Before A Perfect World: Movie Trilogy, Book Two (The Movie 2)

by Kimberly Adams

  As I pulled into her driveway, I shifted into park to gaze at her childhood home.

  It was obvious to me that Vivian Hale had grown up in the palace of upper-middle-class suburbia.

  Her home reminded me of the house in Father of the Bride. Black shutters on white siding, at least ten windows facing the street, and an adorable basketball hoop erected along the paved driveway.

  Did she play basketball? Does she play basketball?

  I climbed out of the car, raking my hand through my hair nervously. Around half a mile back, I’d considered finding a local bar for a quick shot, but the last thing I needed was for her father to smell booze on my breath.

  Especially after I told him that I’d knocked his daughter up and was taking her home to LA with me to star in my movie.

  Let the games begin.

  Taking a quick breath, I straightened my shoulders and hit the doorbell. I hadn’t felt this fucking nervous since high school.

  After more than three minutes passed, I tried again.

  Nothing.

  Narrowing my eyes, I followed the shrubs along the house and stepped through the grass to the back yard.

  At least an acre of land and wooded area spread before me, and I noticed the mother-in-law suite just off to the right of the property. Dots of rain had begun to fall on the in-ground, Olympic-sized pool, startling the crystal-blue surface of the water.

  I saw her then.

  She lay in a huge, wooden hammock with an overhanging canopy, sound asleep.

  I crossed the yard, tucking my hands into the pockets of my jeans.

  She was stunning.

  Her hair was pulled back in that ever-present ponytail, giving me full access to her perfect, heart-shaped face. Her snowy-white skin, so flawless, flushed at her cheeks. I noted small, dark shadows under her eyes, and immediately was worried about her.

  Was she sick? Did he hurt her?

  She wore a thin, blue sweater over a white sundress. Her stark, white skirt stopped so far up her tanned thigh that I couldn’t tear my eyes off of her legs. My gaze traveled over their long, silky curves. Her feet were bare, and her toenails were painted shell pink to match her fingernails. And then I saw it, tied around her ankle.

  The camera charm from Idlewild.

  Smiling, I reached for the little pewter charm, fingering it lightly before letting it fall against her skin. The rain picked up a little, and so did the wind, catching her dark hair and sweeping the locks across her cheeks.

  She sighed, her long, dark lashes fluttering. Her eyes were bluer than I’d ever seen them, still hazy with sleep, and her brows knitted together in confusion.

  “Keaton?”

  I knelt down in the cool, damp grass, sliding one hand over her waist and the other over her forehead.

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She blinked twice, taking long moments to piece together what I was asking her.

  “No,” she replied softly, closing her eyes. “I hurt him.”

  I circled my lips over hers, and she exhaled quickly, her breath sweet on my mouth.

  “You’re very beautiful, lying here in the rain.”

  She smirked, a reaction I didn’t expect from her after the emotional roller-coaster of the last week.

  “That is something my Keaton would never say.”

  I moved closer, catching her lips in mine. She moaned softly, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  “You’re right,” I whispered against her mouth. “What I meant to say is, you’re hotter than a firecracker, all fuckable out here in this sex swing.”

  She burst out laughing, slapping my shoulder. The musical sound of her voice filled my mouth as I deepened my kiss.

  “Keaton! It’s a hammock,” she cried, tilting her face to give me better access to her mouth. I dipped my lips to her neck, fighting back the raging hard-on as my hand slid over her stomach.

  “So, this is your house?” I asked between kisses. She writhed, her knees locked together as my tongue flicked against her soft skin.

  “My parents’,” she murmured, and then gasped, her fingers locking around my wrist. “My parents! You have to stop!”

  “Calm down, I don’t think they’re home,” I assured her.

  A sharp crack of thunder forced a strangled scream from her throat, and I chuckled, scooping her into my arms and turning for the house.

  The sky opened up then, but I couldn’t run. I couldn’t do anything but hold her in my arms, finding her lips again.

  Rain poured over our faces, soaking us both, and neither of us could afford the precious seconds between breaths to care.

