JOSH
I have kissed Emily Montgomery three times in my life. First as a teenage jackass messing around with my buddies. Next as a character from a multimillion-selling book series. And finally, today, I got to kiss her as me. And it felt fucking fantastic.
I’ve dated models, actresses, singers, random girls who slid into my DMs. None of them have made me feel like Emily does, and it drives me fucking crazy.
Why her? It makes not one iota of sense to me.
Of all the girls in the world, why does it have to be her?
Because if it’s her, then I have to confront the fact that I’ve wasted time, that I’ve been a goddamn jerk, that I want to be with someone who probably only looks at me as a fling, a stupid Hollywood nepo baby, not someone good and serious and talented like her.
No wonder she went for Ben Sage-Whittle.
That’s a pairing that makes sense, even if I do think he’s an asshole, and believe me, I very much do.
But it is her. I know it’s her, and now I know she feels the same about me.
I can’t keep telling myself it’s impossible, because now I’ve had proof it’s possible.
It’s just fucking terrifying, that’s the thing.
We have at least one more Wonderwick to film together, if not two since the studio’s developed this cute little habit of splitting up the final instalment of their projects into two parts.
So let’s say two more movies. If I go rushing into this and I fuck it up . . . it doesn’t bear thinking about.
I want to storm out of my room, pound on her door and find out what happens next.
Every fibre of my being wants me to leap into action, to do something, to push this moment into the future.
We know where my tendency towards impulsivity has got me before.
So I don’t go out there. I force myself to lie on the bed, not moving.
If I’m completely still then there’s less chance of me jumping to my feet and running to her.
I stare at the dark wood fan over the four-poster, watching its blades go round and round and round, willing it to hypnotise me.
If I just keep staring at it until I fall asleep then I can’t get to my feet and let them carry me to my door, and out my door and to Emily’s room.
She’s probably asleep already. It’s past her bedtime.
So who’s knocking on my door?