CHAPTER ONE
SAVANNAH
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I pluck a grape from one of the lavish platters and glance around the outdoor wedding reception for Josh and Cassy Hawke.
The place is stunning. There are thousands of white flowers and lanterns scattered around along with hundreds of guests. Many of them are celebrities and rock stars.
This is Los Angeles, after all.
Plus, Cassy’s father is none other than Blaze Cartwright from the famous rock band, Sonic Rebel.
And the reason I’m standing here.
Everything I do these days is a big deal. That sounds so arrogant, but it’s true. It’s a side effect of becoming one of the most famous actresses in the world.
Today I’m dressed head-to-toe in dusky pink and black Dolce & Gabbana and Tiffany diamonds. Images of me are on every social channel by now, talking about who I’m with. Who I spoke to. What I ate—one grape, how exciting—and judging every single inch of my face, body, and hairstyle.
This is what I wanted.
Actually, I wanted to be an actress. I knew fame came with making it to the big time, and I’m okay with it to some degree. It just takes some adjusting.
It’s been two years and I’m still adjusting.
But you can’t undo fame. Not really. Once your face has been in the spotlight as much as mine, it’s in the public psyche and you become a public figure.
Forever.
Memories of Us changed my life. The dramatic second chance romance is based on a novel and was never expected to do as well as it did. Instead, it broke box office records.
The male lead was a war hero and the heroine an everyday widowed mom and resonated with a lot of people. That and the chemistry Nick and I had on screen was amazing.
Now we’ve done it a second time.
Even I can admit, while it’s awkward to watch, some of our scenes are pretty damn hot.
Nick Marciano, or as his fans call him, the Italian stallion, is a much more seasoned actor than me. He helped me a lot during filming, and after two movies together, we became friends.
Something I value.
Becoming rich and famous does change your life, but strangely, not in the way you might expect. Yes, you can afford more things, and it’s wonderful, but the fear of running out of money doesn’t vanish. It’s weird.
Then there’re the people around you.
Everyone wants something.
Even if they say they don’t.
Or they demand it, believing it’s their right because they’re blood related. Before you judge, let me tell you a little more about my family.
My father spent the first twenty-five years of my life telling me I was a joke. A fool. A dreamer. That I’d end up waitressing, as I couldn’t act. I was talentless in his mind, and he told all his friends that visited, and they’d stand laughing at me.
I did waitress so he got that part right.
After Memories of Us began screening and news of its success hit, he ran to me and told me I was obligated to pay his mortgage and medical bills.
And his girlfriend’s boob job.
Not joking.
Honestly, that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
My mother and sister, Ivy, are a whole other story.
I was given very strong advice from many people in the industry to not throw my money around or be pressured by friends and family.
To take my time and decide what I wanted to do.
After all, my success was overnight. One minute I was waiting tables, taking whatever acting gigs I could. The next I was invited to audition for the role of Charlotte in Memories of Us. Two years later, Memories of Them was released and I’m now one of the biggest movie stars in Hollywood.
Sonic Rebel’s hit “Lovers Night” from the eighties is in the sequel, and because Hollywood is all about networking—not what you know but who you know—Nick and I were invited to Blaze Cartwright’s daughter’s wedding.
Invited is a strong word.
Encouraged to attend and wear Tiffany jewels and Dolce & Gabbana to promote their brands is more like it.
As my manager Michelle says, you’re only as hot as your last job.
“How long do we have to stay?” I ask Nick, stuffing the grape into my mouth and chewing.
“Until the speeches at least,” he says, sipping his champagne. Then slides his finger under the collar of his shirt. “Jesus, it’s hot today.”
“I’m melting,” I mumble and then smile at one of the dozens of faces staring at us.
No, I’m still not used to it.
Speaking of hot—I pluck another couple of grapes from the bunch and pop the tip of one into my mouth as I watch the wedding party arrive—one of the groomsmen is off the charts handsome.
Listen, I’m surrounded by beautiful people every day, but this man is tall with dirty blonde hair and shockingly beautiful blue eyes. He’s built like a linebacker and has a pair of dimples that must get him any woman he wants.
I wouldn’t call him dashing. He’s way too much man for that. He doesn’t even look like he’d be charming.
A shiver races down my spine as I search for the right word.
More like he’d smirk as he roughly fucked you with his thick cock, after slamming you down onto his bed.
God.
What woman doesn’t want that?
