Hollywood Love: Book 4: A sexy celebrity romance (Hollywood Billionaires) Read online

  Aiden and I walk them in the house and give them hugs goodnight.

  “Congratulations,” my grandpa whispers to me. Then he hits Aiden on the shoulder and says, “You old dog, you,” and walks off.

  “While you make their drinks, I'm gonna look for something to snack on,” I tell Aiden.

  He pins me against the counter, putting his hand across my belly. “Do you think we should tell our families sooner?”

  “I'm dying to, but I don’t know what to do.”

  “My parents are watching my sister's kids this weekend. What if we got everyone together this coming week for dinner? What's your schedule looking like? Back to early morning call times?”

  “Yes, we’re finishing up all the indoor scenes. Sex scenes. The emotional stuff.”

  “Probably a good thing you're doing them now, before you start showing,” he says, his hand still across my stomach. “I love you and our baby.”

  “We love you too.”

  Keatyn & Aiden’s home - Asher Vineyards

  DAWSON

  Keatyn and Aiden bring some snacks out to the porch along with our drinks.

  One sip tells me that this is seriously spiked lemonade.

  “Oh, this is gooood,” Knox drawls.

  “Gotta love good ol’ Southern hospitality,” Dallas agrees, taking a big sip.

  “So, Dawson,” Aiden says, “I hear you and Vanessa have been hooking up.”

  “Oh, Van-es-sa. Why have I not hit that yet?” Knox asks.

  I want to pick Knox up and pound him against the wall.

  I glare at him instead.

  He holds his hands up. “Jeez. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. Do you like her or are you just hooking up?”

  “Dawson and Vanessa know each other from a long time ago,” Keatyn interjects. “They will be working closely together.”

  “Really closely,” Aiden teases.

  Keatyn smiles at Aiden, but says to me, “Ignore him. Did the girls decide to sleep in the loft room?”

  “Are you kidding? They’re in heaven. It’s like a big camp slumber party with all those bunk beds and sleeping bags. And Harlow, being only seven, hasn’t been allowed to go on sleepovers yet, so she’s thrilled.”

  “Ava and Fallon seemed to hit it off,” Dallas says about our oldest daughters.

  “They did. It’s nice.”

  “Next time they come out, we’ll have to let them tour the kid’s school.”

  “I’m sure they would like that. I really appreciate this.” I look around. “Everyone. It means a lot to me.”

  “You’ve had a rough couple of years,” Aiden states.

  “And we’re glad to hear you’re back in the saddle again,” Dallas drawls. “Camden may or may not have called us and told us you needed to get laid.”

  “I don’t really think that’s any of your business,” Keatyn says, chiding them. But then she turns to me. “I don’t care about the sex. How are you feeling about all of this? The job? The house? The girls? About making it permanent? About Vanessa?”

  Aiden starts laughing. “In a round about way, she’s asking the same question I did.”

  “Fine,” she huffs. “Do you like her?”

  “I’ve only known her for a few days but, yes, I do.” And I miss her. “I’m beat. I think I’m going to bed. I’m sure the kids will run us ragged tomorrow.”

  Everyone says their goodnights and I go into my room and call her.

  “Hey, Vanessa.”

  “Hey, yourself,” she says. “All tucked in out in the wilderness?”

  “I am. As a matter of fact, I’m lying in a big four-poster bed all alone.”

  “I’m taking a bath,” she says, my mind immediately conjuring up naked images of her.

  “That’s sexy,” I say. “Are you naked?”

  “Uh, yeah?”

  I laugh at myself. “I’m sorry. That was about the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. I’m so out of practice when it comes to flirting.”

  “Are you trying to flirt with me, Dawson?”

  “I am. I miss you, actually.”

  “I miss you too. If I didn’t have to help my dad this weekend, I’d be lying in bed with you, instead of lying in the bathtub thinking about you.”

  “You’re thinking about me?” I ask, feeling both shocked and happy to hear so.

