Written in the Stars – Jeannie Choe
WRITTEN IN THE STARS
JEANNIE CHOE
ELLIE
I never was a morning person. As a teen, my mom would have to come into my room, rip off the blankets, and threaten to pour cold water over me.
And even then it was like dragging me through mud.
Nowadays getting me out of bed isn’t such a feat.
It may be because I’ve swapped my twin-size bed for a large California king fitted in Egyptian cotton sateen.
And the threats my mom used to make are long gone, the scent of coffee a more effective way of luring me out of bed.
I slip from my comfortable spot in bed and saunter to the kitchen, where Rhylan, my fiancé, plays with the coffee maker.
He has the stove on, the sizzle of bacon and scrambled eggs going.
I take a moment to enjoy the view—his low-hung pajama pants resting at his hips and his lean, muscular back on display for me to ogle and appreciate.
“Good morning,” I mumble into the dip in his spine. I slip my hands around to his front, running my fingers over his toned stomach.
“Good morning.” He sets down the fresh coffee, prepared just how I like, and turns to face me. “I missed you.”
“You were just in bed with me,” I remind him with a laugh.
“That was ages ago.” He leans down to kiss me. It’s the kind of kiss that’s all hands and hips.
“Well, you could’ve just stayed in bed with me until we both had to get up,” I tell him between kisses.
“And let you skip breakfast?”
“I’m a big girl. I can make my own breakfast.”
“I know,” he says, adding a peck to the corner of my mouth. “But I want to.” He hoists me up onto the counter, and we start to fall into the kiss, forgetting about the day ahead of us.
“I have to get ready for work, mister.”
He responds with a groan. “Stay home.”
I land a sharp smack on his butt. “You do this every day.”
“Because I don’t want you to leave.”
“What would you do with me home anyway?” I argue. “I thought you’re meeting your new publicist today.”
He shrugs. “I was thinking about pushing that to next week.”
“Rhylan, you’ve already rescheduled that meeting twice.” I hop off the counter, and he reaches for my coffee. I bring the warm mug to my lips while I silently scold him with a scowl.
“I know. I just hate having to hire a new publicist, and maybe if I put it off, then Shana doesn’t have to quit.”
“Shana isn’t quitting,” I remind him, though I know he doesn’t want to hear about his favorite publicist retiring.
“Still.”
“Baby, meet with her and get it over with. If Shana recommended her, I’m sure you’ll like her.”
“How about this? If you stay home, I’ll meet with her.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s bribery, and I don’t stand for that.”
He slides over my plate of eggs and bacon just as I settle into my seat. “It was worth a shot.”
Over the past two years, Rhylan has been the busiest he’s ever been.
Leaving for weeks or even months at a time on location, filming movie after movie.
Barely getting a few days in between—a week, if he’s lucky—before he has to take off for his next project.
While his budding acting career seems to be peaking, with no sign of a decline, our time together always seemed measured.
Until a month ago when he finally returned from Canada after a two-month-long shoot.
His agent, Levi, dropped a fresh stack of scripts in front of him for his choosing, and Rhylan responded with a firm no.
After two years of living out of suitcases in hotel rooms and rentals, our relationship has been surviving off telephone calls from opposite time zones.
He needed a vacation. And he has definitely earned it.
Though Levi argued that a break wouldn’t be a practical choice with his momentum, Rhylan didn’t change his mind.
And when his publicist, Shana, announced that she’d be retiring after forty years in the business, Rhylan took that as an opportunity to hunt for a new publicist while setting a strict three-month break.
No more new projects, just us and wedding planning and getting ready to live this new life as Mr. and Mrs. Matthews.
“What time will you be home?” Rhylan asks as I rummage through my leather tote bag. I’m in our bedroom now, shoving my laptop in my bag, making sure I have everything while Rhylan sits on our bed, a morose look on his face.
“Maybe around six? Or closer to seven.”
“Seven?” he asks, not bothering to hide the disappointment in his voice.
“How about I pick up a panna cotta from that Italian place on my way home? For dessert tonight.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he answers. “If you’re going to go all the way there, get a couple.”
I pinch his side at the same time his arms pull me to him. He tackles me to the bed, and I let out a loud yelp. I feel his entire weight press me into the mattress, and my laughter turns breathless.
“Rhy! I can’t breathe!” I don’t hear words come out of him, but instead a loud, rumbling snore. “Rhylan!”
“He’s sleeping,” I hear him mumble. I snort a laugh and manage to squish my cheek into his.
