To the Stars and Back: A Glittering Romantic Comedy (First Comes Love Book 4)

by Camilla Isley

  She suddenly stops.

  “Because you…?”

  Lana shakes her head.

  “What were you about to say?”

  We’re interrupted by a bright flash slashing through the night.

  Oh, that scumbag didn’t dare.

  I’m so worked up by the accident and the fight with Lana that I climb out the ditch, march toward the dude, and snatch the camera from his hands. I smash it to the ground and kick it away in a rage.

  “Hey, you can’t do that,” the sleaze bag has the audacity to complain.

  “I can do whatever the hell I want. In case you didn’t notice, you ran us down with your car…”

  “Oh, you what? Broke one of your favorite toys,” the guy says.

  “You could’ve killed us, you idiot.”

  I grab him by the collar of his shirt, and I don’t know what I’m about to do when Lana stops me, yelling, “Christian, don’t!”

  It’s the anguish in her voice that makes all the fight drain out of me. I let the guy go and turn toward her.

  Lana raises her hands, putting them between us like a barrier. “Don’t,” she says. “I called Winter. She’s coming to pick me up.”

  “Okay,” I say, trying to keep as calm as I can. “It’s good. Stay with a friend tonight. We can talk again tomorrow when we’re both calmer.”

  “No.” One word, pronounced in a half sob, is enough to shatter my heart into a million pieces. “I can’t—I can’t see you anymore. S-sorry. I can’t live like this.”

  The truth of that last sentence breaks through the veil of my denial and makes me go limp.

  Dating me, she’d hate every minute of this life. Hollywood would chew her up and spit her out in a blink. Acting has always been my dream, and sometimes, even I can’t stand all that comes attached with being famous. Even after years of growing a thick skin. How can I ask the same of Lana? It wouldn’t be fair.

  Nothing about tonight is fair.

  I want to hug Lana, to kiss her one last time, but if I do, I won’t be able to let her go. So I only nod and go sit by the side of the road.

  The following silence is broken by police sirens, joined closely by an ambulance. Two cops take our statements and the paramedics do a check on us. And I get little pleasure in seeing the two idiots who just ruined my life handcuffed and loaded in the backseat of the police car. Two paps getting charged for reckless endangerment won’t solve a damn thing.

  By the time the officers and paramedics are done, Lana’s friend has arrived, too.

  Lana murmurs something to the blonde woman, who nods and goes to wait in her car. Then Lana walks toward me. With tears in her eyes, she rises on the tips of her toes, plants a soft kiss on my cheek, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

  I inhale the scent of her hair one last time, then stand there and watch her leave, taking the pieces of my broken heart with her.

  ***

  “The Ferrari is beyond repair,” Penny informs me the next morning. “Would cost more to fix than to buy a new one.”

  I’m up earlier than usual after spending a sleepless night tossing in bed. Dawn has barely broken, and I’m already sitting in my office with Penelope, managing the fallout from the accident.

  “The insurance will cover the residual value,” my assistant continues. “But to be made whole, you’ll have to sue the two bastards who ran you off the road.”

  I click a pen compulsively to keep my hands busy. “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “I’m not going to sue.”

  “Why not? They—”

  “I’ll let the police deal with them. The cops have my statement.”

  “So the paps walk?”

  “They’ll get whatever punishment our justice system deems fair. But I don’t need to go after them for money. I don’t give a damn”—I smash a fist on my desk—“about a few extra bucks or a broken car.”

  The pen in my hand snaps.

  I hold Penelope’s widened gaze, and I can read in her expression she gets what I really mean: the only one I cared about is gone.

  I look away, wishing my assistant couldn’t read me so well. A pity party is the last thing I need today.

  “Actually, have Addison threaten them with a lawsuit anyway,” I say.

  “Because…?”

  “Addison needs to scare them into signing a non-disclose. I don’t want a peep about last night in the press.”

