Star (Beautiful Book 5)

by Lilliana Anderson

  She rolls her eyes and those cheeks of hers flame red again. I struggle to contain my smirk.

  “Maybe I’ll just get a glass of water,” she says while I signal for the waiter.

  “Can I get something for you?” A young and very star struck looking girl appears at my side, her hands visibly shaking as she holds her pen to paper in preparation of taking down our order.

  “You can get us both coffee and pancakes, please. Leave the strawberries off mine. I just want butter and syrup.”

  “Me too,” Sandra says. “No strawberries for me either.”

  “Not a fan?” I ask. And she shakes her head.

  “Those weird seeds get caught in your teeth, and—”

  “Half the time they taste like the husk of a watermelon,” I finish. And she smiles.

  “I never thought to describe it like that before, but yeah.”

  We lock eyes, and for a moment the world falls away. We’re bonding. Over a dislike of strawberries of all things.

  “OK, so no strawberries.” The waitress lets out a giggle that doesn’t quite fit the situation, and her interruption crashes into the moment, causing a crease to form between Sandra’s brows before she looks away completely. Great, now I’ve lost her again.

  “That’s everything,” I say to the girl, dismissing her, wanting to get back to locked eyes and shared moments. “Thank you.”

  “Great. I’ll just get that to the kitchen for you,” she says, before taking a deep breath. “I just loved you in Edge of Desire. It was such a beautiful movie. And I don’t believe a thing the press says about you.” She looks between me and Sandra. “Either of you. Do you think…?” She pulls out her phone, gesturing with it to ask if she can take her photo with me. This is probably the first time during my career that I’ve wished to be less recognisable. Normally, I happily pose for shots with fans. But when it’s taken me nearly two weeks to get Sandra to agree to sit down with me, every second matters. I’m trying to convince her I’m more than the rumours she’s heard about me, that she’s more than a one-night stand. And that’s hard to do when taking selfies.

  “Sure,” I say, trying to sound happy about it while I reach out and take her phone, extending my arm so I get us both in the frame. “There you go.” I hand the phone back and she hugs it to her chest.

  “Thank you so much,” she gushes as she backs away.

  “That must happen to you a lot,” Sandra says, playing with the corner of the menu the waitress forgot to take away.

  “Part of the job description.” I offer her a smile. “Does it bother you?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s kind of weird though.”

  “I can understand that. It’s not exactly normal to have strangers come up and ask for photos.”

  “Not for that reason. More because you transform before my eyes. It’s strange to see.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  She puts the menu down and adjusts in her seat. “Well, the first time it happened was the night I met you. We were having a discussion then a couple of fans turned up and you were all about them. Then just now, we were almost…” She presses her lips together as she thinks. “I don’t know. I guess I have these moments where I forget you are who you are—even though I know exactly who you are—and then something happens to remind me and it’s a bit of a jolt.” She leans forward and tilts her head in this adorable way that makes her shiny hair fall over her shoulder. “Am I making any sense?”

  “You are.” I offer her a small smile. “Not many people get to see the real me.”

  “Why do you think that is?”

  “Because the public want the fairy tale. They don’t want the truth.”

  “Is that what you want me to report on? You want them to know the truth about you?”

  I bounce a shoulder. “I think so. I’d like to stop being something I’m not.”

  She rests the weight of her head on her hand; her elbow on the table. “What do you think the biggest public misconception is about you?”

  I sit and ruminate over the image my publicist cultivates, and the rumours the gossip magazines circulate. It’s hard to decide which is the biggest fallacy, so I go with the one I think Sandra needs to hear most. “I’m not a player.”

  The admission causes her brows to almost disappear into her hairline before dropping and pinching together. “Are you trying to tell me you didn’t sneak around on Lisa and Marnie?”

  Our coffees arrive, so I save my answer, waiting until the older gentleman—the manager, I think—sets them in front of us with a polite nod and zero small talk.

