Adored by You: A Sweet, Celebrity, Military Romance (San Diego Marines Book 7)

by Jess Mastorakos

  Again, he remained silent as he stared intently at me.

  “I wanted to take your hand,” I said, reaching for his hand and almost laughing at the shock of electricity that went through my fingers, “and beg you to give me another chance.”

  He looked down at our joined hands, giving mine a squeeze. “But?”

  “But,” I said, sighing, “I know you deserve honesty from me.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, stepping back from me and swiftly lounging on a nearby deck chair. “All right, lay it on me, Emmy winner.”

  I heard the double meaning behind his statement, referring not just to the fact that I was a literal six-time Emmy winner, but also because I’d totally had him going there for a minute. If I were being truly honest, I’d had myself going, too.

  “There’s this movie.”

  “Ah,” he said, nodding. “The plot thickens.”

  I crossed to the chair beside him and sat down, facing him and leaning forward. “The director—like everyone else in the industry—doesn’t think I can play any role other than Dr. Young. I want to show her she’s wrong.”

  “And where do I come in?”

  “Her son is a Marine.”

  Recognition dawned on him. “I see. So, you think paparazzi pics of you going to the ball with a Marine will warm her judgy heart?”

  “Something like that.”

  Noah studied me, his blue eyes holding all of my attention while I awaited his response. Nerves swam in my gut. Should I have gone forward with the act? Should I have come into this under the guise of attraction for him and nothing else? Okay, maybe the attraction was real. Look at him. But should I have kept the info about the movie and the director’s son to myself? Would he want to help me now, after I’d blown him off last year, just to help me with my career?

  “I’m in,” he said with a nod.

  My mouth popped open. “You are?”

  “Yeah, I mean, I’m glad you were honest. I told you once I’d do anything for you, PW. I meant it.”

  Tears threatened to spring forward, but I held them back. I remembered that night. It was the last time I’d seen him, until today. We’d stood at the top of Camelback Mountain, the sun setting on our relationship just as it had into the valley below.

  I’d been about to leave for LA to start working on Young, MD, and he was headed to boot camp. He’d promised that even though we were going our separate ways, he’d always be there for me if I needed him. He’d do anything for me. All I had to do was ask.

  Maybe a lot of things had changed in the years we’d spent apart, but one thing was for sure: Noah West grew up to be a man of his word, just as I always knew he would.

  “Thank you, Noah,” I said, working hard to keep the emotion out of my voice. “I probably don’t deserve this after last year.”

  He lifted a shoulder, his jaw clenching as he swallowed. “Everybody deserves a second chance.”

  “Dinner is served,” the concierge said, having silently appeared behind us, making me jump.

  “Hungry?” I asked.

  He winked. “Starved.”

  4

  Noah

  I got up from the deck chair and followed Paige into the cottage. The concierge nodded at me as I passed, and it took everything I had not to chuckle. Paige’s life was everything she’d ever dreamed it would be when she was starring in our high school drama productions. The glamour, the awards, the swanky hotels—the three-bedroom cottage at hotels, no less, not just a simple room. It was all a dream come true. Her dream, anyway. It all seemed like a bit much to me.

  We sat at a small cafe table in a sitting room off of the main kitchen and dining area. The table was set with too many forks for one person, and a bottle of white wine, chilled in a bucket of ice, perched at the edge. The concierge poured us each a glass as I stared out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the long stretch of beach only feet away.

  “Hope this is okay. I feel bad that we’re not going out,” Paige said.

  “Eating out is overrated. I love to cook.”

  She smiled. “Really? I’m totally lost in the kitchen.”

  A round man in a chef’s uniform entered the room with two plates. He set them in front of us, beaming with pride. “Welcome to the Hotel del Coronado. I’m Angelo, and I’ll be your chef this evening.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Paige greeted him.

  I smiled nervously at him before turning my eyes back to the mysterious offerings on my plate. Rich people ate some weird stuff.