  “I’m thinking how I may never have sex without a fur coat again.”

  “Does that mean I succeeding in making you love it?”

  “You did. Just thinking about it gets me all hot and bothered.”

  “When can I see you again?”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Sunday night.”

  “Hmmm,” she says. “Okay, well, I could probably pencil you in for Thursday of next week.”

  “Oh, uh, okay,” I say, trying not to sound as dejected as I feel.

  “I’m teasing you, Dawson. Why don’t you come to my house when you get back. I’ll text you the address.”

  “I think I should take you out on a date.”

  “I’ll have my chef make us dinner here, although it’s highly doubtful I’ll let you leave my bed.”

  Saturday, October 4th

  Vanessa’s dad’s house - Beverly Hills

  VANESSA

  My dad is downsizing. Moving from the big house I grew up in to a condo near his office. I can see why he wants to move. The upkeep on a house this size and age has been a pain for him and all he really wants to do is work and golf. Mostly, golf.

  I’m helping him declutter the house to get it ready to go on the market. Apparently, a lot of the stuff he has is stuff from my youth. High school yearbooks. Prom favors. Clothes I didn’t think I could live without but have been without for the past ten years. He probably has my old stuffed animals. I’d bet he even has some of my mom’s stuff too.

  My mom passed away when I was in kindergarten, so I don’t really remember her much. Since then, my dad’s always treated me like a grown up, teaching me to be self-sufficient and confident. We had a live-in housekeeper who cooked for us and picked me up from school, but he was home for dinner and to tuck me into bed almost every night.

  Even though I don’t really want to waste a beautiful Saturday mucking through the attic, I want to help him.

  When I show up at the door, I’m shocked that he’s already accomplished a lot.

  “All I have left is this pile of your stuff.” He points toward the empty dining room.

  “That’s it? What did you do with everything else?”

  “I donated a lot. And I have a few things I’ve been meaning to give you.”

  “Like what?”

  He holds out a burled wood jewelry box. “This was your mother’s jewelry. I was going to give it to you when you got older, but then Bam bought you such amazing jewelry . . .”

  I slowly open the box. Dad takes a ring out and holds it in front of me. This was her engagement ring. Just a chip, really, but we didn’t have much money back then. I always told her I’d buy her a bigger one someday.” I hold up a locket. It’s oval and scrolled, the silver tarnished. “That was her grandmother’s. There’s a picture of you inside from when you were a baby.”

  I open it up and see my mother’s face next to my chubby baby one.

  “You look a lot like her, Vanessa. She was beautiful.”

  “You always said that all I got from you was your brains.”

  Dad laughs. “Your mother was a lot prettier than I was, but she was smart as a whip too.”

  I pick through other small jewelry items. A class ring. A sorority pin. A small diamond pendant. A pretty ruby ringed in diamonds.

  “Thanks, Dad,” I say, feeling overwhelmed.

  “And, now for the boxes,” he says, pointing. “I have to run and drop off this paperwork, but I’ll be right back. Have fun!”

  I quickly go through the boxes of clothes, laughing at how fashion has changed so much in a decade. So far, there isn’t anything I want to keep.


  I open a box full of bikinis and shorts. I hold up a pair of cut-offs that I only wore to the beach with Keatyn. I wouldn’t have been caught dead wearing something so unrefined at school. I laugh at myself. I thought I was so cool. I slip my linen capris off and slide the shorts on. They are ratty, a little ripped, and fringed. I don’t know why I decide to keep them, but I take them off and set them next to the jewelry box. Next, I go through boxes of old stuffed animals, childhood gymnastics and piano recital ribbons, and am planning on getting rid of it all.

  Buried in the bottom of a box of stuffed animals, I find a plain, wooden box. One I don’t recognize.

  I open it and read a letter on the top.

  My dearest Vanessa-

  This letter is for when you get married.

  I pull the rest of the papers out and open them, quickly realizing there are letters to me from my mother for all the big events in a girl’s life. For when you get your period. For when you have your first date. For when you lose your virginity. For when you graduate. For when you fall in love. For when you get married.

