Star (Beautiful Book 5)

by Lilliana Anderson

  “I’m not that kind of reporter. I don’t print anything without permission.”

  Jonathan laughs. “Are you serious? You’re running from reporters and there’s one staying in your house. I hope the irony isn’t lost on you here.”

  “No, it’s not. But Sandra is my best friend. She’s not here to write a story.”

  “Whories over stories,” I say, tapping my fist to my heart then holding my fingers in a V.

  Lisa laughs. “Since when is that a saying?”

  “Since just now. Hoes before bros didn’t fit, so I made one up. I think it might catch on.”

  “Ok,” Jonathan interrupts, obviously not feeling the joke. “So what’s the plan now that you’re home? Are you just hunkering down or are you moving on?”

  “I’m moving on,” Lisa states, making my stomach drop. I don’t want her to go. But I understand. If the swarm of press around her house is anything to go by, life as Australia’s ex-wild child isn’t a walk in the park. No wonder she hid who she was. I wouldn’t want to be followed by cameras all the time either.

  “There’s a lot of press out there, Leis. They’ll just follow you,” I point out.

  “I know. We’re going to need a distraction. Which is where you two come in.”

  “OK. What do you need?” I ask, trading glances with Jonathan who folds his arms across his chest and frowns.

  “I need you to leave,” Lisa says, looking at me then Jonathan. “Together.”

  “And go where?” Jonathan asks.

  “Anywhere. If Sandra and I trade clothes and she leaves under the blanket with you, the press will follow. Keep them away long enough for me to pack a few things and get on the road. That’s all I ask.”

  Letting out a sigh, Jonathan places his hands on his hips. “Fine. We’ll do what we can.”

  “Thank you.” Lisa smiles, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

  He slides his arms around her waist and holds her tight, breathing in deeply before he lets out a sigh. “If I don’t see you again, Leis, I’m sorry for how things turned out.”

  She pushes away, wiping at her eye as she waves her hands to dismiss his apology. “It doesn’t matter anymore, Jon.”

  He offers a small smile. “Can I at least see Perry?”

  “Of course,” she whispers, thumbing to the back of the house. “He’s outside.”

  As Jonathan moves towards me, he presses his lips into a sad smile, giving me a glimpse of a real person with real feelings outside that movie star façade the world sees. I’m reminded of something my dad often says; they all piss, shit and bleed the same as the rest of us. I’ve often reminded myself of that before an interview so I didn’t fangirl over the star I was set to meet, but it isn’t until this moment that I fully comprehend it. Both Lisa and Jonathan have known buckets of fame, and in this moment, they’re both deeply human, saddened by their circumstances and what they’ve lost. It hurts my heart to think they once loved each other and now that love is gone.

  “It’s through the laundry,” I say as he passes. He nods, thanking me before disappearing into the hall.

  “Come on,” Lisa says after a moment, touching me lightly on the shoulder and leading me to her room. She changes into a pair of jeans and a knitted jumper and hands me the track pants and oversized T-shirt she was wearing.

  “Are these even yours?” I ask as she hesitates while handing them over.

  Her eyes water as she presses her lips together and shakes her head. “They’re Marcus’s. Maybe you could send them back to him? Or not… I don’t know what’s best here.”

  Rolling the clothes in my arms, I sit on the edge of her bed as she pulls out a suitcase and a duffle bag from her wardrobe, throwing things in the duffle as she struggles to control her breathing.

  “You love him, don’t you?” I ask, running my fingers over the soft cotton in my hands.

  She stops her frantic packing. “Does it matter if I do?”

  “Of course. If it’s love, you should find a way to stay and fight for it.”

  “What happened to thinking I was crazy for even being near him?”

  I bounce a shoulder. “That was before I saw the way he saved you last night. He would have fought everyone in that crowd to keep you safe. That’s big.”

  “I’ll just ruin his life the way I did mine. This is for the best.” She picks up the empty suitcase and sets it on the ground next to me. “You should take that with you. It’ll make things more believable.” And just like that, I know she’s done with this conversation.