  “Our first course for this evening is before you. These are our Carlsbad oysters, served with a cauliflower mousse and a seawater cucumber aspic.”

  I swallowed. “Aspic?”

  “Yes, sir,” Angelo said, placing a hand on his enormous belly. “It’s a savory jelly made with cucumbers, seawater, and sea salt for your enjoyment.”

  Looking at my plate, I pointed to the greenish block on my plate. “So it’s like Jell-O, but salty?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Gotcha,” I replied, forcing a polite smile. “Thank you.”

  “Any other questions?” Angelo asked. When we shook our heads, he bowed. “I’ll leave you to enjoy.”

  When Angelo was safely back in the kitchen, I leveled a gaze on Paige. “Aspic.”

  She snorted. “I’m glad you asked, I didn’t know what it was either.”

  “Really? You don’t eat like this all the time?”

  “I mean, I do,” she picked up her fork and poked at what I imagined was the cauliflower mousse on her plate, “but I’m finding that there seems to be no end to the weird foods one can be exposed to. It feels like it’s always something new.”

  “Do you ever just want a cheeseburger or a slice of pizza?”

  “Daily. But I can’t really eat like that all the time. I have a nutritionist who plans my meals, a chef who prepares them, and a publicist who nags me about sticking with it.”

  I pursed my lips. “Sounds like a lot.”

  “It is, but at the same time, the food is good, and I can’t complain about the privilege I have.”

  I couldn’t help but be impressed with that last statement. I knew Paige had a good heart, so deep down, I wasn’t truly worried that she’d turned into a zombie who’d forgotten her roots. But you never knew. If my past had taught me anything, it was that fame and money changed people. It made them slaves. Which is why I hadn’t wanted any of it for myself.

  “So, tell me more about this movie. Why is it so important to you? Is it that good of a role?”

  She sipped her wine. “Kind of. The plot sounds interesting, and the character sounds nothing like Dr. Young, so I’m excited about the challenge. But it’s also not just this movie itself. It’s getting away from the show altogether.”

  My brows shot up. “You want to leave Young, MD?”

  “Yep.”

  I watched her closely. As soon as I’d reacted with surprise to that news, I could practically see the walls go up around her. She had her armor on, and she was bracing herself for a fight. I cleared my throat. “Good for you. The plot’s getting pretty tired.”

  A short laugh burst out of her before she could hold it back, and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Are you serious? Did you really just say that?”

  “What? You know it’s true. That’s why you want out.”

  “The ratings are still as good as ever. People love Young, MD. Just because she’s not a teenage doctor anymore doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot to love about the characters eight years later.”

  I raised a brow at her. “Then why do you want to leave?”

  “Because,” she started, then shut her mouth with a snap. “Because the plot is getting pretty tired.”

  I chuckled, taking a sip of my wine. “Right. You’re not used to people agreeing with you on that point, are you?”

  “Well, I’m surrounded by people who make their money from the money I make. All they see are dollar signs when we talk about my future. I
get a set amount from the show each season, and it increases every year, thanks to how ruthless my dad’s negotiation skills are. They don’t want the money to run out in favor of me doing the occasional movie. Especially since no directors want to hire me.”

  “Why’s that?”

  She sighed deeply. “Because the only role I’ve ever played is Dr. Young. There doesn’t seem to be much of a difference between the two of us in everyone else’s eyes. I might as well be her.”

  “Psh, you’re nothing like Dr. Young.”

  She sat back in her chair and folded her arms over her chest. “Oh, really? You haven’t seen me in years. How would you know?”

  I thought back to the Paige Walker I knew in high school. “You were always there for the underdog. You were everyone’s friend. Didn’t matter what group they were in, you hung out with anyone. What was it our English teacher always called you?”

  “A social butterfly,” she supplied with a smirk.

  “That’s it. Plus, you’re smart, sure, but you’re not a savant who keeps to yourself like Dr. Young. And you don’t prefer books to people.”