  The last letter has my dad’s name on the front. Inside it says: I’m sorry. Please give these to her.

  I read through them all, mesmerized by my mother’s words. The first letters are sweet and have pretty good advice. Others seem very old-fashioned, particularly the one about protecting my virtue. Others seem, I can’t put my finger on it but, off. The handwriting is harder to read and the words are jumbled.

  But, wait. My mom died in an accident.

  I look up and see my dad standing above me.

  “I didn’t give you those as she requested.”

  “Why?”

  “Your mother’s death was officially ruled an accidental overdose. She mixed antidepressants with alcohol.”

  “But . . .”

  He holds his hand up. “I know. Why the letters? I thought the same thing when I found this box in your bedside table a few weeks after she died.”

  “So, it wasn’t an accident?”

  “I don’t think so. I never told anyone. I didn’t want them to think differently of her. Particularly, her family.”

  “That must have been hard on you. Do you have any idea why she did it?” I ask, knowing there was a time in my life when even I didn’t want my life to go on.

  “She suffered from depression and was on medication. I thought she was doing well. We’d even considered having another baby. The note was a complete surprise.” He sits down next to me, tears shining in his eyes. “Vanessa, was I a good father?”

  “Yes, Dad,” I say, hugging him, tears filling my own eyes.

  “I worked a lot. I regret that.”

  “You taught me to have a good work ethic and you were always there when I needed you.”

  “I’m proud of you, Vanessa. You went through a lot, but you never gave up.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” I hug him tighter. “Speaking of never giving up, do you think maybe it’s time you started dating again?”

  Dad smiles. “Actually—”

  “Actually, what?” I say, my eyes getting big. “Are you seeing someone?”

  He blushes a little. “Cora.”

  “Are you serious? She’s been your assistant for fifteen years!”

  “Yes, and apparently I’m blind because she says she’s been interested for most of those years.”

  I give him another squeeze. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “I’m happy for me too. I know things went badly with Bam, but don’t let that stop you from letting yourself feel again. Find a man who loves you—truly loves you—and nothing else really matters.”

  “Can I tell you something personal?”

  “As long as it doesn’t have to do with sex.”

  I laugh. “I’m sort of seeing someone.”

  “Really? Tell me about him.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying that I’m seeing him, because it seems too soon to say that, but I can’t stop thinking about him. His name is Dawson Johnson.”

  “Is he related to Riley?”

  “They’re brothers. It’s a crazy story, really, but we met at Keatyn’s eighteenth birthday party. We kissed and danced all night, but didn’t stay in touch. Somehow, I’ve never crossed paths with him again until the other day when he came to work at Captive. He’s so handsome and sweet. He’s a widow. His wife died a couple years ago and he took it hard. Hasn’t worked in two years. But we’ve hung out and we’ve talked and kissed.” I stop babbling and laugh at myself. “I sound like a teenager.”

  “Sounds like you should go see him,” Dad says.

  “He went up to the vineyard for the weekend, but he did call me last night and said he misses me.”

  “Maybe you should go up there and surprise him.”

  I nod my head. “I think you’re right, Dad.”

  I drive home, pack an overnight bag, and am back in the car in a flash.

  As I’m heading to the airport, I call Keatyn. “Hey, I just got done at my dad’s place and thought I’d head up that way. You have room for me?”

  “Of course we have room.”

  “It’s always so relaxing there.”

  “Oh, I’m not sure how relaxing it will be this time. Dallas is here with his four kids. Knox decided to come up. Aiden is still working on the barn and, of course, Dawson is here with his girls.”

  “Dawson brought girls with him?”

  “Not girls, like dates. Girls as in, daughters. They came out for the weekend.”

  “He has kids?”

  “Yes, two beautiful little girls.”

  “He didn’t tell me. Why didn’t he tell me? God dammit. I’ll be there shortly.”