  “Sure thing,” I say, standing to pull the track pants and T-shirt over the top of my dress. Compared to me, Marcus is enormous, so I have to roll the waistband to keep the pants from falling.

  “Ready?” she asks, moving to the door.

  “Yeah. But am I ever going to see you again?”

  She shrugs, pressing her lips together in a sad smile.

  I nod my understanding and reach out to hug my best friend. “Well, at least keep in touch by phone.”

  “I’ll try,” she promises, heading out to the living room where Jonathan is waiting.

  “Your chariot awaits,” he says to me, holding out the blanket For me to hide under.

  I drag the suitcase over to him and take a nervous breath. “Let’s do this.”

  “Good luck, guys. And thank you,” Lisa says.

  “I need you to contact me at some point,” Jonathan says. “Or at least get your lawyer to. We’ve got shit that needs sorting.”

  “I’ll try,” she promises again, but I don’t think Jonathan believes her anymore than I do.

  “Ready?” he asks me as he places his hand on the door.

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  With the blanket covering me like I’m ET in the bicycle basket, Jonathan wraps his arm around me, guiding me to his car as the press chases us, yelling questions and banging on the car once we’re inside.

  “No comment,” Jonathan yells before he gets into the driver's seat and starts the engine. “Keep your head down until I tell you it’s safe.”

  “Just get us out of here. This is a nightmare.”

  He grunts and throws his Mercedes into reverse. “Welcome to my life.”

  Four

  Jonathan

  “Got anywhere to hide out until this dies down?” I ask as I check the rear-view mirror. A stream of news vans follows along with a couple of bikes and shitty looking cars in the mix for flavour. We look like a damn parade.

  Sandra turns her hooded head my way, the red and orange blanket making her an adorable red riding hood. “My place, I guess?”

  “You sure you want this lot parked in your street?”

  She shrugs. “Safer than leading them on a car chase. Last night, they called a chopper in to follow Lisa. I’d prefer to be safe indoors. They can lurk all they want.”

  “All right.” I can’t help but chuckle at the sight of her. “What’s your address?” She rattles it off and I enter it into my navigator.

  “And how are you laughing at a time like this?” she asks. “All those vultures following us are scary.”

  “What do you think I should do?” I ask, glancing at her again. Her blue eyes are wide and her full lips turn down as she thinks. Gorgeous. My mind wanders, thinking about what she could do with those full lips of hers…

  “I don’t know,” she says finally. “At least be annoyed.”

  “What would be the point in that? This happens everywhere I go. Especially when I’m overseas. Here, it’s not normally this bad. But Leisel popping up is a big deal.”

  “I know. I’m gonna have a hell of a lot of explaining to do at work on Monday. The guys are gonna laugh me out of the conference room.”

  “Because you’re her friend and you didn’t break the story?”

  She nods. “Voyeur should have broken the story, instead we look foolish for hiring her and not realising who she was.”

  “I thought Voyeur had an ethics policy. W
ouldn’t breaking the story without her consent make you no better than the vultures trailing behind us? She wanted to remain anonymous. Maybe you can print a piece saying that Voyeur respected her right to privacy and chose not to out her.”

  She sits back and thinks a little. “That could actually work. It’d save my arse too.”

  I grin. “Not just a pretty face.”

  “Oh, I’m sure there’s a hell of a lot more to you,” she says, sliding down in her seat a little. Her tone tells me that wasn’t a compliment, and considering she’s best friends with Leisel, I’m not surprised. Hoes over bros—or whories over stories—and all that.

  “Get ready to run,” I say as I pull into her driveway and cut the engine.

  “What are you doing? You’re not really coming inside, are you?”

  “Absolutely.” Getting out of the car, I walk around to her door and help her stay covered as she gets out. “There’s no way I’m leaving you alone with that lot.” I glance over my shoulder as our followers join us, getting out of their vehicles with cameras in hand. “Hurry.”

  “Fuck,” she hisses, keeping her head down as the questions start.

  Jonathan, what does this mean for your engagement?

