Chapter Four
Sterling
Coming from Beverly Hills, this wasn’t the first celebrity wedding I’d attended. My own mother had three failed ones.
Dahlia Dumont was one of the most recognizable movie actresses in the world, famed for her beauty and sweetness. Talent too, of course. She’d won numerous awards—Oscars, Film Critic Awards, Golden Globe—and there was a dedicated room for them all in her Bel-Air mansion.
But for someone who spent her life in the public eye and made her fortune from embracing the media, Dahlia had a dirty little secret.
Me.
Her son.
The child she’d had at fifteen before running away from home and heading to Hollywood.
I was probably lucky she hadn’t left me behind or given me away.
Her backstory read like a novel: At sixteen she’d been discovered at the mall by an agent and signed to a movie deal to play a virginal ingenue.
At seventeen her first movie had become an unexpected blockbuster, and the money had poured in as she’d risen to fame playing that same part—the young, sweet girl falling in love with the bad boy and redeeming him.
She’d bought a big house and hired staff.
I’d grown up thinking I was Marisel the housekeeper’s child.
Until one night when I was sixteen, I’d heard them fighting. I’d stood frozen outside Dahlia’s bedroom door, but their raised voices had been as clear as if they were standing in front of me.
“Listen, Dahlia. I never asked to pretend to be Sterling’s mother. You paid me, and I did it. But now, if you want me to keep your secret, it’s gonna cost you more.”
“You’ve had a very nice life from what I see,” Dahlia drawled. “I’m rarely here, and you have the run of the place. I even have a housekeeper for you…my housekeeper. I give you my clothes and bags, plus I pay you damn well.”
“And I want more,” Marisel said. “If you don’t, I’ll go to the gossip magazines and tell them how you don’t give a damn about your bastard son and hid him away because you were embarrassed of him.”
“You bitch.”
“I know you can afford it. I saw your bank statements.”
My heart pounded, and spots floated before my eyes. Dahlia Dumont, one of the most famous movie stars in the world, was my mother.
But she was ashamed of me. Didn’t want me.
“Fine. How much?”
“Five million.”
A shriek of laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“You made over fifty million on your last movie alone. I read the papers. I know.”
“No one would believe you.”
“That’s fine. You wanna take that chance?
I have Elsa Halpern’s cell number from Entertainment Weekly.
She’s always after me to give her some dirt, but I ignore her calls.
Next time I won’t. You know what they say.
Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. You want them to start digging?
You never told me nothing about his father.
What’s he, a criminal? You on the run or something? ”
I crept closer.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dahlia hissed. “But only this once. Sterling will be eighteen in two years, and then he’ll be out of the house and our lives.”
My stomach cramped. Out at eighteen for good? My chest hurt. Where would I go? I almost got sick on the pristine floor. My whole life was a lie. I was going to be homeless and alone in two years.
“Doesn’t matter to me. I want that money in my account.”
At the sound of heels clicking on the polished floors, I scurried away and around the corner. I waited until I saw Marisel—formerly Mom—skip down the stairs.
Now it all made sense—why Marisel was always distant, why she never showed up to my school plays or parents’ nights at school. She was basically an actor. Dahlia was my mother but, she didn’t give a damn. My life story was only worth five million dollars to Marisel.
My jaw hardened. If that was the way the world worked, I fully intended to get my share.
I retraced my steps and walked into Dahlia’s room.
“Sterling? Why are you here? Why didn’t you knock?”
I smiled. “Hello, Mom.” She turned white.
I had been paid well to keep her secret.
I’d left home at eighteen, and had never needed to worry about college or graduate-school tuition or my living expenses.
When I’d wanted my own condo, I’d had the money to buy it, anywhere I wanted, mortgage-free.
Plus, I’d gotten the Malibu house. I needed a private hideaway.
From the time I’d confronted Dahlia Dumont, she’d given me whatever I asked for, except a mother’s love.
But as I’d never known what that meant, I’d learned to live without it and had turned out pretty damned well.
I’d graduated with honors and received a master’s in journalism.
I’d worked my way up in the newsroom in the LA market on my own.
Her actions—unintentionally—had imparted to me one of life’s greatest lessons: Everything you show to people is a mask.