  “Might be already too late for that,” Penny informs me. “A short article came out on TMZ.”

  “We need to get ahead of it, release a statement,” I say. “Make it clear the accident was just that, an accident. No DUI, no reckless driving. You can say I was trying to avoid a raccoon and lost control of the car, or something. Whatever makes sense, but leave Lana and the paparazzi out of the story.”

  Just saying her name is too painful.

  How am I going to get past her?

  Focus, Christian, you’ll deal with your broken heart later.

  Now you owe Lana her life back.

  Penny notes everything I want to be done, and then stares at me expectantly in an anything-else way.

  So I brace myself for what I have to do next. “One last thing…”

  Nineteen

  Lana

  The next morning, I wake up in a raging panic. Not about the accident, I realize. Even if nightmares of strangers following me and pushing me into bottomless holes have haunted me all night.

  In the light of day, I’m more worried I made the worst call of my life yesterday.

  Pushing Christian away was a mistake.

  What was I thinking?

  I blamed him for the accident, when it wasn’t his fault those two idiots chasing us didn’t know how to drive. And then I panicked and blamed him some more for… everything, basically.

  And then I broke up with him.

  A crack spreads across my heart. Oh, gosh, is this what a real heartbreak feels like? The mere possibility of never seeing Christian again is making my chest pull tight; a black hole has taken the place of my heart, absorbing every happy feeling I’ve ever had and destroying them. And the sensation terrifies me more than any car accident ever could.

  I make to grab my phone and call him when I see the time on the screen.

  Shoot, I’m late.

  I overslept.

  Did I miss the alarm?

  It doesn’t matter; I have to be in class in less than half an hour.

  I jump out of bed, get dressed at the speed of light, feed the cats, and take the bike to get to campus on time.

  I’ll call Christian once the lecture is over.

  ***

  “…And that’s all for today’s class,” I say three seemingly-endless hours later. “Are there questions?”

  I scan the lecture hall, but no hands lift up.

  “Good, class dismissed,” I announce. “Remember to drop off your homework before you leave. See you on Friday.”

  I wait seated behind my desk for each student to deliver their homework and file out. The last one to leave is a shy Asian girl with a mind sharp as a knife.

  She drops her paper on top of the others and eyes me in a strange way.

  “Can I help you with anything, Kim?” I ask.

  “No.” She shakes her head sadly. “Just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  I frown, confused. “For what?”

  “I saw the announcement on celebritygossip.com,” she says, eyes full of pity. “Guess they’re all the same.”

  I don’t know how to reply, so I only thank her, while a horrible sense of foreboding settles in my guts.

  Once I’m alone in the lecture hall, I grab my phone and, with shaky fingers, I type “celebritygossip.com” in the web browser.

  There it is, first article on the homepage. The headline slashes through my heart like a blade:

  Olivia Thornton Confirms She’s Dating Christian Slade, Says They’re in
Love

  OLIVIA THORNTON Christian Slade Rumors are True…

  WE’RE DATING AND IN LOVE!!!

  I read on, my pulse speeding up to an unhealthy pumping.

  Slade and Thornton were spotted having breakfast in the Hollywood Hills earlier this morning. Only one reason, folks, why the two of them would be sharing a PDA-packed meal at such an early hour.

  A sweet treat after a night of passion?

  Upon being later approached, it didn’t take much prodding before Thornton confirmed it was true and began gushing over her man, calling him an amazing human being and saying their relationship is a wonderful thing.

  She continued… “I am grateful to be with someone that I value and love and admire so much,” and added several more doting words to describe her professional and personal respect for fellow actor Slade.

  Below the article, there’s a picture of Christian in sweatpants and a T-shirt kissing an equally casually dressed and unbelievably beautiful woman. The caption reads:

  OLIVIA THORNTON BESAME MUCHO!!! Locks Lips w/ British Bae

  My stomach turns. How can this be? Christian and I were together only last night. Has he found a new girlfriend two seconds after breaking up with me? I can’t believe this. I tell myself there must be another explanation as I finish reading the article.

