Chapter 16
Josh
I’ve questioned this decision a million times since that first meeting with Alyssa in West Hollywood. And I’ve wanted to reach out to Elle a million times, too, but I haven’t dared. I can’t imagine what her reaction would be if I presumed to message her out of the blue.
I know I shouldn’t have taken the part. I know how pissed Elle must be. I know how unreasonable it is to show up and expect her to act out a romance with me for months on end after the way I left her hanging. But I also know three things to be true.
One. This part was written for me.
Two. My career needs it desperately, especially after the Ghoul fiasco and the press uproar around my latest stint in rehab.
Three. I honestly believe this is fate. It’s the universe giving me a second chance to make Ellery Hart fall in love with me. And to prove to her I’m worth it.
My whole future fucking career and personal happiness hanging on one show. Could the stakes be any higher?
This last stint in rehab was the real deal. Not because the process was much different from the times before, but because I went into it with a totally different mindset. I wanted to get clean. And I’m finally allowing myself to believe staying clean is possible.
It was one of Alyssa’s terms when she met with me to pitch Grosvenor. I’d just wrapped Ghoul, and I was partying hard. Obviously, I was sober when I met with her, but she’d heard the rumours. Seen the press. Josh Lander, still behaving like a pathetic party boy in his mid-thirties.
‘Go and get yourself sorted out,’ she told me. ‘Properly, this time. But don’t do it for me. Do it for yourself. That’s the only way this shit works.’
I agreed with her. And I liked her. A lot. I particularly liked that she was willing to take a chance on me after a rocky few years for my career.
‘I’m just so worried about Elle,’ I told her. ‘How do you think she’ll react when you tell her?’
‘I won’t release your name until the last possible minute.
And she’ll be incredibly fucked off with me, as well she should.
But I know you two are going to make magic together.
What you had may not have lasted, but it would be a crime if you guys never got to flex your collective muscles on-screen. ’
I went to rehab, and I did the work. For real.
I did it for Alyssa, and I did it for Elle, but most of all, I did it for myself.
And I could feel the difference this time.
I could sense the relief, the release, as I worked to free myself from the demons that had had their claws in me for far too long.
This time, I wanted to be free of them. They’d directly and indirectly sabotaged everything I valued in my life.
They’d driven me to do the worst thing I’d ever done to another human being.
When I got out of rehab that time after breaking things off with Elle, I reached straight for what I needed to take the pain away.
Liquor. Coke. Molly. Everything that felt good. Everything I could get my hands on.
The difference now is, I understand I need to feel the pain.
I need to find my way through it to get to the other side.
And I have to trust that what lies on the other side is worth it.
Numbing the world out is no longer the answer for me.
As the leaders of our programme promised, the process was—is—both a journey and a homecoming.
I’ve felt more like myself than I have for years.
The question is whether I, as myself, am enough for others.
For Elle.
These past couple months since I got out have felt like the weirdest hiatus.
I’ve been getting ready to move to London for filming, and every time I read the lines I’ll be saying with Georgiana, I imagine saying them to Elle.
I imagine sparring with her (I bet she’s looking forward to that part).
I imagine insisting she’ll be my wife. And I imagine looking down on her in Dominic’s bed, that incredible hair spread out around her, during the wedding night scene.
God help me, if she doesn’t respond to our scenes together the same way I have, I’ll be fucked.
Because this script is a gift. It’s our story. Well, it’s the story of our second chapter. First time around, she gave her mind, heart and body to me so freely, and I threw all of it aside like it was trash. Or that’s the conclusion she’ll have drawn, in any case.
This time around, I’m Dominic, faced with a woman who despises me. And like Dominic, I’ll need endless patience and faith to win the woman I love over. Because there’s no doubt in my mind that as soon as I see her, I’ll know for a fact I’m still in love with her.
Obviously, I’ve watched with awe as her acting career has taken off in the most stellar way.
And I’ve been fascinated to see her grow as a woman as well as an actor.
