entire generation of girls fall madly in love with him. Including me.
‘I had you-as-Jude on my bedroom wall for years,’ I finally confessed the other night when we were in bed. I ran my hands down his gorgeous chest.
I hadn’t planned on telling him that. At all. But he was being so down on himself, and I wanted to put a smile on his face.
It definitely worked. He grinned like the Cheshire Cat and rolled over, pressing down on top of me.
‘Is that so?’
‘Yeah. I discovered it a few years after you filmed it, I suppose. I was fourteen. Maybe thirteen. It was my favourite poster. By a mile.’
‘Hmm.’ He pressed down on me harder. ‘Fourteen-year-old Elle, crushing on me in her bedroom. Good job I didn’t know you back then. I bet you were a walking felony.’
I laughed and tried to wriggle away. ‘I wasn’t. Honestly. I was a late developer, and I had braces. But you broke my heart. I was so in love with you.’
He kissed me then, so softly. ‘I’m sorry I broke your heart, sweet girl. But I’m much more interested in making you fall in love with me now.’ He raised his head so he could see me. ‘How am I doing?’
I lay back on his pillow and met his gaze. My beautiful Josh, doing things to my heart this time around that my fourteen-year-old self would have been decidedly ill-equipped to cope with.
‘You’re doing a scarily good job,’ I whispered. And it was true. He was.
I don’t have to worry about saying goodbye to him in the end.
Because the morning after the Closing Ceremony and one hell of an after-party, into which Josh and Brad carried me on their shoulders, for crying out loud, while everyone stood around and clapped me, he tells me he’s going to cancel his place on Davide’s jet.
‘I was thinking, it’s stupid to go straight back when London is so close to Cannes.’ He traces up and down my stomach with a featherlight touch.
My heart leaps with hope. ‘Really? I mean, it’s a good thousand miles, probably. So not exactly close. But it’s a quick flight. Two hours, max.’
‘A thousand miles is nothing.’ He kisses me. ‘Not if it means more time with my girl. Are you free?’
‘Free-ish. I promised my parents I’d go home and see them. They’re desperate to hear all the gossip. And it sounds like Mara has lots of press requests. Both US and British Vogue want to talk to me. Can you believe it?’
‘I can believe it. They should have been all over this months ago instead of playing catch-up.’
‘I think Gracie’s success has taken everyone by surprise. The film didn’t have a big marketing budget. But the win has done wonders for us.’
‘The win… and your face.’ He shifts on top of me and I grab his bum greedily and knead it. His bum is sheer heaven.
‘I don’t know about that.’
‘I do, Princess. So. How about I come with you to see your folks?’ He asks it casually, but his face tells a different story.
‘Really? You wouldn’t be freaked out? They’d love that. They’re dying to meet you.’
‘How come they’re not here this week?’
‘We talked about it, but Mara and Richard—that’s my agent—said it would be totally crazy and I’d be pulled in every direction. They didn’t want me to feel obliged to carve out time for them. They’ve been sending me incessant video messages, and we’ve FaceTimed, obviously.’
‘I bet they have. They must be so proud of their girl. Of course I want to meet them. Will I have to sleep in the spare room?’
‘Not if I can help it. They’re pretty liberal. We’ll just have to be quiet.’
‘Sorry. No can do.’ And he dives on me.
So, just like that, Josh comes to the UK with me, and it’s amazing. He sees my flat, which is a nice rental in Notting Hill, and we drive up to the Cotswolds and spend a couple of nights with my family, which goes really well.
Josh is charm personified and my parents love him.
He doesn’t get to meet my brother, Alfie, who’s in finance and lives in New York.
We get papped drinking Pimms outside a pub in Chipping Norton and escape to Soho Farmhouse for a morning.
They have a photography ban there which gives us a bit of privacy.
There’s one hairy moment at my parents’ when Josh is gushing about how proud they must be of me. Dad gets misty-eyed and tells him my Best Actress award is especially meaningful because of everything I’ve been through with my health.
Josh looks understandably alarmed. ‘What have you been through with your health?’
I give Dad a pointed look. I’ve already warned them I haven’t told Josh about my Crohn’s yet, but I can’t blame them. My health dramas, and my ridiculous amount of time in hospital when I was a teenager, are such a big part of my whole family’s lives.
‘Glandular fever,’ I throw out. ‘I got it when I was fourteen and had to miss six months of school, right at the beginning of my GCSE syllabus. It was really tough.’
Josh looks blank. ‘What the hell is glandular fever?’
‘You guys call it mono,’ I tell him. ‘Same thing—it’s the Epstein-Barr virus, basically. Anyway. Moving on.’
After a final night in London, Josh flies back, and it’s really tough.
I know it’s ridiculous, because we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, but I got used to falling asleep with him.
To hanging out with him every possible second of the day.
And to having unfettered access to that body. That face. That mouth. Ugh.
Between crazy meetings with Richard and Mara, and exciting conversations about potential projects, and interviews with press outlets all over the world, I manage a long weekend in Santa Monica.
Correction: I don’t manage it. I prioritise it, because much as I want to capitalise on the buzz coming off our wins at Cannes, I need to spend time with this incredible man who’s welcomed me into his life so enthusiastically.
Santa Monica is amazing. I love it. I was convinced I’d hate LA, but I love the beachy, healthy vibe here, and most of all, I love waking up to a view of the Pacific every morning from Josh’s gorgeous home.
It’s a parallel universe here, and I’m a different person, though I do feel even more British and socially awkward here than usual, surrounded by all these lithe, uninhibited people with perfect bodies and perfect smiles.
Josh makes it back over to London in late June.
He claims it’s because he misses me, but his excitement over the Queen’s tennis tournament tells the real story.
He’s a total tennis tart, basically. And so we have a really fun few days at the tennis, drinking a lot of Pimms and cheering on Andy Murray to his fifth Queen’s title.
This time, when he leaves, it’s less painful, because I’m joining him in a few days.
On the East Coast, at his family home.
With his friends from Duke, and his family.
For the Fourth of July weekend.
Argh!