48. Grey
Chapter 48
Grey
T onight is the film’s wrap party for cast, crew, and guests. Yesterday was our last day filming Golden Hour , only a couple days after our first time sleeping together. Both Aspen’s family and Piers and Julie are attending, so I’m pretty nervous about meeting her parents. I know Piers and Julie are going to love her, though.
Aspen looks jaw-dropping tonight, wearing a baby blue mini-dress with a white fur trim. She looks like a 1970s snow princess and the dress makes her aqua-blue eyes sparkle even more than usual.
“What’s that look?” she asks, squeezing my hand in the backseat of the car that’s driving us to the event hall that’s hosting the party.
“I hope your family likes me,” I respond candidly.
“How could they not? Everyone likes you.”
“You didn’t when we first met.”
The corner of her mouth twitches. “Touché.”
“Seriously? That’s all you have for me? No ‘oh, Grey, I was hopelessly in love with you from the second we locked eyes. In fact, I was just so uncomfortable with the strength of my desire for you that I faked my hatred for you.’”
“I never hated you,” she amends. “You’re just being dramatic. They’ll like you, all you have to do is be yourself.”
“That’s the worst possible advice you could give me.”
She laughs and kisses me on the cheek. “Oops,” she says, rubbing the spot where she kissed me.
“Did you get your lip gloss on me?”
“No,” she clearly lies.
“Mm-hmm.”
“It’s off now. Wait, turn and face me,” she instructs before straightening my tie a fraction of an inch. “Perfect.”
“Do I meet your standards, Jordan?” I ask dryly.
“In every sense of the word,” she replies suggestively.
“Don’t tease me when I’m about to meet your parents.”
“Well, what about me? Will Piers and Julie like me?”
“They’ll adore you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I do.”
“Aww,” she coos. “Aren’t you just the sweetest?”
“So sweet. Now let me hit it,” I joke, thumbing the hem of her dress.
She swats my hand away. “And, you ruined it.”
I wink. “Part of my charm, babe.”
“I don’t think you’re that?—”
Suddenly the driver opens my door, interrupting Aspen. I didn’t even realize the car had stopped, and apparently neither did Aspen because she looks as surprised as I do, her mouth clamping shut mid-sentence.
“Sir, ma’am?” the driver says, ushering us out.
I step out first and hold my hand out to help Aspen.
“Thank you,” she says, accepting my help.
Luckily this is an event just for cast and crew, meaning there’s no red carpet or paparazzi. And thankfully, the location didn’t get leaked.
“Aspen!” a female voice shouts from behind us.
I turn and see…a second Aspen climbing out of the car behind us.
“Willow!” Aspen squeals, running to greet her sister. Ah, that makes sense. I seriously thought I might be hallucinating for a second there.
I can’t even understand the next few words that the sisters say as words devolve into squeals and bone-crushing hugs. A third girl, who I decide must be their other sister, Maple, joins in as well. Her parents exit the car last, her father helping her mother out with delicate devotion.
“Robert—it’s nice to see you again,” I say, walking up to shake his hand. He’s the only other member of the family I know, having crossed paths with him several times throughout my film career.
“You too, Grey,” he responds, shaking amiably. “And congratulations on completing another film, I’m sure it’s the best one yet.”
“I’m sure it is too, but Aspen takes all the credit for that.”
Just as I say her name, she walks up and wraps her dad in a tight hug.
“There’s my beautiful girl.” Robert beams at her, gently running his fingers through her hair as they embrace.
“You look stunning, honey. Who are you wearing?”
“Hi, Mom,” Aspen says, moving from her dad’s arms to her mom’s.
“Archival Mugler?” Willow guesses before Aspen can answer. I wonder how she’d know that for a split second before remembering she’s a supermodel.
“Close,” Aspen says.
“Courrèges?” her mom, Isabelle, guesses. I see where the daughters got their beauty from—Isabelle is timelessly elegant, all siren blue eyes and shining blonde hair. And she doesn’t look a day past thirty-five, but, doing some quick math, she must be in her fifties. Not to mention her cancer treatments. Damn, Aspen’s got good genes.
“It’s Chanel. But you were right with the French guesses, and it is archival. I’m impressed you guys were so close,” Aspen answers.
“I’m even more impressed because I know nothing about fashion,” I add. “Might as well be off the rack.”
Willow’s Aspen-like eyes find mine, sizing me up. “Aren’t you a Tom Ford ambassador?”