  BTW… it appears Christian’s moved on from his last fling… with UCLA professor Miss Nobody. They went public only last month at the movie premiere of Christian’s latest box office smashing success, but his smooch with Olivia seems to signify Christian and the professor’s relationship has gone kaput.

  As for whether wedding bells are on the horizon for Olivia and Christian… she’s not quite ready to say.

  I honestly have no idea what to think. This all seems pretty absurd. I’ve seen firsthand what lies the gossip machine can spur. No way Christian would’ve gone straight to another woman last night. Slept with this Olivia person.

  So what was he doing having breakfast and kissing her this morning?

  A rebound?

  No, impossible.

  I should stop. I don’t know when the pictures were taken, or even if they’re legit.

  Could the website have Photoshopped them together?

  They must have.

  Still, there’s a seed of doubt planted in my heart now, which stops me from calling Christian right away. If this story is as untrue as I think it is, he’ll surely release a statement rectifying the gossip. Penelope is super-efficient; she’ll get a retraction out in no time.

  ***

  The disclaimer is never issued. Instead, as the days pass, I’m haunted by more and more pictures of Christian and Olivia popping up everywhere I go.

  Gossip magazines—items that previously lived in a total blind spot for me—are now evil entities I’m no longer able to tune out. Not when I pass by the magazine section at the bookstore. Not when I walk by a newsstand on the sidewalk. Not when I’m paying for my groceries and their colorful front pages smirk at me from the rack next to the cashier.

  Christian and Olivia’s smiling, loved-up faces are always the main headline.

  My only safe haven is the library, where Marjory has moved the magazine stand to a detached aisle so I won’t have to face their covers every time I enter the building.

  But everywhere else I go, Christian’s face follows me. It’s on billboards hanging over the city, on the sides of buses, on movie posters stuck to every wall.

  How did I never notice his face before?

  One day, as I’m grocery shopping, morbid curiosity wins. At the last minute before paying, I snatch a copy of the magazine with the biggest picture of Christian on the cover and buy it.

  Outside, I stop to read the article.

  Olivia and her new BF came up for air after hanging out Wednesday in LA. The actress was all smiles before the 35-year-old actor from England packed on some serious PDA. Olivia looked pretty biz caj… with a camel trench coat, LBD, and matching black boots. Pretty elegant, too, with an Angelika Black handbag as statement piece.

  See? She gets Angelika Black handbags. They’re a perfect match. Christian can buy her tons of expensive presents and they can show off their designer clothes all over LA.

  The first few lines of the article are enough to make my stomach turn, and I trash the magazine without reading the rest.

  Is this how Johnathan felt when he read about Christian and me?

  No, because John didn’t love me, while I—what?

  Love Christian?

  What a fool I’ve been.

  The deep connection I felt must’ve been all in my head. Christian has clearly never been serious about us. I bet for him I was a fling between one actress and the next. The quirky girl who didn’t know who he was, fun to date for a couple of months and then forget.

  I can’t stand how naïve I’ve been.

  But the moment I hate myself the most is at night, when I step out in my small backyard, open the star-finder app, and crane my neck up to stare at the Christiana while quietly crying.

  It’s been three weeks, almost a month, spent following Olivia and Christian’s story in pictures, and I still search the sky for our star every single night.

  Christian

  I need out of LA. The charade has gone on long enough. I’m sick to my stomach of pretending I’m all loved up when I’m really dying inside. I couldn’t continue if I wanted to.

  A friend. I need my best friend.

  Without alerting any of my staff, I rent a plane and jet to New York.

  A different city doesn’t cure my heart, but it’s better to mourn sprawled on Richard’s couch in his designer loft in Brooklyn than being in LA. I don’t even mind lying under sixty pounds of very sympathetic dog.

