Hollywood Love: Book 15: A sexy celebrity romance (Hollywood Billionaires)

by Jillian Dodd

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright page

  Thursday, October 30th

  Friday, October 31st

  Saturday, November 1st

  Books by Jillian

  HOLLYWOOD LOVE

  Book #15

  ————————————————————-

  JILLIAN DODD

  Copyright © 2014-2017 by Jillian Dodd

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. This young adult romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced I this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of the trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners. This ebook is licensed for you personal use only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with someone, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with, especially if you love swoon-worthy boys, strong heroines, and epic love stories.

  If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

  Jillian Dodd Inc.

  N. Redington Beach, FL

  Jillian Dodd and The Keatyn Chronicles are registered trademarks of Jillian Dodd, Inc.

  Thursday, October 30th

  Bam’s Castle - Turin, Italy

  SHELBY

  “My dear, if you are going to be my daughter, I need you to be candid with me,” Juan’s mother says. “I can’t help but have noticed that you don’t drink alcohol. Are you a teetotaler, or are you with child?”

  “My mother was an addict, so I don’t drink much,” I reply.

  She raises an eyebrow at me. Based on the amount of work she’s had done to her face, I know this takes effort.

  “I don’t want to be dishonest with you. That’s not the way I want to start off our relationship when you have been so generous with your time regarding our wedding. But I also don’t want to offend you or go against Juan’s wishes.”

  “How would you offend me?” she asks.

  “Because of our religious beliefs,” I say gently.

  She laughs. “Darling, my own marriage took place in July, and Juan was born in January. I’m afraid our passion could not wait until we were married. My being pregnant is why we got married, although I fiercely loved him.”

  “Fiercely.” I nod. “That is the perfect word to describe how I feel about your son. I admit to very humble beginnings, and honestly, I didn’t want to accept this ring. I would have been just as happy if he had given me a plastic one. I only want his love. For our wedding, I want to do what makes your family happy. All I care about is marrying him in the church.”

  “What about your family, dear?”

  I don’t tell her about my mother. It’s not that part of me doesn’t still love her, but I lied to Riley. She hasn’t gotten her life together and probably never will. And she never really wanted me to begin with.

  “My grandmother and I were close, but she passed away when I was young. My mother and I are estranged, and it’s best that way. She has a toxic personality, and after I moved away from home as a teen, I’ve never gone back. I’ve spoken to her, but unfortunately, she has no desire to be part of my life.”

  Mrs. Martinez pulls me into her arms and gives me a motherly hug. And it’s really nice.

  “You have a family now. Tonight, you will meet Juan’s brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews. I have five children, and all but Juan are married with families. If you tell me that you are indeed with child, regardless of your marriage status, you will make me the happiest woman in the world.”

  I get tears in my eyes. Finally, someone who is excited about my pregnancy. “I am with child.”

  “And how far along are you?”

  “Twelve weeks on Sunday.” I grab my ultrasound photo. I did actually go to the doctor. “Things are progressing well.”

  I hand her the photo. As she stares at it, her eyes become shiny.

  “I’m very happy for you both. When does my son intend to announce this?”

  “He wants to wait until after the wedding.”

  Tears gather in her eyes, but she has yet to blink, not allowing them to fall. “As I’m sure you know, Juan’s father is gravely ill. It is his dying wish that all his children be married and have children of their own. Would you please talk to Juan and ask him to reconsider? If it is announced tonight at dinner, no matter when he passes on, it will be with joy in his heart.”

  Tears fill my eyes as she tightly squeezes my hand. “I will ask, and if he disagrees”—I smile—“maybe I will accidentally let it slip.”

  She laughs through her tears. “That is how many a wife gets her way in life. When my husband passes, Juan will take on a great responsibility.”

  “I know. He told me.”

  “Does he seem to have any regrets?”

  “Only one. He loves playing polo. You can see it in his eyes when he speaks of it. As someone who loves him, I worry that he will regret leaving the game he has spent his lifetime perfecting. But he greatly values his family and will do what he must.”

  “I see,” she says curtly.

  Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have told her the truth.

  At dinner, when all is announced and congratulations are had, we are asked to retire to Juan’s parents’ sitting room in their large quarters.

  “Juan,” his mother says once we are all seated, “your father and I have been discussing something I never realized until your love and I spoke of it today.”

  “What did you speak of?” he asks, his eyes wildly searching mine for answers.

