The Reunion by Kayla Olson(90)
After a lifetime of pretending, we’re finally on the same page about what’s real.
“Yes,” I reply, my eyes flickering to Ransom. “I’m ready.”
Epilogue
It’s the most gorgeous Saturday evening in late July, the deep blue summer sky only just beginning to shift into shades of lavender, flamingo pink, and nectarine. The fountain in front of Dan and Xan’s gigantic mansion bubbles with crystal clear water, and there’s a gorgeous pair of flower walls flanking the front steps. I recognize the latest winner of Flower Wars, Grecia, standing just to the side of them, chatting casually with Shine Jacobs and our producers.
“Are you sure I look okay?” Bre whispers, eyeing the others who have just begun to arrive.
“You look perfect,” I tell her, and it’s true. She’s wearing an emerald chiffon jumpsuit with wide legs and floaty sleeves, its deep V-neck plunging all the way to the matching belt knotted at her navel.
She grins, relieved. “Back at you.”
My outfit is the polar opposite of hers—a chic pair of shorts with a fitted short-sleeved top to match, both made out of a stiff, floral-print fabric. I paired it all with a simple vintage choker, three thin tiers of gold circling loosely at my neck.
And, of course, I’ve got a handsome guy on my arm.
“Bre’s right,” Ransom says with a flirty nudge, just loud enough for only me to hear. “You really do look incredible.”
I grin, nudge him right back. “You clean up well yourself,” I say, a total understatement. He looks like he stepped right out of GQ, like maybe the entire magazine was inspired by the fact that he exists.
Ford joins us, also looking rather stylish, pulling Ransom in for a bro hug as soon as he’s close. I focus on not tripping up the front steps as we all head inside, my platform wedges making things slightly precarious. Bre actually does slip, catching a bit of chiffon under her spiky heel, and Ford offers his arm to steady her. They’re so at ease with each other it almost looks like they showed up together.
It’s hard to believe it was only five weeks ago that Millie and I climbed these steps for the first time, for the cast party that kicked off our week of shooting our final episode. We’ll be watching that episode in just under an hour, getting a first look at it before it drops on Fanline next week, all of us together again for the first time since we wrapped—and the last time before Girl on the Verge moves into its new era with a brand-new cast.
The backyard is already bustling when we arrive, full of so many faces I may not ever see again. On instinct, my gaze flickers straight to the back corner, to the little foliage-covered alcove where Ransom and I nearly had our first kiss.
That was a very, very good night.
“Might have to slip away from the party again,” he says under his breath, reading my mind.
“Those two might beat us to it,” I say, laughing, nodding toward Bre and Ford. He looks over just in time to see their faces light up—there’s most definitely a spark there.
“Ransom! Liv!” Xan Jennings is suddenly right in front of us, a pair of clean champagne flutes in her hand. “We’re so glad you could make it. Welcome. And congratulations on your upcoming projects—Dan and I heard you’ll be working on a film together?”
She seems genuine as ever, but I can’t forget our conversation last time we were here, the uncomfortable way she insinuated the reboot should be my top priority.
“It’s true,” I say, unable to help the feeling of satisfaction that rushes over me. “Ransom will be playing opposite me in one of the films I signed on for, an adaptation of a sci-fi survival novel.”
“Oh, that’s right!” she exclaims, her voice tinged with the barest hint of envy and regret. “We read about it in Deadline, I believe.”
Deadline, Forbes, The Hollywood Reporter, Entertainment Weekly—basically anywhere with any interest in film news—there were countless articles, and the internet went into an absolute frenzy. As soon as the news broke that we’d both signed on to the project, the book shattered all sorts of preorder records.
“Liv’s doing the new Vienna Lawson project, too,” Ransom says, not even trying to hide the obvious pride in his voice. Whenever the subject of the Emily Quinn film comes up, this is his follow-up, every single time. He has yet to sound anything but thrilled for me.
“Oh, yes, of course,” Xan says, flustered, looking like she’d really rather move on to some other conversation. “Well, Dan and I are very proud to have worked with you both all these years, and we look forward to seeing how things turn out. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go find a server—” She holds the champagne flutes up as if to finish the sentence, then disappears inside the house.
“Think she’ll actually watch the Vienna film when it’s done?” I say, once she’s well out of earshot.
Very seriously, Ransom nods. “When the Academy sends her a screener, you know she’ll totally hate-watch it,” he says, in impressive deadpan before finally cracking a smile. “And then she’ll vote for you to win all the things because she knows you deserve them.”
I laugh, taking his hand in mine.
We mingle for the next half hour, plucking mini quiches and melon wrapped in prosciutto from the trays as they pass by, along with the most refreshing sauvignon blanc that’s ever graced my palate.