Star Bright
By Shelly Greene
Published by JMS Books LLC
Visit jms-books.com for more information.
Copyright 2019 Shelly Greene
ISBN 9781646561858
Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com
Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.
All rights reserved.
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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Published in the United States of America.
* * * *
With abject thanks to Deni, Dori, and Nini for all their help!
* * * *
Star Bright
By Shelly Greene
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 1
Distant Kingdom members Bo Thomas and Carlos Reyes made for quite the cozy couple when spotted in Soho this week! It’s the first public sighting of Bo’s bling since the couple announced their engagement three weeks ago—and boy is it worth the wait. Is that a rock or a private island?
Rafael Reyes, Carlos’s brother—and Bo’s former beau—has still made no public statement about the relationship or the fate of the trio’s band. This may be the end of the road for Grammy-winner Distant Kingdom. If anything can kill that juggernaut, it’s probably one band member jilting another for his brother!
—TMZ, 7/28/19
* * * *
Stars against the sky were never bright like you
I had to shield my eyes against a light like you
Caught me by surprise the night I first saw you
I was tongue-tied, you were rude
And I knew that I was screwed
—“Love at First Sight,” from the Warrior EP by Distant Kingdom
* * * *
“I already told you, I’m not taking the part.” Julian did not so much as look at the script his uncle was attempting to place in his hand.
Uncle Eddie, of course, had no interest in whether Julian wanted what he was giving him. “It’s exactly the part you need right now. Sweet and cute and harmless.”
“It’s high school. I’m done playing teenagers.”
“What a joke. You know any actor with sense keeps playing teenagers as long as they can get away with it.”
“No matter how stupid they look.”
“Once the bloom is off the rose, there’s no getting it back. The curse of age may not hit the male of the species as hard as the female in this industry, but it’s still—”
“I’m only just twenty-one.”
“Exactly! And as smooth and pretty as any sixteen-year-old.”
“Oh, do you really think so, Uncle?” Julian said sweetly. “Certain previous comments of yours have hinted otherwise.”
It was possibly the most daring thing he’d ever said to his uncle, skirting this subject in the full hearing of the limo driver, and Julian felt a bit lightheaded as he waited for him to react.
If he’d hoped to fluster him, though, Julian should have remembered that the man was incapable of shame. Uncle Eddie, as both Julian and the entertainment industry called him, merely gazed at him steadily. If some ugly light far behind his eyes hinted anger at being called out, only Julian could have seen it.
“In a world where twenty-six-year-old ‘teenagers’ are more the norm than not, you would have no trouble with believability in the part,” Uncle said, voice only slightly clipped.
“It’s such a shame I don’t still look the way I did when I was thirteen,” Julian said, hardly able to believe he was speaking the words. “What was it you said then? That I was the most beautiful boy you’d ever seen?”
Had the driver’s glance in the mirror been a bit…startled? The limo jerked as it stopped at a red light, as if the driver almost hadn’t seen it in time.
Uncle’s voice was stone now. “It’s always a shame when a sweet child grows up into a difficult and petulant adult. It’s not unusual for a former ‘child star’ to turn out as a prick, but I thought I’d raised you better.”
“You didn’t raise me at all, Uncle.”
“You act as though I’m refusing to let you grow up, but you may recall that against my better judgment I let you take Gunpowder, and look how that’s turned out—”
“All the preliminary reviews are raving.”
“I’m talking about your own reputation, now that you’ve proven you can’t conduct yourself as an adult on the set.”
“She was the one who couldn’t conduct herself—” Julian bit his tongue, knowing too late that he’d made a mistake.
Uncle, of course, never missed a chance to go for blood. “Oh, she started it, is that your defense? You and every other kindergartener on the playground? Yes, Julian, you are clearly mature beyond your years.”
The lightheadedness had not gone away, had in fact progressed to a sort of buzzing in his ears. Julian entertained a brief fantasy of climbing through the sunroof and screaming the truth about his uncle to every person they passed. He half-believed no one would hear him, even if he shattered their eardrums. It was as if a force field surrounded his uncle, one that warped reality to suit his wishes.
“It’s funny you should mention conducting myself as an adult,” Julian said. “A rep from a cologne company asked me yesterday about being the face of their ad campaign. I said I would run it by you, and do you know what he did? He laughed, Uncle! In genuine surprise! And he asked, wasn’t I twenty-one now?”
Uncle Eddie looked at him, his expression neutral. So utterly neutral that Julian knew he was finally being heard.
“Doesn’t the time fly,” Julian said softly. “You’ve done so much to take care of me over the years. I’m sure it’s a shock to us both to realize that as of four days ago, for the first time in my life, I am in complete control of my own money and my own decisions.” You have no power over me now. You can’t hurt me. Wishful thinking, but he could make it true, couldn’t he? “I’ll be making some changes,” he said, hoping his voice wasn’t shaking, “to how I do things.”