  “Keaton… you came, I never expected you to come,” she poured, jerking at another loud boom overhead.

  “Of course I came. I wasn’t going to interfere, though. I was just going to sit in on your acting classes.”

  “Oh, my class! What time is it? I-”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll reschedule. You need some rest. And food. I can tell by those shadows under your pretty eyes.”

  My compliment did everything I’d intended it to do. She hugged me tighter. “Please don’t stop kissing me,” she begged.

  I carried her up the deck stairs and to the back of the house, yanking at the sliding glass door. She moved, urging me to put her down, and I gently lowered her to her feet.

  “Upstairs?” I asked, unable to stop running my hands over her face. I wanted to back her up to the kitchen table in front of us, hike up her dress, and bury myself inside of her.

  But I didn’t think her parents would appreciate that very much.

  “Yes. Top of the stairs, to the right.”

  I followed her. Her bedroom appeared to be frozen in time; stuffed animals on the bed, Broadway posters lining the walls, and a peaches-and-cream patterned comforter that screamed innocence.

  “Vivian Hale’s room,” I murmured, and she blushed, moving past me into the adjoining bathroom. She re-emerged with two oversized, fluffy peach towels, handing me one to dry off with.

  “You have to remember, I haven’t lived here in a long time.”

  “Phantom of the Opera… Evita… Cats. Andrew Lloyd Webber threw up all over your walls, V,” I teased, closing her bedroom door behind us.

  She wiped at the rain on her face, peeling off her sweater and pulling the band holding her hair. She shook the long, dark locks out, letting them whip against her skin.

  I immediately thought of her strip-tease in the hotel room and lost all sense of reason.

  Picking her up at the waist, I lifted her to the bed, crawling over her as my lips crushed to hers.

  “Keaton,” she moaned, opening her legs to me. As she did, her skirt fell back to her abdomen, revealing a tiny pair of white bikini panties.

  Fuck. Me.

  I tucked one hand under her knee, sliding my palm slowly up her leg.

  By the time I reached her thigh, she was arching her back, giving me full access to the perfect V between her thighs.

  I yanked at the thin spaghetti strap of her dress, grasping her full breast in my hand. Her chest felt bigger than I remembered, and she cried out in what definitely sounded like pain.

  Unfurling my hand, I pulled away from her. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

  “My chest… is sore,” she admitted, exhaling a short, breathy laugh. “My boobs are sore, Keaton.”

  “Vivian,” I murmured, sliding down her length to her belly. I’d been waiting to kiss her stomach since the moment she told me that she was pregnant, and now I couldn’t think of anything else.

  As my mouth came down on her bare skin, I fisted her soft cotton dress, and she slid her hands through my hair.

  “You didn’t hurt me-”

  “Tell me you love me,” I ordered, moving up to her mouth as I hooked my thumb in her panties.

  “I love you,” she breathed, her words catching in her throat as I drew my finger along her moistened opening.

  “Say it again,” I demanded, more forcefully than I’d inte
nded. As I pushed my finger inside of her, she moaned, throwing her head back.

  “I love you Keaton!” she cried.

  Another finger.

  My heart thundered, and I drove her mad beneath me, pressing as deeply as I could. She tried to clamp her legs around my hand, but I held her knees apart.

  She came against my hand, clenching against me, and I watched the tumultuous expression on her face as the orgasm forced a scream to her throat.

  “Hello? Vivian? Are you up here?”

  “Oh! Oh God it’s my mom!” she practically leapt off the bed, and I caught her, easing her back to her pillow of stuffed animals.

  “Shh. Calm down. I’m going to go in the bathroom. Sit up, collect yourself. You’re an adult, V.”

  “Right,” she acknowledged, attempting to straighten her hair. I hurried to the bathroom, closing the door softly.

  “Vivian?” her mother’s voice called again, and I moved to the sink, staring in the mirror as I cleaned myself up.

  I’d just made her come, I could barely control the bulge in my jeans, and I was about to meet her parents.