  “Your career. You should know that we are very proud of you for pursuing your dreams and what it has led you to accomplish. Honestly, we had thought you to be impetuous because of the game. We often felt jealous that it took you away from us. But your father remembers your first match and the joy written all over your face. We are proud of your pursuit of greatness in your sport. We know that you have sacrificed much in that pursuit, but we thought that it was the cause for you not having children, for seeming not to want to settle down. After meeting Shelby—learning of your desire to marry and her being with child and witnessing your happiness—we realize that we were remarkably incorrect. You had just not met the right woman who was worth settling down for.”

  “I’m thankful that you are proud of my accomplishments. That means a lot to me,” he says.

  “We don’t want you to retire from the game you love,” his father says.

  “What do you mean? I must take over the family business.”

  “We see no reason why you can’t do both. For the day-to-day operations of the business, there is a very talented young man running our mining division. I think you are well acquainted.”

  “Are you referring to Nico?” Juan asks his father.

  “Yes. This week, I will be relinquishing my role as chairman of the board to you, my son. I suggest your first order of business is to promote your most trust
ed friend, Nico, to CEO of our holding company. He can handle the day-to-day operations of our conglomerate while you pursue your passions. If I can give you some advice, Juan, regardless of blood relation, only put those you trust in places of power within your organization. It is of the utmost importance.”

  Juan looks overwhelmed with emotions as he takes his father’s hand, kisses his forehead, and says, “Thank you, Papa.”

  We bid his parents good night, and when we get back to our room, Juan slams the door shut, pushes me up against it, deeply kisses me, and shoves up the layers of my skirt.

  Much later, when we are both physically spent and have finally made our way to the bed, he holds me in his arms and says, “You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.”

  Johnson Home — New York City

  VANESSA

  “Happy late birthday,” I tell Riley when he greets us at his parents’ front door.

  “Thanks,” he says, giving us hugs then taking our coats.

  “Where is everyone?” Dawson asks.

  “Dad’s out back, smoking a cigar. Mom is still at dance class with the girls,” Riley tells us, glancing at his watch. “They should be done by now, but Mom was going to take them to dinner. She was worried that if she got back here before we left, the girls would want to go.”

  “That’s true,” Dawson says. “Fill us in on your birthday. What did you do? I hope it involved bowling and waffles.”

  “My actual birthday was pretty low-key but nice. Keatyn had Marcel make chicken and waffles and a confetti birthday cake. Dallas and I went bowling, did a little pub-crawling, and then capped the night off with a great dinner at an iconic London steak house. Left early the next morning, touching down in New York around noon. After I got dropped off, the plane refueled and then took Dallas out west to California.”

  “And we’re very glad it did,” I say, grinning. “Thank you for having it bring us here. It’s the first time I’ve had the pleasure of flying in it. And I hope it won’t be the last.”

  “It won’t be,” Riley says. But then he gets to what’s really on his mind. “Are you sure you need to go to this event?”

  “We have to go,” I answer simply. “It’s important to Dawson.”

  He shakes his head as he moves toward the bar. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  “Riley,” Dawson says, snaking his arm around my waist, “of all people, you ought to know that Vanessa can handle herself in volatile situations. It’s part of her job.”

  “That’s right,” I say, giving him a sweet kiss. “I can.”

  But part of me isn’t so sure. Going to Dawson’s dead wife’s fundraiser is sort of the last thing I want to do. But I love him and want to support him. And he’s been extremely stressed out and a little snippy the last couple of days. At first, I worried it might be because of my pregnancy, but I think it’s because he’s been dreading this event.

  The event is being held in a posh ballroom in a beautiful old hotel with views of Central Park.

  As Dawson takes my hand to help me out of the limo, his voice wavers. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Let me fix your tie first.” I slide my hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and pull him closer to me.

  “I’ve never been very good at tying a bow tie.”

  “Lucky for you, I am. I used to tie my dad’s.” I undo and then properly retie the bowtie, pulling out the edges of the bow.

  Dawson grabs my wrists and gazes into my eyes. “You have no idea how much it means to me that you’re here.”

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be than by your side,” I say sincerely as his hands slide down my arms and then one covers my belly.

  “Are you sure you’re not too tired?”

  “I’m fine. I slept with my head in your lap nearly the entire flight here.”

  “I know,” he says with a grin. “It was heavenly.”

  “You are a charmer,” I tell him. “And you look quite handsome.”

  “I look pretty damn handsome, too, if I do say so myself,” Riley interjects. “Let’s go do this. The sooner we get in there, the sooner we can get the fuck out.”

  I notice Dawson and Riley exchange a look.

  “What was that all about?” I ask Riley.

  “Nothing,” he lies. “We were just admiring how fine you look in that red gown.”

  I narrow my eyes at Dawson, causing him to roll his. “Fine. Riley agreed to take you home early if need be.”

  “While I find that very sweet, I’m a big girl. If I want to leave, I will. I don’t need a chaperone.”