Just make sure what they see, what you choose to show them, is perfect.
That you’re perfect. Appearances are all that matters to get ahead in the world.
At the moment, I was feeling far from perfect. Before I made a fool of myself and got sick all over the lush green grass, I needed to leave. I’d never had so much to drink. Ever. Damn Bouvier.
“It’s all his fault,” I mumbled. “Jerk kept giving me drinks.” The fact that I’d sucked them down fast was irrelevant.
I walked across the lawn—slowly, carefully—but dammit all to hell, Adrian’s brother blocked my escape route. Good manners dictated I couldn’t sneak away without speaking to him.
“You’re not leaving, are you? Dinner’s about to be served.”
My smile was quick and my answer ready. “Yeah, sorry. It was a wonderful ceremony. They look very happy.”
“They are.” Neil peered at me. “Are you okay to drive?”
I blinked and drew in a deep breath. My lips felt a little fuzzy, but I had water in the car.
I’d drink the bottle and leave. “Mm, yeah, of course.” A rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.
“I’d better get going. It’s a long drive to the city, and I don’t want to get stuck in a storm. Thanks for everything.”
God, why won’t he leave me alone?
“You were drinking a lot at the bar. With Denis.” His gaze sharpened. “He didn’t say anything to make you leave, did he?” A look of distaste clouded his normally pleasant expression. “He can be an obnoxious son of a bitch if he wants to.”
Laughter ripped from my chest. “He must want to all the time, then.”
“Trust me, I’d love an excuse to kick him out. I know Adrian and Rip have made their peace with him, but that doesn’t mean squat to me.”
I fished the car keys out of my pocket but dropped them. “Shit. Crap.” I fumbled for a bit before I picked them up, but to my shock, Neil swiped them from my fingers, and I jerked my head up to meet his concerned face.
“Sterling, I’m sorry, but I’m not letting you drive in this condition.”
I scowled. “Condition? What the hell are you talking about?” Ugh, my stomach felt as if I were on a roller coaster hurtling at breakneck speed. I swallowed. “Could you tell me where your bathroom is?”
Neil put his arm around my waist, propping me up. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
I grimaced, but with my belly doing a tap dance, I couldn’t object. We walked inside, and he led me to a spacious bathroom.
“Thanks. And again, it was a beautiful wedding.” I closed the door in his face and promptly got sick in the toilet.
After making sure I left the room as pristine as I found it, I rinsed my mouth.
One look in the mirror, and I almost died.
I looked…well, I looked as drunk as I felt.
My face was pale and sweaty, my eyes red and glassy.
“God.” I hung my head and closed my hand in a fist. “How could you be so stupid?” It was all that idiot hockey player’s fault, but in my heart I couldn’t rest the blame on him completely.
I searched for and found some extra-strength aspirin in the medicine cabinet and popped three, cupped water in my hands, and drank it.
And drank some more. I patted my cheeks with a towel, did some deep breathing.
This was as good as I was going to get, so I opened the door… and found Neil waiting.
“Feeling better?” He was nothing but sympathetic, and this time my nausea was from humiliation rather than overindulgence.
“Not now. I should leave.” I attempted to push past him, but he gripped my arm.
“No damn way am I letting you out of here. Come with me.”
“Neil—”
“You might be able to intimidate my brother, but it doesn’t work with me.”
Horribly embarrassed, I followed him through the house to a bedroom.
He stepped aside. “Please. Take a nap. I’ll tell my wife so you won’t be disturbed.
If you need to spend the night, no worries.
We have others who’ll be staying over, and you won’t be the only guest for breakfast in the morning.
So do yourself a favor. Stretch out and sleep it off.
Don’t be embarrassed. It happens to all of us.
” He closed the door, then reopened it. “Oh. And just in case you try and leave, I’ll be keeping your car keys. ” This time the door stayed shut.
I sank on the bed and kicked off my shoes. I refused to go to bed dressed and end up looking a wrinkled mess, so I slipped my clothes off and laid them on the bed, not bothering to even hang them up. So unlike me, but I hadn’t gotten drunk in ages.
I was so tired, and the room was spinning a bit. There was a bottle of water by the bedside, and I finished it. I lay down, rested my head on the pillow, and closed my eyes.
**