For the space of a breath, Uncle’s expression was something very ugly indeed. Then he blinked, and the usual genial mask settled over his face.
“We’ll discuss the role tomorrow,” he said blithely, as if Julian had never spoken at all.
No. Frustration and panic welled up under Julian’s skin. You don’t get to disregard me anymore. You don’t get to will reality into your mold.
“Don’t worry about it now,” Uncle continued. “It won’t do to walk into the Constellation Gala looking as if we’ve been quarreling. The last thing you need is another public argument, after all.” He sighed heavily. “I hope you und
erstand, Julian, that however much we disagree, I have only your best interests at heart.” He reached over and squeezed Julian’s knee.
It was hard to describe the white-out scream that flashed across Julian’s senses.
No.
He opened the car door behind him, half-fell out onto the sidewalk, and slammed the door on his uncle’s shocked face.
The light had changed, and the limo pulled away before Uncle could come after him. Julian gulped air, rubbed shaking hands against his trouser legs, and began walking in the other direction.
* * * *
It was probably rude for Rafi to be on the phone while Jean-Paul Caron, the renowned French designer, got him dressed for the Gala, but Rafi needed the emotional support.
“You’re a big boy,” said Amber Hernandez, manager and best friend extraordinaire, her voice on the speakerphone echoing slightly throughout the shiny hotel dressing room. “You can do this.”
“But they’re going to be there,” Rafi said, the words a growl between clenched teeth. He raised his arms obediently so Jean-Paul’s scurrying staff could get his shirt off.
“Yep,” Amber said, “and if they have the balls to show up, you’d better have ‘em too.”
Rafi groaned. “I wish you were going with me.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t pay absurd and irresponsible amounts of money to get in, and I’m pretty sure that as your mere manager I wouldn’t be cool enough to rate a ticket anyway.”
The stylists heaved a cloak onto his shoulders, massive with grey fur, and buckled it there with leather straps across his bare chest. Rafi jumped a little as Jean-Paul began dusting the exposed skin with powder. “Stop tickling my nipple!”
“Is this a bad time?” Amber said dryly.
“I wish.”
“We don’t want you looking washed out for the cameras, Ralph,” Jean-Paul said cheerfully.
“It’s Rafi. And that’s not usually a problem with my skin tone.” Rafi sighed, seeing Jean-Paul’s minions approaching with combs and spray cans. “I should put those gold contact lenses in before you get to work on my hair. Amber?”
“Text me when you get home and we’ll overanalyze everything your evil ex and douchebag brother say to you tonight.”
“You’re a pal,” Rafi said, and tapped to hang up the phone.
He stood before one of the dressing room’s many mirrors, once his costume was finally complete, and considered the effect. Maybe costume was the wrong word, but the Constellation Gala at the Aiden Planetarium had become the place to cut loose with wild fashion, and Rafi’s outfit was going to be one of the wildest. Games of Thrones with a splash of BDSM.
The theme of the Gala this year was the constellation Leo, King of Beasts, which everyone was taking as an excuse to dress up as animals. He had chosen a wolf, which Jean-Paul had pulled a lot of medieval knight ideas into, built around the bare chest as an exposure of the beast within, or something like that. He usually had to read the magazines’ analyses of his stylist’s work the next day to really understand it, but he liked the effect anyway.
It was going to be the devil to drive in, Rafi thought as he disentangled himself from Jean-Paul and called for the hotel to bring his car around. Most people would be arriving at the Gala in the backs of limousines, but he wasn’t about to hitch a ride with Bo and Carlos in the one they’d scheduled as a group, and anyway the Planetarium was only a few blocks from his hotel. There’d be valet parking, surely.
Were Bo and Carlos cuddled up in the back of their limo right now, taking selfies together, laughing and sipping champagne?
Shake it off, he told himself as he got behind the wheel of his Lexus convertible. Eyes on the road, Rafael.
After all, like Amber had said, he was a big boy. Furthermore, he was going to be the bigger man. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and if Carlos (or Bo, though that was less likely) tried to start something with him, they would only make themselves look bad. If there was going to be a stink at the Gala tonight, it wouldn’t be because of Rafi.
He took a deep breath, trying to enjoy the wind in his hair, and turned on the radio.
“—of the Constellation Gala, with the usual amazing display of fashion choices,” said a delighted female DJ. “My Twitter feed is full of really questionable costumery right now, which is just Christmas for me. One of the really gorgeous ones, though, is that blue butterfly outfit from Bo Thomas—did you see it, Bret?”
“I’m looking at it right now. It really shows off the baby bump, too!”
The what?
“That’s one of the more dramatic tweets we’ve seen tonight under the Constellation Gala hashtag,” Bret-the-DJ continued merrily, “Bo Thomas of Distant Kingdom announcing her pregnancy. You gotta wonder, right, which brother…?”
