‘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 likeMara has lots of press requests. Both USandBritish 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 thinkGracie’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 yourface.’ 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 parentslovehim. 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 amorning. 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, Ineedto 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, Ilove 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 alotof 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.
