For the Fourth of July weekend.
Argh!
CHAPTER 11
Elle
Josh’s family home in St. Michaels, Maryland, reminds me of the big white house inThe Notebook. It’s seriously gorgeous—and seriously intimidating. I assumed Josh was loaded because he was a film star, but this house screamsold moneyto me.
And when I meet his parents, Jefferson and Greer Lander, they confirm my hunch. Josh mentioned his mum was a WASP, and she definitely has that patrician, glacial thing going on. She’s beautiful and elegant, with incredible bone structure and pale, fine blonde hair impeccably swept back in a tortoiseshell clip. Josh has inherited her long, straight nose.
Her welcome is warm and her manner delightful. She’s a natural hostess, but something tells me she’s not to be messed with. I’m hoping to pick her brains about the industry at some point over the weekend, though. From everything Josh has told me, it sounds like she’s completely masterminded his career.
Josh’s dad—Jeff, as he instructs me to call him—is a tall bear of a man with distinguished, silvering hair and a huge, booming laugh that makes me jump a little the first timeI hear it. I have a feeling, though, that Greer wears the trousers in their relationship.
I love Josh’s sister, Katie, on sight. She’s a sweet-faced blonde who can’t seem to stop smiling at her brother. Katie is a senior at Duke, home for the summer. There must be a strong family connection to that uni, if Josh went there too.
I’ve been apprehensive about this weekend. I’m firmly on Josh’s turf here. I’m meeting the parents. His sister. And his friends—his old university friends, not his industry buddies. Even though the number of A-listers he introduced me to at Cannes made my head spin, this is a proper induction to his life. His past.
Josh pitched this weekend to me as a low-key party with family and friends. I certainly wasn’t prepared for the scale of his home, or his family’s lifestyle, or the festivities I hear will happen on the grounds on Monday.
Greer explains that because going out to celebrate isn’t an option (I guess because of Mr Child Star being too famous), they have a well-established tradition of holding a party here for local friends, with a big cook-out and their own firework display on the water.
I’m slightly embarrassed as to how much I’m looking forward to the cook-out, though I’ll obviously have to watch what I eat. I can’t afford any accidents, this of all weekends, and jet lag can be a big trigger for me. Basically, anything that makes me over-tired or messes up my body-clock can.
I’ve packed carefully: spare dark-coloured outfits in case wearing white starts to feel like a disaster waiting to happen, my supplements, lots of extra pads and disposable old-people pants, and my meds. I go on and off my meds intermittently. The steroids can prevent flare-ups, but I don’t like being on them constantly, so I take them when I have a particularly manic schedule. I went on them for Cannes and I’m takingthem again now. I was really careful on the plane: I can now afford to fly business class, which helps, so I spent the flight hydrating and resting and only ate the food I brought with me.
Not being able to tell Josh makes it harder all round. I don’t want him to think I’m weird and boring and high-maintenance, but I’m also not ready to share with him that I regularly poo my pants and bleed out my innards. Luckily, because he’s such a sweetheart, he’s had his family orchestrate the weekend’s events around the likelihood that I’ll arrive jet lagged, so the pace starts off slow with just the family, picking up on Sunday when his friends show up ahead of the big Monday Fourth of July blowout.
I love seeing him here, in this house where he grew up. He’s my beautiful all-American boy, and this place fits him perfectly. On Saturday afternoon, the two of us don baseball caps and dark glasses and venture out into St. Michaels.
I can’t believe how scenic it is: the picturesque marina with its bobbing sailing boats and incredible examples of colonial and federal architecture (according to Josh). White clapboard and red roofs, and the smell of crab wafting from the waterfront restaurants that makes my mouth water, even though we’ve just had lunch.
‘You’ll have so much blue crab on Monday, you’ll be sick of it. I promise, baby.’ Josh uses the arm snaked around my shoulder to draw me in closer to him and kiss me lazily. I worry for a second about over-zealous onlookers and their cameras, but if Josh isn’t bothered, neither am I.
Especially not when his stubble grazes my chin, and the warmth of his tongue spreads from my mouth through my entire body, and his other hand finds my denim cutoffs and slides into my back pocket to grab my bum. This guy is so gorgeous. Gorgeous, and dreamy, and golden, and positively edible. He’s so going to get it later.
Josh is quitedifferent around his Duke friends. Perhaps it’s because he’s at home with his family, too, but he seems like a normal guy rather than some celebrity superstar. His mum dotes on him, but his mates don’t let him get away with any behaviour they deem remotely pretentious, which is everything. Poor Josh. They rib him mercilessly.
They all seem to work on Wall Street. Kai is clean cut and deeply nerdy, which makes me instantly like him. I learn he majored in Mathematics at Duke and now does high-frequency algorithmic trading. Enough of my mates from Cambridge are starting out in the City that I have a vague grasp of some of the more popular job functions, but I have absolutely no idea what high-frequency algorithmic trading is. He has a sweet fiancee, Marina, who clearly adores him and is very welcoming to me.
But it’s Josh’s best buddy, Brandon, who raises my hackles, although I’m not sure why. There’s an odd dynamic to their relationship. Brandon seems successful—he’s a portfolio manager for a large hedge fund—but I suspect he’s jealous of Josh’s success, even though Josh’s fame preceded their relationship.
He makes quite a few digs about Josh’s wealth and talent and his latest movie, which was a commercial but not a critical success. And I’m on the receiving end of a few funny comments from him, too. I can’t quite put my finger on it. He’s charming on the surface, fawning, even, but he congratulates me a little too forcefully on my award, and makes some comments about my body and my looks and the fact that I’m too hot for Josh.
I don’t know—if I had to guess, I’d say it’s sour grapes. He resents Josh’s success. I’m sure Brandon is a big deal on WallStreet, so he may dislike the fact that Josh’s income and profile are superior. And he’s single—which is not the slightest bit shocking to me—so maybe he dislikes Josh having a girlfriend.
Maybe he’s jealous I’m taking his buddy away from him. Maybe he’s jealous that Josh is getting laid, although the amount of ‘hot women’ he drops into the conversation tells me he doesn’t do too badly for himself, flashing his cash around the bars of Manhattan.
He also makes enough comments aboutGraciethat I start to feel on edge. It’s the oddest feeling, knowing idiots like him have seen me naked on-screen. It’s one of the hardest parts of my chosen career to come to terms with.
Anyway, I shouldn’t let it bother me, because Brandon is towing the line, just about, and Josh is as adoring and sweet and considerate as ever. Sunday night is a big dinner in the house—Josh’s parents really are amazing hosts—and Monday, we all gear up for a huge, all-afternoon party. Brandon has been saying since he arrived that he has a little surprise, and on Monday he produces the surprise at breakfast, passing packages around the table.
A T-shirt for all of us. SayingI [heart] JL.As in Josh Lander. Excellent. The heart is in-filled with an American flag, and the girls’ version is sleeveless.
Josh rolls his eyes when he sees them. ‘You’re such a douche, man.’
‘Language, Joshua,’ his mum says automatically. She’s the only person I’ve heard call him Joshua.