“Oh, absolutely, you gotta wonder! This is soap opera material here and I’m living for it—”
Everything around Rafi had gone out of focus. He couldn’t breathe, and his hands were strangling the steering wheel. Wheels screeching, he pulled over—some dark corner, he didn’t care, he was out of traffic—and snatched his phone out of his pocket to open Bo’s Twitter page.
“—such classy behavior, honestly,” the female DJ was saying, her voice a distant and tinny distraction. “And it’s hard to imagine the band could possibly survive it, which is a huge shame. I love Distant Kingdom—”
Rafi silenced the radio with the slap of a button, and stared at Bo’s latest tweet.
‘It’s hard to hide it in this dress, so I might as well make it public. No champagne for me tonight! #ConstellationGala #socialbutterfly #20weeksalong’
The words were attached to a close-up shot of Bo’s distinctly rounded belly.
Twenty weeks. That was, what, five months? Five months ago, that would have been March, twenty weeks would be early March…
Rafi had been in London in early March. Alone. Bo and Carlos had stayed in New York.
Everything seemed to be tilting around him. Bo had been sleeping with Carlos all the way back in March?
“Move, you idiot!” A hand clamped around his wrist, another got a handful of his tunic, and Rafi yelped as he was hauled bodily out of his car.
His car, which was not metaphorically but literally tilted, and sliding into the ground.
He had pulled over, Rafi realized, into the middle of some kind of construction, running roughshod over orange cones and parking the entire right side of his car on flimsy wooden slats, laid over a dark hole. The slats were now breaking under the weight. Rafi stood helplessly on the edge of the pavement, watching his Lexus fall in slow motion. He was a strong man, but not strong enough to catch a car…
“I hope you have good insurance,” said a tart voice—the man who had pulled him out of the car. Rafi turned toward him—and realized his rescuer’s feet were still on the collapsing slats.
There wasn’t time to say anything. Rafi grabbed the man tightly and swung him out of the way, just as something crumpled with a crack, and the car’s descent went from a creep to a plunge. The step forward Rafi had taken to reach the other man put him just within reach of the Lexus as its nose flipped up, Titanic-style, on its way down. An edge of metal lashed across his wrist as it went.
The car hit bottom with a resounding crunch and a billow of smoke. Bits of wood pattered down after it. The engine sputtered, then died.
For a moment Rafi and his rescuer both stood silent, chests brushing as they breathed. People were starting to gather around, pointing down at the car in its hole, taking pictures.
“Put me down,” Rafi’s rescuer said, and Rafi realized that not only did he still have his arms around the guy, he was actually holding him an inch or two off the ground. He tore his eyes away from the remains of his car to look at the stranger who had saved him, mouth opening to say thank you—but no sound came out.
He knew the face of the gorgeous young man wrapped in his arms, the one who had probably saved his life and was now staring at him in annoyance. Rafi had last
seen him smoking a cigarette in a French café—on a movie screen.
“You’re Julian Gault,” said Rafi’s mouth without his permission. “The movie star.”
“Lovely to meet you,” the man said, eeling his way out of Rafi’s arms. “And you are?”
Rafi’s brain had flatlined; he didn’t answer.
“Did you hit your head?” Julian’s perfect alabaster brow wrinkled. “Or are you having a stroke? Is that why you pulled over in such an idiotic spot?”
“No,” Rafi managed. “That was because…” He gestured inarticulately with the phone that was, miraculously, still in his hand, the screen dark now over Bo’s picture.
Julian Gault’s lip curled in disgust. “You were on your phone? You could have killed someone!”
“I was only on the phone once I stopped!”
“You’re still an idiot,” Julian said. He stepped back and dusted off his hands. “Well, good luck with all this. I have a Gala to attend, preferably before the authorities get here.”
“Yeah,” Rafi said, “that sounds like a good—wait, gala? The Constellation Gala? That’s where I’m going!”
Julian blinked, then looked Rafi up and down with new eyes. “Wait, are you—you’re Rafael Reyes. Of Distant Kingdom.” He finally looked as boggled as Rafi had felt all along.
“Call me Rafi.” He held out his hand. “I need to call a cab—and a tow, or…extraction team…Let me give you a ride? It’s the least I can do, seeing as how I owe you my life.”
“I suppose that could be useful,” Julian murmured. He reached for Rafi’s outstretched hand, only to draw back again with a start. “You’re bleeding.”
“What?” Now that he was looking at a hand covered in blood, Rafi could feel the pain in his wrist. “Oh, right. That happened when I pulled you out of the way. Let me just get that cleaned up…”
By the time Rafi came out of the nearby gas station’s bathroom, cut cleaned and bandaged, he half-believed Julian would be gone. He half-believed Julian was a hallucination to begin with, the product of stress and adrenaline. But he was still there, bent over to speak with the driver of assumedly-their-cab, and wasn’t that a nice view.
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