  She gaped at me. “Sounds to me like someone has a bit of a Young, MD obsession for you to know the character so well.”

  “I’ve seen enough of it to know that much.” I reached for my wine and took a drink, leaving it at that. Had I watched every episode of all eight seasons without fail? Yes. Was I ready to admit that to her? No.

  “I don’t even know if I’m a social butterfly anymore. All of my social engagements feel like work. Hanging out with certain people because it’s good for my image, other people wanting to hang out with me because it’s good for theirs. My only real friend is my assistant. And even then, as amazing as she is—and because of how screwed up people in this industry can be—I used to wonder if she’d even be my friend if it wasn’t her job to constantly be around me, you know? Like the proximity makes me an obvious choice but—”

  “Paige,” I sat forward, “you’re more in control than you think. If you want to change your life, change it.”

  She mirrored my pose by leaning closer, her voice low. “I think that’s what I’m doing here, with you.”

  “How did you like our Carlsbad oysters?” Angelo boomed as he entered the room with more plates in hand and the concierge following behind him.

  We sat back, looking at our plates and Angelo with a sheepish expression. Neither of us had finished the starter, but we’d made a solid effort.

  “The mousse was delicious,” Paige offered, smiling at the concierge as he removed our plates with a polite smile.

  Angelo set new plates in front of us. “Here we have seared scallops with sweet corn ravioli, vanilla bean butter sauce, and a lemongrass foam.”

  I sat up straighter and rubbed my hands together. Scallops, I knew and loved. Still fancier than my normal diet, but at least they weren’t oysters. “Thank you.”

  Angelo and the concierge excused themselves from the room, and Paige wagged her eyebrows at me. “Now we’re talking.”

  “You like scallops, too?”

  She took a bite and sighed with pleasure. “Yes.”

  I swallowed, looking at anything other than her expression. It was doing funny things to my insides. “Anyway, what’s the plan with the ball? You know it’s a week from today, right?”

  “Really? I knew it was coming up, but that’s fast. Sorry for the short notice.”

  “It’s fine,” I waved my fork at her as I swallowed the bite I’d just taken. “I bought your ticket off my buddy who was going to bring his kid. So we’re all set.”

  “Thank you for doing that.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said through a mouthful of scallops.

  She smiled back at me, a warm, genuine smile of gratitude. I held her gaze, enjoying how relaxed and happy she was. I could see it in her eyes. Every time the paparazzi snapped pics of her for the tabloids, she was rushing from one place to another and didn’t look so … glowy and fresh. She looked almost sad, instead. Or stressed. It made me happy to think that doing her this favor would make her happy.

  A faint dusting of pink appeared on her cheeks as the moment dragged on a little longer than a casual smile. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and went back at her meal. “So, I guess the story is that you asked me on social media last year, but I had a scheduling conflict, so I’m going with you this year instead.”

  And just like that, my mood soured. The sting of her not replying to my invitation a year ago came back, almost as fresh as if it had just happened. In reality, there hadn’t been a scheduling conflict, she just hadn’t wanted to come. Until it benefited her, that is. What was I doing here? I was making her happier, sure, but at what cost to me?

  I nodded, despite the sick feeling in my gut. “Okay. Sounds good.”

  “What should I wear?”

  “It’s formal,” I replied stiffly, then shook my head and gave her a sideways smile. “You’re no stranger to red-carpet attire, right?”

  “Right.”

  “The only catch is, the ball is in Vegas this year.”

  Her eyes bulged. “Vegas? Why Vegas?”

  “Sometimes San Diego squadrons will have the ball in Vegas for fun. This is the first time our squadron has done it. We must have had a really good fundraising committee this year or something. It’ll be at Mandalay Bay.”

  “Wow, I’m impressed,” she said, finishing up the last bite of her scallops just as Angelo and the concierge reappeared.

  “I see you enjoyed the scallops,” Angelo said, placing a new plate in front of us as soon as the other was cleared. “Now you’ll enjoy lacquered quail, parmesan potato risotto, piquillo peppers, and grilled baby leeks.”