  Chevron, Richard’s Labrador mutt, has taken my suffering to heart. With her paws and muzzle resting on my chest, she’s whining emphatically and gives me the occasional comforting lick or two.

  I’m busy contemplating my utter misery when I hear the key turn in the lock. I’m shielded from the door when, bringing with her a cloud of feminine perfume, Blair enters the house.

  “We’re late,” she says, sounding agitated. There’s the click-clack-click of heels hitting the concrete floor, then a swish of something heavy but soft being dropped on the ground—her bag?—and finally, Blair asks, “Have you set the table?”

  “Hi,” Richard says. “Late for what?”

  “Nikki and Diego are coming for dinner. I told you a few days ago. Did you forget?”

  Ah, you so did, mate.

  “Was it tonight?”

  From his tone, I can tell Richard has no clue.

  Blair sighs. “You’re lucky you have too good a bone structure for me to get mad at you.”

  Then I hear a smooching sound.

  Mmm, hello? Have some tact; there’s a recovering, brokenhearted man on your couch.

  I’m sure Blair’s kisses must be mind-boggling, but Richard has enough presence of mind to remember I’m here.

  “Err, we have a situation,” he says.

  Oh, I’ve never been referred to as a “situation” before. Not that I know of, at least.

  “What situation?” Blair asks.

  “We might have one sexiest man alive nursing a heartbreak on our couch.”

  “Christian’s here?”

  More click-clack-click, and Blair’s face appears over the couch. I wave at her in a hi-lovesick-man-here way.

  She gives me a look. “I see you’re doing some serious pet therapy there.”

  Blair drops her hands on the couch backrest, and I’m almost blinded by the ginormous rock adorning her left hand.

  “I can’t believe you agreed to marry my rascal of a best friend,” I say.

  “What else could I do?” she says with a foxy grin. “The man went down on one knee and begged for it.”

  Her sarcasm—she’s always wanted to get married, while Richard had sworn h
e never would—makes me crack a smile.

  “I’m thrilled for you,” I say.

  “Thank you—”

  The buzzer interrupts her.

  “Crap.” Blair stares at her watch. “They’re already here.” Then she looks back down at me. “Nikki is the kind of friend I can invite to dinner and then un-invite when she’s already come all the way from Manhattan. If you don’t want people around, she’ll understand.”

  She throws me a “your call” look.

  “Is she cool?” I ask.

  “Of course she’s cool, she’s my best friend,” Blair says in a “duh” tone. “She may go a little fangirl on you. But I’m afraid she’s bumped you to second place as sexiest man alive after meeting her beau.”

  This Nikki sounds cool already, and if she has a boyfriend in tow, I don’t risk any unwanted attention.

  “No,” I say. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to leave your friends hungry in the streets.”

  “Even if we’re in Brooklyn, this is still New York,” Blair says. “I’m sure they can find a place to eat around here.”

  “No, really. I’m cool.”

  “Okay.” Blair nods, and with more click-clacking, she goes to answer the door, firing a “You set the table” at Richard.

  ***

  Half an hour later, we’re seated around the table eating something too healthy-looking for someone in my condition. But at least there’s wine, and with Chevron perching on the chair next to me, I feel less of an odd number among couples.

  But the conversation is a bit on the stiff side. Nikki—a pretty brunette with a short bob—and Diego—tall, dark hair, deep green eyes, and the most handsome man in the room by far—obviously didn’t expect to have dinner with a celebrity. And, even if I appreciate them for trying hard to maintain their “behave normally” attitude, they’re not at ease.

  Time to break the oh-and-there’s-an-unexpected-world-famous-guest-for-dinner ice, so to speak.

  “So,” I say, addressing Nikki and Diego. “How did you two guys meet?”

  They exchange a look, and a grin.

  It’s a gesture intimate enough to make my heart bleed. I could’ve had that with Lana…

  “Oh,” Diego says, still sporting half a grin. “She behaved very unprofessionally on a job last Christmas.”