Chapter 125: The English Rose
Morning, London.
Under a sky the color of pewter, the city woke slowly beneath its usual shroud of mist.
At the Savoy, the soft light from the Thames filtered through the curtains.
Winona Ryder sat on the edge of the bed, tousling her dark hair and muttering with a hint of embarrassment,
"I knew it. I knew I wouldn't be able to resist sleeping with you."
Aaron chuckled, rolling over to pin the petite actress beneath him with a mischievous grin.
"Really? That's not what you said last night."
Her breath hitched as he leaned down for another kiss — long, slow, and impossible to ignore.
"Enough, Aaron," she said at last, half laughing, half breathless. "Wasn't last night enough for you?"
He brushed a lock of hair from her face, his voice low and teasing.
"What do you think? I've been in London for weeks without anyone else to keep me company."
Winona smacked his shoulder lightly. "Stop it. I need to get ready and head back to set.
You're flying back to the States soon, right?"
Aaron stretched lazily. "Yeah. Unless… you want me to stay a few more days?"
She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Don't tempt me."
---
Thanksgiving passed, and December crept in.
Aaron didn't return to Los Angeles right away.
Instead, he stayed in London a little longer —
after all, PolyGram Filmed Entertainment, one of Europe's rising production giants, had its headquarters here.
There might be room for collaboration.
---
A few nights later, the Dorchester Hotel in Mayfair glowed with Christmas cheer.
London's streets were alive with garlands, music, and champagne-colored light.
Inside the Dorchester ballroom, Aaron mingled among producers, directors, and artists.
Michael Kuhn, head of PolyGram, greeted him with open arms.
Their co-produced film My Own Private Idaho hadn't been a box office hit —
it barely reached $6.4 million — but its small budget and strong critical reception had made it profitable.
And more importantly, it had won River Phoenix the Best Actor award at Venice,
cementing the film's reputation as a defining piece of the New Queer Cinema movement.
---
"Aaron, your rise has been incredible," Kuhn said with genuine admiration.
"Dawnlight's practically rewritten the playbook for independent studios this year."
Aaron smiled modestly. "You're too kind.
PolyGram's doing just fine — Barton Fink winning the Palme d'Or at Cannes? That's a hell of a statement."
Kuhn laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Enjoy the party, my friend. You've earned it."
---
Later in the evening, Aaron found himself speaking with a charming young British actor — Hugh Grant.
The British film industry was in a slump,
and even talented actors like Grant were struggling to find footing at home.
Grant mentioned he'd just wrapped Roman Polanski's erotic drama Bitter Moon,
shot partially in France — a risky project for a still-rising Englishman.
Before long, his girlfriend arrived — tall, striking, and radiant in a sapphire dress that seemed made to turn heads.
Elizabeth Hurley.
One of Britain's top models, now transitioning into film.
She flashed Aaron a dazzling smile.
"Good evening, Mr. Anderson. You're younger than I expected."
Aaron returned the smile, his tone effortlessly smooth.
"Must be the lighting — London makes everyone look a little older, don't you think?"
Hurley laughed, a low, musical sound that drew curious glances from nearby guests.
Grant watched them with mild amusement,
while Kuhn, across the room, lifted his glass toward Aaron in a knowing toast.
For Aaron Anderson —
the man who had turned Ghost and The Silence of the Lambs into legends —
even in London, even surrounded by a different kind of royalty,
the spotlight seemed to find him all on its own.
Elizabeth Hurley laughed lightly as she embraced Aaron, her perfume subtle but intoxicating.
"Ghost was absolutely beautiful," she said. "It moved me to tears."
Aaron smiled, returning the compliment smoothly.
"Thank you, Ms. Hurley. And you're stunning — Hugh Grant's a lucky man."
She tilted her head, amused. "Oh, please — England's full of beautiful women.
May I call you Aaron?"
"Of course," he said, grinning.
"Then, Aaron," she added playfully, "if you'd like, I can introduce you to a few of them."
Aaron chuckled. "I'll hold you to that."
But his gaze had already drifted across the ballroom — to a woman who stood apart from the crowd.
She had dark hair, luminous eyes, and a face that blended East and West in perfect harmony —
refined yet sensual, elegant yet dangerous.
"Who's that?" Aaron asked quietly.
Hurley followed his gaze, then smiled knowingly.
"Oh, her. That's Catherine Zeta-Jones — one of our rising stars.
She's the lead in The Darling Buds of May. Everyone here adores her."
Aaron raised an eyebrow.
"I've heard of it — it's been quite a hit on British television, hasn't it?"
Hurley nodded. "It has. And she's just landed a small part in an Anglo-American co-production —
Christopher Columbus: The Discovery, with Marlon Brando, of all people."
Aaron couldn't help but laugh. "Interesting. That one's by Warner Bros., right?
Not as flashy as Ridley Scott's 1492: Conquest of Paradise, but still a forty-million-dollar production —
definitely not small change."
Hurley's eyes gleamed. "Seems you know your competitors well, Mr. Anderson."
Aaron's smirk said all she needed to know.
---
When Aaron finally left the Dorchester later that night,
Hugh Grant watched him go with a mix of admiration and disbelief.
"Incredible," he said quietly. "He's what — twenty-one? And already that successful?"
Elizabeth Hurley exhaled, her tone a mixture of awe and irony.
"Another Hollywood golden boy. The industry's full of them…
but he's different. Too self-assured for someone his age."
Grant grinned. "With that face, that money, and that reputation?
Honestly, every woman in the room would've gone home with him."
Hurley smirked. "Including Catherine, perhaps.
Though last I heard, she was seeing Jon Peters."
"Peters?" Grant looked surprised. "That Jon Peters?"
Hurley nodded. "The one and only — former Sony co-chairman.
She met him last year, after her debut in 1,001 Nights.
He gave her that bit role in Christopher Columbus: The Discovery."
Grant shook his head. "Poor girl. Peters just got himself fired for all those scandals."
"Exactly," Hurley said. "And when she realized he wasn't going to help her career —
especially after everything blew up at Sony — she walked away.
Smart move, honestly."
---
Meanwhile, across the city, Aaron had already made his move.
When he found Catherine Zeta-Jones,
there was no hesitation — and no resistance.
They spoke quietly by the window, the hum of the party fading behind them.
"So, Aaron," Catherine said, her dark eyes shimmering, "what brings you to England?
Business or pleasure?"
"Both," he replied. "Coppola's Dracula is shooting at Pinewood.
Dawnlight's one of the investors, and I'm producing it."
She smiled knowingly. "I've heard about that film — with Gary Oldman and Winona Ryder.
It sounds incredible."
Her tone was casual, but her gaze lingered on him with deliberate curiosity.
Catherine wasn't naïve — her role in Columbus was minor,
and her name meant little in Hollywood.
But Aaron Anderson?
He was young, powerful, and already one of the most talked-about producers in Los Angeles.
And Catherine Zeta-Jones had ambition to match her beauty.
Aaron reached out and brushed her hand lightly.
"Tell me — do you know any good bars around here?
I'd like to buy you a drink."
She blinked, pretending to think. "There are plenty of good ones," she said with a teasing smile.
"I'll take you to my favorite."
And with that, Catherine Zeta-Jones —
the dark-haired, smoldering new face of British cinema —
led Hollywood's youngest power producer out into the London night.
The fog rolled in low over the Thames,
and somewhere behind them, the Dorchester's Christmas lights gleamed like quiet temptation.
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