  “Thank you,” I say as he retreats.

  “You were saying?” she prompts, lifting her mug to her pretty lips. I get lost watching her blow on the steaming liquid before she takes a sip, the pink of her tongue peeking between her lips as she licks the foam away. I’ve got something I’d love for her to lick. “Jonathan?”

  Snapping my eyes to hers, I chide my dirty mind and grab some sugar packets. “I never slept with her.”

  Up goes her brow again. “Marnie or Lisa?”

  “Marnie. She was business, and frankly, we didn’t like each other much. Leisel was real-ish. I told you I chased her with an ulterior motive, but I did grow to care for her deeply, and I regret cheating on her.”

  “Did you cheat on her from the beginning?”

  “Yes,” I admit, feeling the heat in my ears as I struggle to maintain eye contact. I’m not proud of the man I was with Leisel.

  Her eyes harden, and suddenly it’s like she’s sitting at the top of a mountain covered in impassable brambles I might never cut my way through. I should stop here, quit before the steel walls go up. But I need to own what I did. And if I want Sandra to give me a chance, I need to convince her I learned a lesson I’m not willing to repeat.

  “Why?” she asks, her tone blunt.

  “Leisel was on the road a lot with her career. And she hated the party scene, so when she was home, she wanted to stay home. It’s no excuse, but I spent a lot of time alone when I was with her. I was in a relationship but it was easy to pretend like I wasn’t. I was young and stupid, so I dated and I snuck around with a few different girls over the course of three years.”

  “A few?”

  “Yeah. A few. I wasn’t collecting notches on my bedpost. It was a handful of girls I hooked up with on a regular basis. They knew I was attached and that we were purely recreational, but then I was working on a movie, and my co-star and I grew close. We went to parties and events to help create some buzz. Then one night we kind of…fell into each other and stayed that way.” I clear my throat, running the sugar packets between my fingers for something to focus on. Admitting to repeated cheating in front of the woman I’d like to be dating isn’t an easy thing to do, and I’ve never regretted my actions more than I do now. “The affair lasted nearly six months before Leisel found out about it. Her reaction to finding out was driving my car through the front window of our house. There was no confrontation, no screaming match, nothing besides her discovery, the destruction, then her disappearance. I never got to explain—not that I really deserve to—and I never got to apologise before I saw her a couple of weeks ago. We just ended and everything that was ours has been in limbo ever since.”

  “Did you love her?”

  “My co-star? I don’t know. I think I’d gotten to a point where I was lonely, and she made me feel grounded and wanted. It was friendship and caring, but I don’t believe it was love. It didn’t give me that ache in the centre of my chest you’re supposed to get when you’re with the right person.”

  The corner of her mouth tips up. “I remember saying something similar to Lisa once. I want someone who twists my stomach up in knots whenever I think about them.”

  I offer her a smile in understanding. “At the end of the day, I think every human on this earth is looking for that feeling.”

  Sandra

  He hates strawberries. He thinks love should feel like a sto
machache. He wants me to know the real him…

  It sounds too good to be true, like he’s reading a script that was written specifically for me. How do I trust that? The man is an award-winning actor. He can don a mask and become anyone he wants to be. Including my perfect match.

  For all I know, he’s had someone investigate me. Lord knows there’s enough information out there about me now. He could have done his research and figured out just what to say to make my heart flutter. But to what end?

  What will he get out of pursuing me?

  We already slept together. So besides wanting a repeat performance, I don’t think it’s that.

  Being seen with me isn’t helping his career. Although he does want an article written about him. Maybe he thinks I can help repair his career? Maybe he thinks by pursuing me and getting me to fall for him, he’ll get himself a glowing piece about what an upstanding guy he is?

  What if he’s just a guy, sitting in front of a girl…

  I shake the thought away and try to put my game face on. I don’t write biased articles, so he’s sadly mistaken if he thinks I’ll be anything less than professional during out encounters.