  “Vanessa, I can tell by the tone of your voice that you’re pissed Dawson didn’t tell you, but don’t you dare come up here and make a scene. Not in front of them. It wouldn’t be right.”

  “I agree not to make a scene, if you agree not to tell him I’m coming.”

  “We just had a picnic and now they’re riding horses to the pond. I probably won’t see him for a while.”

  The whole way there I’m racking my brain, wondering what it means that he didn’t tell me.

  Keatyn & Aiden’s home - Asher Vineyards

  ARIELA

  “Sorry, I’m late,” I tell Keatyn, getting out of my car. “I stopped at the winery to see Maggie.”

  “How did that go?”

  “Really well. She hasn’t changed a bit. I love that she and Logan are still together. They were always so cute.”

  “They still are,” she says.

  “I need to thank you, Keatyn. For being so kind to me when I haven’t talked to you for so long. For asking me to plan your wedding. For inviting me up here to relax. I really appreciate it.”

  She smiles and touches my arm. “I’m glad you’re back in my life, Ariela. And I’m excited to have you help with my wedding. So, what do you want to see first?”

  “Why don’t you just give me the grand tour, as you picture it in your head. Pretend I’m a wedding guest who has just arrived. Where will I park? What path will I take to the ceremony? What will I sit on? What will I see?”

  “Oh, gosh, that’s a lot of questions. Okay, so over here, to the south of the house is a lot of grass. We can park cars there, or we can have them park down the hill at the winery and shuttle them up. Although, there’s a wedding taking place on the grounds there, so that might complicate things.”

  “Let’s have them park here then. What else?”

  “I want to do our vows right before the sun sets. I’d like the guests to feel welcome and relaxed right away. I was thinking of giving them spiked lemonade somewhere between here and the ceremony.”

  “Why spiked lemonade?” I ask.

  “It’s what I always drank at my grandparents’ ranch in Texas. And, now, they have been coming up here a lot, so we sit on the porch most nights and drink it.”

  “I love that. Those are the kind of things that make a wedding personal. We’ll be
sure to put a sign on it that says it’s Grandma’s recipe.”

  “From there, they will walk—hmmm, this is all grass, and that’s not great if you’re in heels. I should probably have a path put in, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I do. Okay, so we’re walking along the side of your house to your backyard. Oh, wow,” I say, seeing it for the first time. “I can see why you want to get married here. It’s spectacular.” And it is. There’s a gorgeous rectangular pool, set in an expansive stone and brick patio. The landscaping is lush but minimal which is good. With the rolling hills surrounding us and the view of the ocean, you don’t need much.

  “Thank you. We love it and the land means so much to us.”

  “I saw in the movie how you bought it for him when you thought you weren’t going to survive things with the stalker. You two have an epic love story. We want your wedding to highlight that.”

  “That’s why I want the ceremony here. Aiden has wood left over from the barn that he wants to build an altar with. And while I think wood is pretty, I don’t want the wedding to be too rustic. I want some glamour. Lots of flowers, maybe a chandelier. I was also thinking instead of just renting chairs, it would be cool to bring in furniture. Like you raided your grandma’s attic, only classy.”

  “Sort of a rustic, shabby chic vibe?”

  “Yes, but not too shabby,” she says with a laugh. “And not too rustic.”

  “So, rustic, elegant, shabby chic?”

  “Yes! That’s exactly what I want.”

  “I have a photo of an altar that is so gorgeous and I’ve been saving it for the right setting. It’s draped with silk, held in place with flowers, and has a huge chandelier hanging in the center. It’s elegant, but soft. I have a picture of it on my phone. Hang on. Let me find it.”

  I scroll through my photos, find it, and show it to her.

  “Oh, Ariela,” she screeches. “It’s perfect! I love it! And those flowers are the pale pastel colors I want to use. Maybe just add some feathers?”

  “We can definitely add feathers. And here’s a photo of mismatched pastel furniture. Is that close to what you’re thinking?”