Chapter 25
Elle
Fucking Josh.
We’ve blocked out the scene with Abigail, the director for this episode, and we’ve had a runthrough of the kiss with Abigail, Alyssa and Kate (just our marks—we choreographed the machinations of the kiss yesterday with Kate.
No mouths, but it was intense). And I’m still angry.
I’m angry he broke one of the rules I set by mentioning our past (how he used to kiss me, FFS), and I’m angry I let him get to me, and I’m angry I let him see how much he got to me, and, most of all, I’m angry that I now can’t stop thinking about how Josh used to kiss me.
Because those kisses were beautiful. Cinematic.
Slow and rolling, or heated and frantic: whatever way we did them, we gave good kissing together.
God, that first kiss in the Med was so fucking hot.
We were so desperate for each other; I can still recall the relief when he pulled my legs around his waist in the sea and leaned into me.
But other kisses were even better. Some of the best were the intimate ones after sex. Languorously exploring each other. Speaking without words. His hand clamped to the back of my neck like a vice, pulling me in as close as he could physically get me.
It was real. It was. That’s the thing I always come back to, the thing that stumps me. The riddle that has haunted me for five years, despite all the work I’ve done. He felt it, too. He felt as strongly as I did. I swear it on everything I hold precious.
So why did he let me go? How could he just walk away without a backwards glance?
How could he bear it?
Because I couldn’t. It was unbearable.
It’s a riddle with no answer, and it’s taken a truckload of hard work and self-compassion and an impossible quest for the Zen required to accept that I’ll never have the answer. Even if I asked Josh for it, which I never would, I doubt he’d give me an answer that satisfied me.
Accept and move on. Accept and move on. Surrender.
This is what I’ve been doing for five years, but it’s triggering, being here with him.
That’s what Simon, my therapist, said last night on our Zoom call from my hotel room.
Being in close proximity to him, and preparing for an intimate scene, is a cruel trigger.
And I hate him for making it worse with his goading.
I hate him. That’s better. Hold on to this feeling.
This is what I need for the scene. There’s a conflict there; I’ve already discussed it with Alyssa.
The conflict is that Georgiana despises Dominic at this point; she’s furious she’s been forced into a match while knowing it’s the most dutiful and valuable thing she can do for her family, and yet, there’s an attraction there.
When Dominic kisses Georgiana, she feels things she has never felt before, both physical and emotional. It’s the first stirring of an awakening in her, and Dominic is the lightning rod for that awakening. She’s allowed to hate him, and she’s allowed to be moved by his kiss.
It’s very different from Gracie, where the conflict was all at the audience’s end.
Gracie was categorically in a non-consensual relationship.
Georgiana is resisting on the surface, but this is a love story.
She’s about to embark on the ride of a lifetime, even though she has no intention of giving into her unwelcome emotions at this point in her story.
Maybe I can channel my own conflict, then. Maybe it’s not just okay to feel this way; maybe it’s helpful. As Simon reminded me last night, learning how to simply sit with conflict is one of the best skills we can empower ourselves with.
I was in love with Josh. He screwed me over.
Our kisses were hot. Hot as hell. And I’m scared of kissing him now.
He hurt me, and I fancied the fucking pants off him, and I’m fucking furious with him, and I hate him. And I still fancy the pants off him. And all that will improve my ability to portray Georgiana in this moment.
Okay, then.
Dan, the first AD, tells us we’re starting with close-ups. My coverage first, then Josh’s, then profile shots of the two of us. Sounds fine. If fine means kissing Josh multiple times from three different angles before we even get to the medium shots.
Josh and I are both chewing gum, I notice.
As Dan leads us back onto the set, I get rid of mine in the bin by Abigail’s chair and Josh does the same.
It’s not a sex scene, but there are very few people on set.
I suspect that’s Kate’s work, and I appreciate it.
Although I kind of wish she could actually hold my hand while I go through this kissing scene.
An hour later, we’ve got coverage of both our lines in the run up to the kiss.
It’s a short scene, as it follows Dominic practically dragging Georgiana out of the ballroom and into the parlour.
Abigail’s beside the camera, Kate’s hovering, and Alyssa’s watching the proceedings on the monitor just off set. Now we’re rolling again in profile.
I’m backed up against a wall next to the parlour’s window. Josh plants a hand either side of my face. Framing me. Locking me in.
‘Never been kissed,’ he murmurs, his voice gruff and commanding and flawlessly British. Entitled. He plays the entitled dick perfectly. I stare at his cravat.
We’ve discussed at length that, right now, Georgiana will be in a state of eighty percent terror and twenty percent aroused anticipation, without being able to define the latter emotion for herself.
God, I’ve read this part ad nauseam in the book.
I’ve put myself in Georgiana’s shoes a million times, wishing I was her. Lucky cow.
And now I’m there.
With Josh Lander.
The universe certainly has a sense of humour.
Josh puts his weight on one hand and uses the other to touch under my chin and draw my face up towards him.
I drag my gaze upwards, mirroring Georgiana’s reluctance easily.