I do. I can’t have it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t crave it.
I’m not married or celibate. I just can’t go around sleeping with every guy I find attractive. The media would pay a lot of money for a story about me if someone chose to leak it.
I slept with Savannah Sinclair...blah blah blah.
Michelle, my manager, would kill me if I shagged the best man at a celebrity wedding. However, if my every move wasn’t scrutinized, I’d seriously be considering a roll in the sheets with the hunky groomsman.
Unless, of course, he was an asshole.
I haven’t had that many boyfriends. Then again, I’m only twenty-eight. I dated a few guys in high school, then left home as soon as I could.
Mom and Dad split when I was fifteen, and it’s been a nightmare since. Actually, it was beforehand. I don’t even know why they got married. But they did, and they had me and Ivy.
Now I’m a celebrity. To date me, a guy would have to meet me. To do that, they have to get through my security team, so that eliminates almost everyone except other celebrities and officials in the business I might interact with.
Speaking of my security team. George, my bodyguard, had a heart attack last week, which was very sad. Today I have a temporary guy, who is standing a few yards away, but a new company is taking over next week.
Blaze Cartwright recommended them, and after the ordeal Cassy went through with her escaped convict stalker and how they saved her life, I figure they are a top-quality company.
So Black Hawke Security is taking over, and on Monday I’ll be meeting with the new guy to talk to him about how I like my bodyguards to work.
As a celebrity, there’s a fine line between safety and feeling like you live inside a box. It’s just finding it and working together.
“Jesus, the size of these guys,” Nick shakes his head, referring to the groom and his best men.
“You aren’t exactly small.” I glance at my co-star. He’s over six feet and works out. Although I suspect if I stood him side by side, the difference would be much more obvious.
“I’m not as big as they are. Fuck. Did they just land back on US soil from Iraq last week or what?”
I snicker. “You think they’re military?”
Nick takes another sip of his wine and nods. “Almost certainly. My cousin is in the army. They walk the same.”
“They walk the same?” I laugh too loudly, and everyone turns.
Shit.
Nick turns to face me, and we keep laughing.
“Don’t overshadow the bride, Savannah.” He leans in, teasing me.
“Please. Look at her. She’s gorgeous.” I nod toward Cassy. I met her once and immediately liked the rock star’s daughter.
“So are you,” he replied.
Nick doesn’t fancy me. He’s a flirt with a lot of people, and on camera we have some serious chemistry. But he’s never made a move.
He’s just a friend.
We get along very well and being a new leading lady, he was an amazing supportive co-star. So, we have a bond which I highly value.
I know my best friend fancies him.
Gina, who is also one of my PAs, thinks the sun shines out of his...well, everything. I was very clear to Nick that he had to stay away from her. The whole thing is a bit of a mess, really.
Gina lost her job as an assistant and asked me for a job. I felt put on the spot and defensive given the growing pressure to help my family. But then I thought this was something that could work out and silence the people in my world who thought I should be doing more.
Gina and I have been best friends since we were at high school. She’s extremely organized, creative, and loves everything Hollywood—including Nick Marciano—so I told her we would do a six-month trial working together.
Newbie error.
You can’t fire your best friend.
Ever.
Her performance has been average, and when I saw her and Nick flirting on the set of the sequel, I knew I had to intervene quietly.
“Nick,” I’d said, planting my hands on my hips outside my trailer while my team was inside. “Seriously, she’s my best friend and assistant. Go find someone else to play with.”
“Spoil sport,” he’d said, and I frowned further. “Fine. Don’t sleep with Gina. Got it.”
I knew it would initially hurt and I’d have to watch her get rejected, but it would happen eventually. Nick would simply take what he wanted and move on. I’d seen him do it time and time again over the past two years.
But he’s a pretty good friend.
“Thanks. But you know as well as I do that I look like this because a team of experts spent two hours putting me together. Tomorrow I’m going to lie outside in a bikini with a face mask on and chill.”
“Savannah Sinclair, you clearly have a limited understanding of what men focus on when they—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” I warn, lifting my grape in a threatening fashion.
Nick laughs.
I bite down on the grape with my blindingly white teeth and pierce the skin. The flavor bursts into my mouth as I watch the wedding party. And find a pair of stunning blue eyes watching me.
Shit.
I swallow the grape down before I get the chance to chew it and start coughing.
Then cough again.
I clear my throat and cough once more.