“I am, but I just wear what they tell me, stand where they tell me, and pose how they tell me. I haven’t picked anything up, unfortunately.”
“He’s more into breaking into people’s homes than fashion,” Aspen adds.
Robert’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline.
“She’s exaggerating,” I defend. “It was one time, and technically I just went in the backyard.”
“And I never pressed charges so he’s fine,” Aspen says.
“Sounds like quite the story,” Isabelle says. “Shall we talk more about it inside? It’s a little chilly out here.” Immediately, Robert’s offering her his jacket. Isabelle shrugs him off, saying, “Don’t be ridiculous, Bobby. All I need is a stiff hot toddy.”
Maple laughs at her mom. “You’re ridiculous. But does that mean there’s an open bar?”
“Maple Isabelle Jordan,” her mom scolds, though her tone is anything but serious.
“I’m just wondering,” Maple argues. “I don’t want anything.”
“Good,” Robert says, holding out his arm to Isabelle.
I do the same for Aspen, and we all head toward the door.
“Besides, the complimentary bottle of hotel champagne was more than enough,” Maple whispers within earshot of only Aspen, Willow, and me.
The party is housed inside an old silver-screen theatre. The space is a gleaming mixture of sparkling white marble, glamorous red carpet, and charmingly tarnished gold wall sconces. The event hall in front of us is already a flurry with people—about half I recognize, and about half must be guests. Here and there, tall pub tables draped in white tablecloths are topped with flowers and candles. Waiters zig-zag through the guests, offering trays of various hors d'oeuvres and beverages. Light pop music streams through the air, acting as a phonic lubricant for the buzz of conversation.
“Wow,” Aspen breathes beside me, admiring the space before us. “How have I never been here before?”
“I haven’t either. Although, I wish you weren’t here for my first time seeing it. You’re kind of taking away from the grandeur of the place.”
A crease appears between Aspen’s brows.
“Because you’re so beautiful that it detracts from the building’s beauty. Come on, keep up, Jordan.”
“Right, right. Well, I’m glad you’re here with me. It looks even more magnificent in comparison to you.”
“You wound me.”
“I’m sorry, twice-crowned Sexiest Man Alive. I know your looks are a sore spot for you.”
“What are you two whispering about?” Willow asks, interrupting us.
“How happy I am to finally meet Aspen’s family,” I lie.
“Aw,” Willow coos. “I can’t believe you used to think he was a dick, Aspen.”
Aspen rolls her eyes, and Willow winks at me.
A white-shirted, black-vested waiter passes us carrying a tray of champagne flutes. Willow expertly snags three glasses, thanking him.
She hands Aspen and I each a glass, adorned with a thin slice of pomegranate and a few red seeds floating at the bottom.
“To romance, both real and fake,” Willow toasts.
“To the greatest sister I could ask for, who helped me see the light,” Aspen adds.
“And the best costar I’ve ever worked with,” I contribute when their eyes land on me.
Willow glances at Aspen, confusedly.
“He’s a little socially weird,” Aspen stage-whispers to her sister.
“Aren’t we all?” Maple interjects, swooping in to steal Aspen’s champagne glass, downing it in one sip, somehow not choking on the bubbles or the seeds.
“Maple!” Aspen and Willow cry in unison. Jesus, they’re freaky together.
Maple shrugs. “What? You weren’t going to drink it,” she directs at Aspen.
“What about the hotel champagne?” Willow asks.
“Turns out, it was not enough. Mom and Dad are being all gross and loved-up and there’s nobody here under the age of thirty.”
“Um, hello?” Willow asks, motioning to all of us.
“Wait, you’re under thirty?” Maple laughs at me.
“Twenty-nine. Is she always this mean?” I ask the other two sisters.
“Usually more so,” Aspen clarifies. “She must be on her best behavior.”
“Anyway, who wants to introduce me to people?” Maple asks. “I’m thinking about making my big break. I can see the headline now, Illusive Third Jordan Sister Makes Her Acting Debut , subtitled, The Academy Says They Haven’t Seen a Talent Like This Since Hepburn .”
“Which one?” I ask.
“Does it matter?” Maple counters.
“Okayyyy,” Willow says, drawing out the end of the word. “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, Syrup.”
“Never. Now, who wants to dance?”
Aspen gives me a pointed look. “ You, ” she mouths.
“Me,” I volunteer.
Aspen grins, ushering me and Maple off to a dance floor I’ve yet to see.