His eyes are fluttering, and his lips are pressed together firmly to hold back a laugh.
His earlier request for me to stay home suddenly sounds even more tempting than it did when he asked me with those glistening puppy dog eyes.
I kiss him, starting at his jawline and trailing down his neck. I feel him get lighter, and I notice he’s using his arms to support himself so he can give me some room. So I can kiss him with more ease.
“I thought you were sleeping,” I whisper against his collarbone.
“You made a good argument.”
“What argument?”
“That sex is better than sleep.”
My laugh bounces off the walls, echoing how much I love this man. “You are completely insatiable.”
“But I’m right.”
“Rhylan, get off me, please.” I feel his hand slither up my leg, starting at my knee and stopping at the fleshy part of my thigh. “You’re going to get me into trouble if I’m late.”
“Good,” he answers, finding my lips. “Maybe you’ll get fired and you’ll never have to go to work.”
I grip his face in my hands. “Baby,” I tell him sternly. “I love you and I can’t wait to marry you in a week, but I need to go to work. Or else I will be nothing but a 120-pound slob in stained pajama pants and greasy hair.”
“But you’ll be home.”
I pinch his side again, this time with more force. It causes him to jerk and roll right off me. “I’ll be back before you know it,” I assure him. I lean down and brush my nose against his. “And you make sure you go see that new agent.”
RHYLAN
“All I’m saying is, if Ellie’s so worried about all the details of your wedding getting out, then I say you both take off to Vegas tonight and get hitched.” Chuck dips a fry into a heavy dollop of ketchup and shoves it into his already-full mouth.
“What about me?” Charles asks, a wounded look on his face.
“You can officiate the next one.”
Charles huffs an annoyed sigh before taking a large bite of his Reuben sandwich. “You think Ellie would do it? A spur-of-the-moment elopement?”
“Nah,” I answer, poking at my pasta. “We spent so much time planning everything ...”
“Then we’ll make sure it’ll stay out of the media,” Jackson adds, attempting to reassure me.
I take in my friends, the four of us enjoying a late lunch on the outdoor patio of a quaint bistro in West Hollywood. They’ve stuck by me through a lot. The ups and downs of my career, some rock-bottom moments, and even all the highs. And now they’re going to stand by me while I marry Ellie.
“Anyway, isn’t your fancy publicist supposed to be the one to help you deal with the press? Have her do all the dirty work.”
I give Chuck a flat expression, silently articulating my frustrations with said publicist. “Yeah, she’s supposed to,” I tell him. “But ...”
“Did you meet with her yet?”
I nod. “Yeah. I just met with her this morning.”
“And?”
“I told her how important it is that my personal life stay private. Not just because I like to keep my life private, but because of Ellie too. I tried to explain to her how it almost broke us apart, but I don’t think she understands how serious I am.”
It was when Ellie and I first started dating.
I’d forgotten, or quite possibly ignored, how ravenous and dangerous the press and media could be.
When they caught wind of our relationship, they attacked Ellie, dragging her name through the mud.
It was a media circus, but Ellie was the one who suffered.
It’s up to me to make sure she doesn’t have to go through that hell again.
“Do you have anyone else in mind?”
“Not really,” I answer Charles, shaking my head. “She came highly recommended by Shana, so I guess I should give her a chance.”
“Rhylan!” I look up from my plate to see Richard March, Paramount’s studio head, walking toward me with a deep-set grin and wide stance.
I pull back my seat and stand to greet him. “Richard, good to see you.”
He takes my hand in his, giving me a firm shake and jocular greeting. “How are you? How’s Ellie?”
“Good,” I answer. “We’re doing well.”
“Good to hear. Listen,” he adds, his tone turning determined. “I talked to Levi a few weeks ago. He said you aren’t taking any new projects.”
“Um, yeah,” I confirm. “I’m going to be taking some time to travel. Spend some time with Ellie.”
“Well, that’ll get boring really quick, won’t it?”
I chuckle. “I don’t really think so.”
“I have a few projects lined up. I sent over some scripts to Levi. Why don’t you look them over and get back to me.”
“Uh, Richard, I’m really?—”
“No need to give me an answer now,” he interrupts. “Just think about it, talk it over with Levi first. Let him talk you into it.” I respond with awkward silence and Richard turns his attention to my table, where my friends have been listening intently. “You gentlemen enjoy your lunch.”
“Bye, Richard,” they all respond with discordant farewells.
“Are you going to talk to Levi?” Charles asks.