Page 17 of The Reunion

“Hi, Liv, I’m Varsha,” she says, with the hint of a lilting Indian accent. “I’ll be directing the shoot today. We’ll get you to hair and makeup first, and from there we’ll start with the family shoot, then the friend shoot, and we’ll close out the day with just you and Ransom. Sound good?”

She speaks quickly, walking as she talks, scanning us both through security. I follow her around a corner and down a long hallway.

“We have a flat white waiting for you, feel free to drink it while you settle in. Snacks are in the hall. Anything else you need, please ask. Millie and Sasha-Kate are finishing up at hair and makeup right now, so you’ll be up next when there’s an open chair. Hair and makeup will touch you up before your shoot with Ransom at the end of the day—oh, and Shanti will be pulling you aside at some point to get a few quotes. Since you’re on all three covers, we’ll have to squeeze it in during a break at some point. Is that okay? Any questions?”

She’s a whirlwind—a nice, professional, very put-together whirlwind. Yes, it’s okay, I tell her. No, no questions.

As promised, there’s a flat white waiting for me—bless Bre for always mentioning how much I love them when setting these things up. I sip it as I wait for my turn, pick out a package of peppered cashews from the snack table. Soon after, I’m whisked away to hair and makeup, an empty seat beside me; of everyone scheduled for the first cover shoot, I was the last to arrive.

My phone buzzes with a text. I glance at it discreetly so my stylists won’t get a peek—it’s Ransom.

how was vanity fair? bet you killed it

It’s like a blast of sunshine, warm and familiar and energizing.

Oh, the usual, I write.Equal parts fashion and soul-probing interrogation, with a partial view of the Pacific

so you def killed it, then, he writes back immediately. And then:forwhat it’s worth, i would take soul-probing interrogation over the same five questions i get every time. if i have to answer one more about that tiny triangle tattoo, so help me. why did i post that thing on social media

I snort, startling my makeup artist.Guess we’ll have to get matching cat tattoos if you ever want a different question, I send back.Botched ones, in case that wasn’t clear

Even as I type it, I’m pushing away the thought of his tiny triangle tattoo. It’s just beneath his hip bone, small enough that my thumb can cover it entirely. The memory of seeing it for the first time, about a month after he turned eighteen—of feeling hard muscle beneath my fingertips, his skin searing hot against mine—is doing some rather interesting things to my body right now.

obviously, he writes.you at ew yet?

In the chair now. You?

just got to lunch, but headed your way soon

I’m still overthinking the wordyour—not headedthatway, or headedto EW—when another text comes through:can’t wait to see you again. this’ll be fun

I close my eyes, let the makeup artist do her thing as Ransom’s words grow roots, tender tendrils working their way under my skin.

What’s wrong with me? It should not sound fun to be face-to-face with the guy who wanted space when all I wanted was to be closer. It should not thrill me to see his name on my screen, or to think about his triangle tattoo, and my skin should be too thick now for such simple words to find their way through.

And yet.

I’m looking forward to it, too, I finally write back.

A little while later, the five of us who make up the fictional St. Croix family are the picture of perfection. They’ve put me in an emerald-green silk dress that contrasts beautifully with the deep scarlet shade of lipstick my makeup artist selected. Sasha-Kate is in yellow—a marigold that pops with her sleek chestnut hair—and Millie is in sapphire blue. Annagrey and Laurence are both dressed in black; time has turned both of them silver where they were once brunettes. The lights are bright, illuminating a taupe velvet chaise set against a light gray backdrop.

Varsha arranges us in a series of poses. First it’s Annagrey and Laurence on the chaise with the rest of us behind them; then it’s the three of us St. Croix daughters on the chaise with parents in the back; then it’s just me on the chaise with Sasha-Kate and Millie on the floor leaning up against it, Annagrey and Laurence still behind us. Then Varsha does away with the chaise entirely, and we take a series of shots where we’re so close we really do look like one big happy family—well, happy in the shots where we’re laughing, and serious in the ones where she directs us to smolder at the camera lens.

A movement catches my eye from the far corner of the room: Ransom. Ransom, looking fantastic in the suit they’ve got him in—he definitely needs to ask if he can keep that one. Its deep navy blue and crisp, tailored cut accentuate his broad shoulders and trim waist; his legs look like they go on for miles. When did he start filling out a suit so well? A petite woman with long dark hair swept up in a high ponytail approaches him, smartphone in hand. Shanti, I assume, pulling him aside for his quotes.

“Liv?” Varsha says, and it has the distinct sound of something she’s had to say more than once. “You with us?”

What was I thinking? I never lose focus like this. “Sorry!” I say. “Just getting a little thirsty, that’s all.”

Varsha checks her watch, then scrolls through the thumbnails of the photos we’ve taken so far. “That’ll work, fam—looking good so far! Why don’t you take fifteen, and then I’ll see Liv and Sasha-Kate back here for the next round.”

We go our separate ways. Fifteen minutes pass in the blink of an eye—it’s really only enough time to take care of the basics in the bathroom and at the water cooler. I quite literally run into Ford on my way back to set.

“Nice dress,” he compliments.

“Nice hair,” I reply. Gone is the man bun he was known for back in the day—now it’s cut stylishly short, with a little more length on top where it swoops up in the front. They also opted to leave him unshaven, and it is definitely a look, one that will sell all the magazines.

“Enjoy it while it lasts, Livvie, because I have no idea how to replicate it.”

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