  We thanked them and they left us alone again, and I made a face at Paige. “Baby leeks? Are we about to eat a tiny plant or small animal?”

  She giggled. “It’s a vegetable.”

  “I hope you don’t think I’m ungrateful … but I was really hoping dessert was coming next instead of more food I’ve never heard of.”

  “I hate to break it to you, but I think the main course is still coming. Then dessert.”

  “These have all been appetizers?” I whisper-shouted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  We spent the few minutes we had to eat the leeks joking about the helicopter charter and the other ways she conveniently avoided LA traffic. I had to admit, there were certain perks of being a celebrity that I could get behind. Showing up wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted, and without having to deal with airport security? Sign me up.

  Before long, Angelo placed our main course before us, and my mouth immediately started watering. “This looks amazing.”

  “Thank you,” he said, beaming with pride. “Our main course for this evening is beef Wellington, butter-poached king crab, Bloomsdale spinach, pomme confit, and a black truffle demi glaze. Enjoy.”

  We dug in before the two men had even left the room, our conversation going much slower once there was such delicious food to be eaten. I had to admit however, it wasn’t an awkward silence. It wasn’t the kind of silence you wanted to fill with talking about the weather. It was the kind of silence that held quick glances and smiles. And for me, a smile from Paige Walker was worth a thousand words.

  5

  Paige

  “Do you think this one is too much?” I asked, turning in front of the floor-length mirror in the large hotel suite at Mandalay Bay. The ball was in three hours and my hair and makeup weren’t even finished yet. Thankfully, my stylists were patient with me since I rarely had this much anxiety before an event.

  For an awards show, or other red-carpet event, we usually prepared weeks in advance. The designers sent their gowns to my stylists, and I was presented with two full racks to try on at the fitting. Unlike some of my high-maintenance co-stars, I usually found my dress halfway through the first rack. I’d freak out if I started comparing too many options, so less was definitely more for me.
<
br />   Which was why my stylists only brought ten gowns to Vegas for the ball. They hung on the rack in my suite, each of them gorgeous, but none of them thus far had given me that this-is-the-one feeling I was looking for.

  I ran my hands lightly up and down my sides, the embellishments in the fabric of the Armani Privé gown tickling my palms.

  “For the tenth time,” Molly said gently, “it’s a winner. You look great in white.”

  “Okay. But I feel like it’s too … white. Hang on.”

  I hustled to my phone, pulling up the internet browser. I typed Marine Corps Birthday Ball Gowns into the search bar. Dozens of websites appeared selling military ball gowns in the same sentence as prom dresses.

  My stomach turned. Noah had taken me to prom. So many plans had been made that night. None of which had come to fruition. Well, my individual plans had. But not his. And not the ones that involved both of us. It felt like a lifetime ago.

  I shook my head, clicking on an article on a military spouse blog about ball etiquette. “Jackpot.”

  “What?” Molly asked.

  “I just found an article telling me everything I need to know about the ball.”

  “Paige. You know how to handle yourself at a formal event.”

  I rolled my eyes. “At a Hollywood event, sure. But this is a big deal for the military. I don’t want to do something wrong and embarrass Noah.”

  “Noah is not going to be embarrassed by anything you do. You’re going to stop the show tonight.”

  Biting my lip, I looked up from the phone. “Do you think that’s a bad thing? This is supposed to be about the Marine Corps’ birthday, right? I don’t want to steal the show.”

  Molly got up from the lounge chair she was perched on and gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. “You’re unraveling, girlfriend.”

  I waved her off. “Ah-ha. See? This says right here on the blog, and I quote, ‘Don’t wear white. This isn’t your wedding.’ I knew something just felt too showy about it.”

  Molly helped me out of the dress and into the next one. It was a mermaid shaped, bright-red Valentino featuring a cream-colored bodice that had pearls and sequins embedded in the lace.