  For the first time in what felt like a million years, I prayed. When I realized that it was useless to pray about the blood flow to my dick, I stared at her tiny pair of black, lace panties on the floor outside the shower, wrapping my hand around my cock.

  I was done in two pumps. I heard her voice outside the door, accompanied by a soft knock.

  “Keaton?”

  I took another breath, cleaning myself up before zipping my jeans.

  Here we go.

  Meet the Parents

  V

  He stepped out of the bathroom, looking cool and collected. His jeans rode his hips perfectly, and his rain-dampened white shirt showed just enough of his chest to remind me of what had just transpired on my fluffy bedspread.

  “Where’s your mom?”

  “She went downstairs with my dad. They’re waiting for us.”

  He smirked, stepping forward to tip my chin up with his fingertip. “What do they know?”

  I sighed, pressing my face to his chest and wrapping my arms around him. “They know I’m pregnant. They haven’t asked, but I’m assuming they think it’s Matthew’s. They have no idea about you.”

  “Well, this should be fun.” He kissed my forehead. “You’re flushed.”

  “No shit,” I whispered defensively, pulling away to press my hands to my cheeks. “You just- on my bed-”

  “Vivian, we’re waiting,” a man’s voice called from downstairs.

  “Come on, V.” He dropped his hand to the small of my back, leading me toward the staircase.

  We came face to face with my parents in the kitchen.

  My mom pulled back in surprise, her eyes raking over Keaton. My dad stepped forward, his discerning gaze focused on the man at my side.

  “Dad, Mom,” I began carefully, “this is Keaton Thorne. Keaton, my mom, Catherine, and my dad, Greg.”

  “A pleasure to finally meet you,” Keaton greeted, shaking both of their hands. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Keaton Thorne… Jane and Tony’s son?” my mom clarified. I remembered then that my parents had grown up in the same town as Keaton had.

  I blinked, looking up at Keaton, realizing at that moment that I didn’t know his father’s name. He only smiled, nodding.

  “That’s me.”

  “I adore your mom, how is she?” my mother asked politely, ignoring my dad’s scrutinizing look.

  “She’s doing just fine. My little sister, Robin, lives with her. Luke just got married in July. In fact, Vivian accompanied me to the wedding,” he pointed out, smiling charmingly my way.

  In all of thirty seconds, he’d managed to completely disarm my mother. She nearly swooned, smiling at my dad. “Little Luke Thorne, all grown up? I can’t even believe it! Greg, you remember Jane, she was always active in the church with Mum-”

  “I remember.” My dad reached to pat Keaton’s shoulder, and I nearly fell over. I’d never seen him show any kind of affection toward Matthew, and certainly not ever witnessed him proactively reach out to him. “You’re a good kid. I remember the way you looked out for your little brother.”

  Some awkwardness passed between us all, and I looked up at Keaton in confusion. He kept his charismatic smile plastered on his face, but I could tell that he was irritated over something.

  And suddenly, I remembered the fact that his dad had been abusive, and it was entirely possible that my own dad was bringing that shit up now.

  I covered my hands over my stomach, swallowing hard. “Mom, Dad… we… Keaton and I, um, we-”

  “I’ve asked Vivian to marry me, and she’s accepted.” Keaton dropped his arm around my waist, turning to kiss the top of my head.

  So much for easing them into the information. Apparently, Keaton had no concept of any delivery other than blunt drama.

  “What?”

  “What about Matthew?”

  “You’re pregnant again, Vivian-”

  “Our baby is due in March,” he cut in with a wide grin. “When she was out in LA last week auditioning for my movie, I had her seen by a specialist. In fact,” he said, reaching into his back pocket to extract his wallet, “meet… your granddaughter. I have a feeling she’s a girl,” he added to me with a wink.

  My father couldn’t say a word. My mom’s mouth hung open, and she reached for the ultrasound photo, her eyes wide.

  “Movie? Vivian?” Dad looked between the two of us expectantly.

  “I know, this is a lot of information, really fast. Here.” He tucked his wallet back in his pocket, retrieving his phone. “Let me order some dinner. Or would you rather go out, V?”