  Once we walk into the ballroom, it doesn’t take long for Whitney’s mother, Mrs. Clarke, to make a beeline for us.

  “That’s her,” Riley says to me. “I’m half-tempted to pretend you are my date, so she doesn’t freak out on Dawson.”

  But I just nod my head and keep my arm tucked under Dawson’s elbow.

  “Is this the woman you’re going to live in sin with?” the woman asks. “What kind of values will that give my granddaughters?”

  Riley starts to say something, but Dawson doesn’t allow it. “Mrs. Clarke, with all due respect, the values I choose to teach my children are none of your business.”

  “I disagree wholeheartedly. You’re setting a bad example, and I won’t stand for it. And what about Whitney? What about their mother?”

  “She’s dead,” I say, causing everyone’s mouths to drop open.

  Mrs. Clarke narrows her eyes at me and walks away.

  “I can’t believe you just said that,” Riley says. “Go, Vanessa.”

  “I hope it didn’t come off as rude or disrespectful,” I say. “I was just stating the obvious.”

  “Well, it was awesome,” Riley says.

  But Dawson doesn’t look so sure.

  The rest of the evening goes smoothly. I enjoy meeting the people Dawson used to work with as well as the couples he and Whitney were friends with. All seem genuinely happy to hear that he and the girls are doing well. Other than the run-in with Whitney’s mother, I’ve felt completely welcome at the event.

  While Dawson and Riley are engaged in a serious conversation with an old family friend, I step away to get some water. It’s starting to get warm in here, and I’m feeling a little flushed.

  I’m nearly to the bar when Whitney’s mother corners me.

  “Why are you here? It’s so disrespectful to my daughter’s memory,” she says.

  “I’m here for two reasons,” I reply calmly. “The first one being that I’m here to support Dawson.”

  “And the second?” she snaps.

  “Because I can relate,” I say softly.

  “And just how can you do that?” Her face twists up, making her look ugly.

  I don’t reply right away. I want my comment to have sufficient weight.

  I am silent for a few beats and then finally say, “Because my own mother committed suicide when I was young. I know what it’s like to grow up without a mother, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

  Her face goes slack, but then she steadies herself, putting the bitch face back on. “I’ll have you know that my daughter got stuck inside the garage while her car was running. She never would have killed herself. And you are disgracing her honor by suggesting otherwise.”

  “I see,” I say quietly and walk away. There’s really nothing more I can say. The woman obviously isn’t dealing with reality. Or maybe the guilt she feels for not being supportive of her daughter weighs on her, and it’s easier to pretend—like my dad did.

  “I heard what she said to you,” Dawson says, pulling me into his arms. “I appreciate your support more than you know.”

  “It’s really too bad she isn’t open about what Whitney did. When you told me that she did a fundraiser every year in her daughter’s honor, I just assumed it went to charities that supported those who dealt with depression. I’m also surprised you’ve never teamed up with Moon Wish.”

  “It’s jus
t how she is. She was hard on Whitney and was always comparing her to her older sister. Whitney never felt good enough, which certainly wasn’t the cause of her depression, but it didn’t help matters. As for teaming up, honestly, I have barely been able to deal with my own family for the last couple of years.”

  “Does that mean you don’t have any say?”

  “In where the money goes?” he asks.

  “Yes.” I turn and ask the bartender for a glass of water.

  As I take a sip, Dawson says, “Whitney’s grandfather set up the foundation and made me the trustee, but for the past two years, Whitney’s mom has told me how to allocate the funds.”

  “Maybe out of respect for your late wife, you shouldn’t do what her mother tells you.”

  Dawson smiles at me, nodding his head. “You’re amazing.”

  “That, I know.” I smirk. “But am I right? I’m good at PR. We could do big things with it, if that’s something you want. But I don’t want to push you to do something you aren’t comfortable with. I also think your girls need to understand. Understand what happened. Understand the disease. Be able to help the cause.”

  “You’re right about everything,” he says.

  He’s deep in thought when Whitney’s mother takes the stage.

  She speaks fondly of her late daughter before calling up Dawson.

  I have to give him a little nudge with my elbow.

  “Shit,” he mutters as he realizes it’s time for him to take his place behind the podium.

  He makes his way to the front of the room and gives a brief overview of the causes the foundation donated money to this past year, using a few notecards as his guide, but then he sets the cards down, steps out from behind the podium, and paces across the stage.

  “This is usually the point in my speech where I tell you about our goals for the coming year, but . . .” He runs his hand back through his hair, seemingly struggling to keep his composure. “The first time we gathered for this event, it was only a month after Whitney’s death, and the pain was very fresh. I could barely believe she was gone.