My little Elle has grown up. It was so fucking difficult to stay away from the Academy Awards that first year after I finished it, not to be there to see her moment of triumph.
But I did it. I stayed away, and I watched it alone at home, and I got absolutely trashed.
Because this was my doing—well, mine and Mom’s.
I’d made my bed, and I had to fucking lie in it.
And when it was announced she’d be the lead in Fae, it was the first time I felt like maybe I’d done the right thing.
I wasn’t worthy of her. She had so, so far to fly, and I would’ve held her back. There was a huge chance she wouldn’t have taken a role that involved a year in New Zealand if I’d been in the picture, holding her back with my issues.
My sacrifice has been worth it.
Look at her now.
She’ll never believe it, but everything I’ve done, I’ve done for her.
Azure’s London HQ, where we’re doing the first table read, is on the outskirts of London near Heathrow, in some god-awful place called Hounslow.
But the building itself is seriously nice: brand-new, all glass and pale wood and living walls and open space.
I eyeball the huge, sky-blue and silver Azure logo behind the vast reception desk.
It’s kinda weird how Elle and I met on the Cote d’Azur, and now we’ve come full circle, kicking off this next chapter courtesy of media giant Azure.
Do you think it’s a sign? I sure hope it is.
It’s not ideal that Elle and I will see each other for the first time at the table read. Scratch that. It’s a total fucking nightmare. But at least it means she can’t take a swing at me. Hopefully.
An executive who introduces himself as Dan is waiting for me at reception. He tells me he’s the first Assistant Director.
‘I hope you don’t mind, Mr Lander.’ He pushes his glasses up onto his nose. ‘But Ms Anderson and Ms Hart were wondering if you’d join them for a quick word before the table read?’
Were they, now. Dread and relief hit me equally.
‘Sure.’ I force a smile for Dan’s benefit. Don’t shoot the messenger. ‘Sounds good.’
I follow Dan to the bank of glass elevators, and we ride up to the second floor.
Except it’s the first floor here. That always gets me.
First floor is ground and second is first. As we rise at a snail’s pace (why British elevators are so slow is an eternal mystery), I focus on my breathing.
On accepting. Surrendering. Being open. Wholehearted.
Not fighting Elle’s reactions, whatever they may be, from a place of ego. I got this.
Except I don’t. Not really. My palms are sweating as I follow Dan down a bright corridor. I can’t believe this moment has arrived, nearly five years after watching that movie in Cannes, and seeing her face, and knowing I had to meet her. To be with her. To have her.
Dan stops at an opaque-glass-fronted room. He raps twice on the door and opens it, standing back to let me pass through.
And there she is.
Holy fuck.
I am so screwed.
Elle is standing in front of the full-length window, back-lit by the weak February morning light. She’s so fucking beautiful. Her hair is lighter, and her expression is stony, and her arms are crossed. She’s armoured up. I get it.
I’m so busy staring at her, I almost fail to register Alyssa’s presence in the room.
‘Josh,’ she says, and I blink. ‘You made it. Well done.’
She approaches and kisses me on both cheeks.
‘Hey, Alyssa,’ I manage. I turn back to Elle. ‘Hey, Elle. Good to see you both.’
Seriously? Good to see you both? Kill me now.
Elle nods tersely, but her eyes won’t meet mine. ‘Hi.’
I go to take a step towards her—I’m not sure if I should kiss her, or hug her, or something—and she shrinks back against the window.
No physical contact.
Got it.
‘How are your digs?’ Alyssa asks.
I turn back to her with effort. ‘My—ah—what?’
‘Your digs. Lodgings. Flat? Hotel?’
‘Oh right. Yeah, I have an apartment in Notting Hill. It’s nice, thanks.’ I threw that little detail in for Elle’s benefit. I wonder if she still lives there.
‘Excellent.’ Alyssa’s usually cool as a cucumber, but the frigid atmosphere in this room is throwing even her off her game. ‘Well, glad you’re getting settled in. The table read is next door, when you’re ready. I’ll leave you two to catch up.’