  He commanded the situation, and I could feel the tension increase between the four of us.

  “Keaton is a director, Dad. He… won an Oscar,” I began, wishing my words back.

  Rewind time.

  Time travel.

  Go back. Noooooo…

  “An Oscar? Oh my, Keaton! What movie?” my mother gushed, gripping the ultrasound photo with her fingers.

  He kept his even smile. “It’s a documentary called Dominance. It’s about-”

  “I want to go out! Out,” I interrupted, nearly shouting at him before he could begin talking about the details of his BDSM documentary with my parents. “I’ve been craving Mexican food. Please?”

  “Of course, kiddo,” he replied, too quickly, and I realized that he must have realized what I was doing. “Mr. and Mrs. Hale, would you care to join us?”

  “Catherine,” my mother corrected, giving my dad a sideways glance.

  My father looked between the two of us, once, twice, before turning to Keaton. “How old are you, son?”

  “Almost twenty-seven. My birthday is Saturday.”

  I looked up at him quickly. I didn’t know his birthday, either. What is wrong with me? Why are we always talking about me? Am I that self-absorbed?

  “And Matthew is out of the picture, I assume?” he pressed, now looking my way. I tried not to cower under his domineering gaze.

  “Matthew and I will always be… friends,” I stammered, reaching for a long strand of my hair. “He loves me so much, and I love him, but not like I love Keaton, and-”

  “She’s adorable when she rambles,” Keaton interrupted, and his silencing glare was enough to force the hairs on my arms to attention.

  Had I really just said that I still loved Matthew? What in the fucking fuck was wrong with me?

  After ten endless seconds, my father finally reached for Keaton’s hand.

  Keaton accepted his handshake, his winning grin charming the slacks off of my mother.

  “Greg,” my dad said, giving me a quick glance before nodding at Keaton. “Please call me Greg. And,” he began, gesturing out to the Ferrari in the driveway, “we’re taking your car.”

  Keaton grinned, hugging me closer to his side. “Vivian told me that you have a passion for classic cars…”
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  I followed them out the door, dumbfounded at how quickly my dad and Keaton seemed to have bonded. My mom linked her arm through mine, hugging me to her. “Vivian, he’s so handsome,” she crooned.

  Stiffening, I fell back and lowered my voice. “So is Matthew,” I defended, under my breath.

  Her expression hardened. “We’re not talking about Matthew, honey. If you’re in love with this boy- with Keaton- then get your priorities in order. Let Matthew go.”

  My mother. She had the ability to wrap up everything that had happened over the past two years with a neat little bow and tuck it away in the back of her mind.

  “Right,” I agreed softly, watching my dad run his hands over the Ferrari. “Dad seems to like him.”

  “He remembers when the Thorne children were just little. Poor Keaton; he took the brunt of his father’s alcoholism and abuse. It was no secret what went on in that house. He’s a strong boy. Man,” she corrected, winking my way.

  What? No. God no. “Mom, stop looking at him like that,” I begged.

  “He reminds me of… oh, what’s his name, that actor in the Star Trek movies, the new one…”

  “Chris Pine,” I supplied, gazing at my gorgeous fiancé.

  “Yes! Hmm,” she hummed, making her way toward the car.

  “Vivian?” Keaton called, opening the door for me. His hazel eyes sparkled in the beam of sunlight that had broken through the evening storm.

  I took a steadying breath, thanking him before sliding into the leather seat.

  . . .

  My dad sat up front with Keaton, and I sat in the back with my mom, marveling at Keaton’s enigmatic personality. He had my parents completely enamored, recounting a few entertaining Hollywood stories that had my mom seeing stars.

  “What was the red carpet like?” my mom asked, leaning forward between the seats. I couldn’t believe that, after all the drama and stress they’d put me through over Matthew, they just readily accepted Keaton into their lives.

  Had I already paved the road to this shit show with Matthew?

  “Vivian can tell you after Saturday,” he said, catching my eyes through the rearview mirror.