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 tokissme, 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 eachother. 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. Itwas. 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 isthe 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 fromGracie, 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. Iffinemeans 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 partad nauseamin 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. Mychest heaves (not difficult to act; I can’t get enough lung capacity in this fucking thing to take a full breath).