  Have you forgiven Leisel for trying to kill you?

  Leisel, when can we expect a new album?

  Is this just some publicity stunt?

  Are you rebranding like Taylor Swift?

  “Keys,” I demand, holding my hand in front of Sandra as she fumbles in her bag while trying to remain covered. “Give it here.” I snatch the bag from her hands and dig inside myself. There’s about a thousand unnecessary things inside, but when my hand wraps around the undeniable shape of a set of keys, I feel like I’ve found the gold flecks in the bottom of the pan.

  With the door open, we burst inside and I bolt and chain the door behind us.

  “That was intense,” Sandra says, lifting her blanket, her light hair full of static.

  “Don’t take that off yet,” I instruct, moving around the lounge room to make sure no one can snap a photo through the window. There are laws against these things, but it doesn’t stop them. They’re like sharks with the scent of blood in their nose. “OK. We’re good.”

  When I turn around, she’s not even there anymore. “What the fuck?”

  “I’m getting changed,” she calls out. “Wait there.”

  My cock stirs involuntarily. I do not want to wait here. I want to pretend I didn’t hear her and sneak a peek at that curvaceous body I could see through the fitted dress she had on earlier. Most guys are boob men. But I fucking love a tiny waist and big hips. The combination is my kryptonite.

  Deciding against being a creeper, I make my way towards her kitchen, taking in the pastel pinks and turquoise hues she’s gone with to decorate her mostly white house. It looks like one of those stylised rooms you see in photo shoots, and it suits her because she looks like she should be an influencer on Instagram or something along those lines. #livinglife #homedecor #pastelforever

  “Got anything to drink?” I call out as I open the fridge and peer inside. This is ridiculously neat too. Bottles of water and juice lined up next to yogurt containers and mason jars of salad or oats. She meal preps.

  “Help yourself,” she says from behind me.

  I start a little because I didn’t hear her coming. I was too busy taking stock of the level of organisation going on here.

  “Is your favourite app Instagram?” I ask as I look over my shoulder. She’s put on a pair of jeans that hug her in all the right places and a baggy grey t-shirt that hangs off her shoulder. I can see her white bra strap. She’s also cleaned all the makeup off her face, and she’s just as pretty without it. Some girls aren’t.

  “I guess,” she says with a shrug as she pushes past me and grabs a water and a jar of oats. “These are good if you want one.”

  “Sure.” I haven’t eaten anything except pussy since I stopped for dinner last night, so I grab a jar and a bottle of water then accept the spoon she holds out to me before joining her at her four-seater dining table.

  We sit and eat in silence, and she’s right, the cold oats are good. There’s nuts and berries in the mix, so they’re sweet and textured and just generally good to eat.

  She sighs and looks off to the side like she can see far into the distance. I should probably ask if she’s okay but I’m caught watching her absentmindedly licking her spoon. Fuck me dead. I am the worst kind of man.

  “Is this is the magazine you work for?“ I asked, pulling a magazine from the stack in the middle of the table. I need something to do besides stare at her so I flick through the pages, her name jumping out at me from the byline on an article about Marcus Bailey. “You interviewed this douche?” I lift my eyes to meet hers. Thankfully, she’s removed the spoon from her mouth now.

  “To be honest, Lisa did that interview; that’s how they met. I gave her a list of questions and she recorded it all for me. And he’s not a douche. Well, maybe he is, I don’t know.” Her voice peters out as she dips her spoon back into her oats. Lick it. Please.

  “I think he’s a douche. He’s a loose cannon.” I close the magazine and toss it back in the pile. “Why did Leisel do the interview for you?” It’s a dumb thing for someone not wanting to be recognised to do.

  “Well, she said no at first, but I begged her since I was coming out in hives, so she agreed.”

  “And Leisel has always been a pushover.”

  “Yeah. Well, you’d know.”

  I nod slowly. “When we were together, my career and the fame were all new. I…took advantage.”

  “And years later you’re still playing the same game. Rumour has it you and—what’s her name?”

  “Marnie.”