  “Why don’t you tell me about…” I stop talking when he tears the top off four packets of sugar and upends them into his coffee. “You’ll get diabetes doing that.”

  He meets my eyes and smiles, stirring the sugar through with his spoon. “Thanks, mum.” I want to fall into the ocean of his eyes, swim in their depths and never come out.

  A frown creases my brow as I look down, chiding myself for sounding like a song lyric. This man is too good looking. And the fact my mind keeps throwing up memories of our night together is giving me a serious case of anxiety. I’m likely to break out in hives and say the word ‘cock’ at the most inconvenient time. Like when our pancakes arrive and he gestures for me to use the syrup first, I have to force myself not to ask, “Would you like some cock?” when I pass it to him. It’s a serious problem that is only alleviated when I stuff my mouth full of pancake so I can’t possibly talk.

  “Hungry?” Jonathan laughs as he watches me chew, my cheek stretched around the ball of sweet batter.

  I hold my hand in front of my mouth to answer with a deformed, “Starving,” causing him to laugh in the most genuine of ways. God, I’m so turned on right now.

  “Why don’t you tell me about Marnie?” I say when my mouth is clear, picking up a napkin to dab at my lips. “Do you want to go on the record as saying what you had was a business arrangement?”

  “Yes.” He nods, his expression turning serious. “I can even provide the documents we both signed that stipulates the rules and compensation structure.”

  “Wasn’t there some sort of NDA?”

  “There was.” He licks his lips and I find myself fantasising about doing that for him. Get a grip! “But it became void when she started speaking out about me publicly. I lost a couple of offers, so her actions caused harm and I can do whatever I want now.”

  “I see. Is this revenge perhaps? Are you angry about the movies you lost?”

  “It’s not revenge. And I’m nonplussed over losing the movies. But I am concerned about my reputation going forward. I don’t want to be considered a sex addict when I’m anything but.”

  “Because you have casual relationships, not one-night stands?”

  “That’s right. But I won’t lie and say I’ve never had a one-night stand, because I have. I just don’t want the world thinking I’m like Douche Bailey and fucking every willing female I can find.”

  “Do you think he’s cheating on Lisa?”

  He shrugs. “I seriously hope not. She deserves someone to do right by her.” I take a moment to look in to his eyes, holding him with an unwavering gaze until I feel certain he speaks the truth.

  “OK,” I say, almost in a whisper.

  “OK?”

  “I’ll write your story.” They say once a cheater, always a cheater. But they also say that people learn from their mistakes. He seems earnest in his admissions of cheating and willing to provide proof of his current arrangement. I’d like to give him the benefit of the doubt. “I believe you.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “I’m surprised you ever doubted me to be honest.”

  I cut a piece of pancake off the stack, holding it in front of my mouth. “Seriously?”

  “I thought that ache in your stomach would have told you I mean what I say.”

  Syrup drips to my plate as my stomach tightens, threatening to reverse all I’ve ingested. My mouth falls open. “I don’t have a stomachache,” I lie.

  “Really?” He levels me with his gaze and my heart thunders in my ears. “Because I’ve got a massive ache inside my chest.”

  I stand abruptly. “I should go.” I don’t even give him enough time to react before I’m rushing for the nearest exit, desperate to create some distance between us.

  Did he just say what I think he said? Holy fuck.

  Seventeen

  Sandra

  “I think I might go back to my place this weekend,” I say as I sit across from Mum at dinner. Dad is off with his cricket buddies ‘training’, which I think is code for drinking beer and eating meat pies.

  "I’d be going back too," she agrees. "You can't exactly bring that chef of yours back here to roll around on that tiny bed. Not to mention the floral pattern and the boy band posters. That stuff is just embarrassing." Just the mention of Brad sends me into a guilt-ridden tailspin. I’ve been obsessing over Jonathan all day. He said I give him an ache in his chest. I don’t know what to do with that information. Frankly, it scares the fuck out of me.