And find Josh-as-Dominic inches away, his eyes darkening, his gaze burning into mine.
He’s the whole package. Josh Lander is one of the world’s sexiest men in any case, and trussed up like this, he’s every woman’s Mr Darcy fantasy come to life.
His fingers slide down my throat. ‘Such a beautiful white throat.’ His tone is positively wolfish.
I repeat the moves I’ve already recorded for my coverage: swallowing, my eyes darting in a panic down to his hand, which is brushing my collarbone, and back up to his face. My chest heaves (not difficult to act; I can’t get enough lung capacity in this fucking thing to take a full breath).
Josh’s finger moves to my bottom lip. It presses and tugs it downward ever so lightly. My eyes dart all over his face, but I stay still.
‘These lips are far too precious to remain untouched,’ he murmurs.
I gasp.
He is so bloody close to me.
My pulse is pounding in my ears.
‘We will bring each other so much pleasure, Georgiana.’ His hand slides around the back of my neck and caresses it firmly. ‘I will teach you.’
Our eyes are locked tight. I couldn’t look away if I tried. He stares at me through those thick lashes. Dominic tells Georgiana with his eyes:
I want you.
I claim you.
I will teach you.
Believe me.
And Josh tells me with his eyes:
I’m sorry.
You’re safe.
I feel this too.
Believe me.
And then he bends and closes the gap between us, and his mouth is on me. Oh, Jesus.
I make the tiniest noise when his mouth closes over me, when his lips move against mine. I arch slightly away from the wall before collapsing again under the weight of Josh’s body as he presses himself against me. I catalogue each move as he makes it, as if it’s a dance step.
His hand, vice-like, on the back of my neck.
His thumb reaching around to stroke my throat.
His other hand seizing the bare flesh of my upper arm between my sleeve and my evening glove.
His face rotating against mine to better his angle, his access to my lips.
Oh my God. I feel lightheaded. Drunk. Like Alyssa’s roofied my drink to get me on board.
Because I remember this.
I remember the feel of his lips.
The heat of his exhales.
The smell of his skin, even though the layers of makeup they’ve put on him.
My muscle memory is doing me proud, or totally betraying me.
I remain frozen for the first few seconds, as we’ve choreographed, my arms stiff at my sides, my mouth clamped shut.
Then I yield. Yield to Josh. Yield to Dominic.
I arch my throat, just a little. I part my lips slightly against the relentless pressure of his mouth.
And, because I know it will be a key shot, my hand finds the lapel of his coat and squeezes it, as if involuntarily, as Georgiana allows herself to be unravelled by this kiss with the man who means to make her his Duchess.
And then, the money shot. Josh pulls away, just enough to slay me with those eyes and whisper You’re perfect as I stare at him with glazed eyes, before he pushes up harder against me, claiming me with his mouth, forcing my mouth further open with his tongue.
Jesus Christ.
His tongue plunges inside me as the hand on my neck drags greedily along to my shoulder, slipping my sleeve down a fraction.
I pant and heave my chest again (between the corset and his tongue in my mouth it’s not difficult), my hand clawing helplessly at his coat, and Dominic remembers himself.
Remembers where they are. That he is with a young lady, even if she is betrothed to him.
And pulls away, pressing his forehead to mine, and groaning as Georgiana catches her breath.
‘And cut.’ Abigail breaks the fucked-up spell we’ve cast on each other. Josh releases me and steps back, and I wish I could wipe my mouth, but my lipstick will come off on my pristine white gloves. If Josh has left any lipstick on, that is.
As the makeup artists hurry over to touch us up, I watch him. He hasn’t taken his eyes off me. He glances distractedly in Kate’s direction as she gives us a thumbs-up from off stage before his gaze slides back to me. Assessing. Concerned.
‘You okay?’ he asks, his voice low.
‘Yeah.’ I nod vigorously, unsure of what else to say. Gosh, Josh, you really know how to play the bad-boy panty-dropper to perfection. Or shame we couldn’t keep going after the camera stopped rolling; I wanted to climb you like a tree.
I didn’t really want to.
(I did.)
Truthfully, I feel the oddest mix of relieved and turned on and violated and triumphant.
‘That was great, guys.’ Abigail’s voice cuts through my internal cluster-fuck. ‘I need you to try to get Elle’s dress a little further down off her shoulder this time, okay Josh? Otherwise, you nailed it. Let’s get you some water and go again.’
We do four more takes before Abigail is happy and we move to the medium shots.
Four more snogs with Josh. If I’m not mistaken, each one is more heated than the last as we hit our stride and lose our inhibitions.
My sense of triumph is mounting. Not only did I survive kissing Josh, but we’re good together on screen when we can get out of our own way.
I know no one else doubted it, but I did.
That was hot.
Too hot.
After we get the medium shots, which focus on the compelling silhouette we make, coupling against the wall, and the desperate clawing of my fingers against his coat, we find our closure.
And as Josh’s fingers close over mine in a decisive but emotionless handshake, I secretly wonder if he was right.
If hugging it out would have been more apt.