  “That’s her—are on the verge of breaking up.”

  “Hmm.” I press my lips together, wondering how much I want to tell her about Marnie DeLuca’s and my arrangement. In the end, I go with my stock standard, “Marnie and I have an understanding.”

  “Sure you do,” she scoffs, shoving a mouthful of oats in her mouth and chewing aggressively before spearing her spoon back into her jar. “Actually, no. I’m not buying it. No woman in her right mind would understand her fiancé running around town fucking other women. Especially when that fiancé is a known philanderer, and the press is always watching him like a hawk.”

  “Maybe she’s counting on it,” I suggest, feeling slightly perturbed by her summation of me. I know who I am. And I know how the public perceives me. But knowing it and having it thrown in your face are two very different things.

  “Are you saying your relationship is a PR stunt?” She narrows her eyes at me while I let my eyes drift along the milky skin of her shoulder.

  “I’m not saying a damn thing,” I say with a half smile.

  She opens her mouth to offer a retort but stops when yells erupt from outside. Her eyes go wide as they land on mine. “Someone’s here.”

  Five

  Sandra

  Pressing our eyes to the small gaps between the blinds, we let out an identical groan. “Oh no,” I say.

  “The douche is here,” Jonathan mutters as we watch the press swarming Marcus. He shoves his way through, grabbing some guy by the back of the shirt and tossing him aside with a ferocious expression on his face. “Can’t handle the heat, get out of the kitchen, son.”

  “You think they’ll charge him with assault for that?”

  He glances at me, the piercing blue of his eyes set with consternation. “Depends on how much money they make out of the story.” He steps back and moves towards the door, unlatching it before wrapping his fingers around the handle. “Tell me when he’s on the other side.”

  I nod, watching through the window as Marcus steps onto my porch then pauses, turning back to the press as he yells, “You know what? Just fuck off.”

  “Now,” I tell Jonathan as Marcus takes a backwards step during his rant.

  He pulls the door open and grabs Ma
rcus by the back of his shirt, dragging him into the house before turning on him. “What are you doing? You’re going to make this even more of a circus than it already is.”

  “Where is she?” Marcus demands, beginning his search of my living area by checking behind the couch.

  “Mate, she’s not here,” Jonathan says while I hang back, the tension radiating off Marcus is scaring me.

  He sways like a bull looking for direction, then he charges Jonathan, grabbing him by the throat and driving him into the wall with a sickening thud.

  “Stop,” I yell, my heart in my throat as Jonathan’s eyes bug out and he gasps for air. “He can’t breathe!”

  Marcus doesn’t seem to hear me, or he just doesn’t care. His ragged breathing is something out of a horror movie as he leans closer and spits in Jonathan’s face. “You’re a fucking liar! Where the hell is she?”

  Hoarse gasping sounds leave Jonathan’s throat, his eyes watering as his face turns bright red.

  “You’re killing him!” I shriek, launching myself at Marcus and thumping my fists against his back until my hands hurt from the force. His body goes rigid then he opens his hand, releasing Jonathan and stepping back.

  Jonathan sucks in a breath and rubs at his neck, his chest heaving as I rush forward to catch his shoulders. “Oh god. Are you OK?”

  He nods. “I’m fine. I’m fine. It’s OK.” But he doesn’t sound OK. He sounds like Vito Corleone.

  I hold him either side of his face, looking into his eyes to gauge the responsiveness of his pupils. “Maybe you need the hospital?”

  He shakes his head, chest still heaving as Marcus growls at us again. “Where is she?” Oh my god. Fuck off.

  “She’s gone,” I spit over my shoulder. “Neither of us know where.” I place my hand on Jonathan’s chest, his heart thundering beneath my palm. “I promise you. She didn’t tell any of us.”

  He stumbles backwards, his hands on his head, pulling at his hair. “Where else would she go?” The pain in his eyes almost makes me feel sorry for him. I understand that he’s obviously fallen really hard for Lisa, but with my history with him, and his behaviour since entering my house, I’m struggling to find any empathy for him.