  “We’re not there yet,” I say, poking my fork at the small pieces of chicken and avocado in my salad, struggling to find my appetite when I’m torn between logic and loins. Because, let’s face it, my lady parts are desperate for a little more movie star, but I know that’s likely the worst possible decision. Brad might be busy, but at least he didn’t cheat on my best friend. And it’s not just that, there are so many reasons why fantasising about Jonathan is a bad idea.

  “Don’t tell me you subscribe to that three date rule nonsense? If I was your age, I’d have sex first then I’d date them. No sense in wasting my time on a man who’s a dud in bed.”

  Shaking my head, I can’t help the smile that crosses my face. "No one else I know has a mother like you."

  “And thank god for that. Even I know the world can’t handle too many awesome people like me.”

  “I love you, Mum.” I laugh. Her sense of humour always makes me feel better, and when my best friend is off limits throughout my current predicament, I appreciate my mum more than ever.

  She pats my arm, her voice sounding serious for a change. “I love you too, sweetheart. But I have to ask, is there something you’re not telling me? You seem out of sorts.”

  I release a sigh and shake my head, not wanting to get into it. “Just a long day at work.”

  “Well then, hurry up and eat your food before your father comes home, otherwise he’ll get to the television before we do and force us to watch Sons of Anarchy. I have a Nicolas Sparks movie for us to watch if you’d like.”

  “Sounds great,” I say, taking a final bite before I help her with the dishes then head into the living area to settle in to our movie.

  “I almost picked up the latest Jonathan Masters movie before remembering you bumped uglies with the guy,” Mum says as she slides the DVD into the player. “That would have been a little awkward during the sex scenes, wouldn’t it?” She giggles and looks over her shoulder while I fight the impossible task of making my brain bury the reality of what sex with Jonathan Masters is like.

  “I suppose,” I say, shoving popcorn in my mouth. “You made a good choice.”

  “Has he called you again?”

  “No,” I lie through my full mouth.

  “Just as well, I guess. They aren’t very stable those movie stars.”

  More popcorn goes in my mouth and I make an agre
eable sound. Jonathan Masters is a cheater, he’s also arrogant enough to chase another man’s girl, egotistical enough to take up my time professionally, and selfish enough to think I’d be happy about it.

  “Are you disappointed?” she asks as she settles next to me on the couch.

  “Not at all.” I hit play on the remote and pass the popcorn bowl, thankful that the questions stop as soon as the opening credits start. I’ve had enough of Jonathan Masters for one day.

  We watch, glued to the screen as yet another novel plays out and leaves everyone devastated and heartbroken for the characters at the end.

  “I hate Nicolas Sparks,” Mum cries, blowing her nose into a tissue as tears stream down her face. “I don’t know why I keep doing this to myself.”

  “Me too,” Dad agrees, taking the box of tissues from Mum and dabbing one at his eyes. He came home part way through the movie and joined us, and being a fairly emotional man, he got wrapped up in the story too. “At least in Sons of Anarchy you know it’s going to end badly.”

  “I have cried plenty in Sons of Anarchy,” I counter.

  “How are you not crying now, Sandra?” Mum asks, her brow furrowed in bewilderment as she takes in my dry eyes. “That was heart wrenching.”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I was prepared for it this time. None of his stories has a happy ending. I love the hopefulness and those small moments of happiness, but I’ve seen enough of these to know he’s going to tear that all away. So I don’t let myself get caught up in the hope. It’s like real life; bad things happen, people get their hearts broken, and somehow, they have to learn to live on. Learning to be happy on your own is inspiring. Getting married and living happily ever after isn’t the only goal in life.”

  My mother looks at me with her mouth agape. "What has made you such a cynic at your age? I thought things were going well with your chef. Or is this because Jonathan Masters hasn’t called?”

  "What chef?" my father asks. “Is something going on with Jonathan Masters?” He’s completely lost.