She gives us both a stern I hope I can trust you to behave look, pats me on the arm and practically sprints out of the room, shutting the door behind her.
I take a few steps toward Elle. It’s not even conscious. I want to be close to her, and I’m not having a conversation across the room. I have no idea what she wants or needs to say to me, but I’m there for whatever it is.
I gesture towards the small table in the centre of the room. ‘Shall we sit?’
‘No. This won’t take long.’ She reaches forward and picks up her teacup from the table.
It shakes slightly and a little tea spills onto the saucer.
So she’s as nervous as I am. I feel so bad for her.
All of this is my fault, and I’m sure she doesn’t appreciate giving me a glimpse of her nerves.
She abandons the cup and steps back, shaking tea off of her fingers.
‘Fuck.’
So she swears now. I never, ever heard her swear when we were together. She was all oh my gosh, like a British schoolgirl. It was the sweetest thing. But she says fuck in such a posh, clipped accent that it almost sounds like fack. It’s so sexy, I can’t even—
‘I just wanted to get a few things clear before we go in there.’
She rams her hands in the pockets of her very tight jeans and my eyes travel involuntarily down her gorgeous legs to her high-heeled boots.
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Whatever you want. I’m not here to cause trouble for you, Elle.’
God, I love saying her name.
And I love how her eyes close for a split second when she hears me say it. Though I have a pretty strong hunch they close in a give me patience way, and not in a my name on your lips turns me on so much way. ‘I’m here to do a job, as I’m sure you are, too.’
‘Good. I wanted to see you before we went in there, to tell you this.’ She takes a deep breath.
I suspect she’s been rehearsing this. ‘As far as I’m concerned, you don’t exist.’ She makes a figure of eight in the air with her index finger to emphasise her point.
‘When we’re working, you’re Dominic and I’m Georgiana.
If you want to run lines, or discuss how a scene should work, I will, of course, be open to that.
‘But I don’t want to know what you had for breakfast, or what stupid fucking parties you went to at the weekend, or how you’re finding your time here. No small talk. No conversation. We are not friends. We don’t exist off screen. Do I make myself clear?’
Holy fuck. I was prepared for bitterness. And kudos to her for not wasting a second before communicating the boundaries she needs in place to make this work for her, but shit. It’s still a gut-punch.
I nod. ‘Crystal clear. I won’t bother you unless I absolutely have to. For work stuff.’
‘Good.’ She looks as though she was preparing for more pushback, but she won’t get that from me. ‘Okay then.’
‘You’ve changed your hair. It’s lighter.’
‘It’s for the show. They thought I’d look younger with blonder hair.’ Her eyebrows rise in a challenge. ‘More virginal. Whatever.’
Jesus Christ. I didn’t see that coming. I can barely look at her right now. There’s a good chance I’ll have an erection for this whole fucking production. I brave a glance at her. There’s an amused twist to her mouth. I see what she means about the hair—it is more, er, virginal. It’s seriously hot.
But apart from that, she looks older, and in a really fucking great way. The youthful roundness of her face has yielded to stunning bone structure; her cheekbones are more defined, her jaw more finely honed.
She is so beautiful, it’s breathtaking, and I have a sudden rush of understanding of how folks must feel when they meet me or someone else in the public eye, because I’ve been staring at magazine covers and Instagram posts of her for five years, and to be faced with her in the flesh is nothing short of spellbinding. And surreal.
‘Got it.’ I clear my throat. Moving on. ‘And you swear now, too?’
‘Josh.’
There it is.
My name on those lips.
And it fucking slays me.
‘This little now-versus-then game seems like it’s a lot of fun for you, but save it. I’m not interested in how you think I’ve changed. Okay?’
She grabs her cup again and this time there’s no spillage. She holds it to her lips and drinks. Closes her eyes briefly. And I watch.
She puts it down. ‘Come on. We’re done here.’