Unforgettable: The Complete Series (A Sexy Cinderella Standalone Love Story)

by Nelle L'Amour

  “How do I look?” Smiling, he makes a final adjustment to his bow tie. The rich purple color turns his eyes an even deeper shade of violet. Two sparkling amethysts.

  Holy hotness! My heart flutters and my pussy pulses. I’m melting like a popsicle. He looks breathtaking. Devastating. Sexy as sin. Every bit the big star he is.

  “Y-you look…beautiful.” So, so, beautiful. I think I’m going to die.

  He flicks my chin, and the very touch of him brings me closer to my inevitable demise. A glint in his eyes and a small grateful smile light up his face. “Thanks, Zoey.”

  Before I can reply, I hear a car pull into the driveway. He hears it too.

  “That must be my limo.”

  With a sinking heart, I follow him into the living room. It takes another nosedive at the sight of Katrina. Clad in a body-hugging sparkly gown in an eye-catching shade of coral, she looks like a goddess. Her golden hair cascades over her shoulders like a shimmering cape and an array of glittering diamonds light her up like the glimmering North Star. She completely ignores me. It’s as if I don’t exist.

  She grabs Brandon’s hand. “Come on, darling, let’s go. I don’t want to miss one red carpet opportunity.”

  “Good luck tonight, Brandon,” I say, meaning it from the bottom of my heart. Yet, every word’s an effort.

  He looks over his shoulder as Katrina hurls him toward the door. Our eyes connect. I swear there are sparks flying between us. The ache in my core is palpable.

  His eyes never leave mine as he quirks a small melancholic smile. “Thanks, Zoey. Look for me on TV.”

  Fighting back tears, I simply nod. They disappear, and after a forlorn sigh, I hear the limo pull away.

  I slump down onto the couch and bury my head between my hands. I feel like poor Cinderella, left behind for the ball. Except Cinderella was way better off. At least she had a couple of cute mice to hang out with to cheer her up along with a trusty fairy godmother to make her dreams come true. Bippity-boppity-boo.

  Chapter 30

  Brandon

  Flash! My eyes flutter madly. My head hurts. I’m having a memory breakthrough. I remember something and silently curse. I hate this shit. It’s a goddamn circus. A media frenzy. The part of being a megastar that I despise. Our limo pulls up to the entrance of the Beverly Hilton, and even before we step out of the car, paparazzi storm us. Click! Click! Click! The never-ending flashes blind my eyes and clog my eardrums. I fake a megawatt Hollywood smile when really what I want to do is smash each and every one of these assholes’ cameras. Wearing Katrina on my arm like a clunky piece of jewelry, the walk of fame down the red carpet feels like an eternity. That’s because my fiancée insists on talking to every E! Entertainment reporter who accosts her and mugging for the paparazzi and glam cams. While zealous fans gathered outside the hotel are roaring “We love you, Bratrina!” and hoping to get a shot of us with their phones, I seriously feel like Mr. Katrina Moore.

  A fashion blogger runs up to Katrina. “I love your dress. Who are you wearing?”

  “Monique Hervé. She’s also designing my wedding gown.”

  “When are the two of you getting married?”

  Looking straight into a camera, she spews the date. “Saturday, May twenty-third, six p.m. Pacific Standard Time. Check your local listings and be sure to tune into Celebrity-TV for the special edition of America’s It Girl.”

  Flashing a big smile and her ring, she sounds like a walking commercial for our wedding. I want to vomit.

  Another female reporter runs up to us. “Bratrina, so glad to have you here. Tell me, Brandon, with your recent accident, did you ever think you’d not see this night?”

  “Well—”

  Katrina cuts me off. “We always knew this moment would come. I prayed for it every minute while I sat by his bedside in the hospital.”

  The reporter’s face turns to mush. “That’s so beautiful I could cry. Oh, and congratulations on your engagement. The best of luck to the both of you.”

  We’re stopped yet another time. The bubbly Asian reporter shoves a mike into my face. “Congratulations on your nomination, Brandon. Do you think you’re going to win tonight?”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I’m wearing my father’s lucky cufflinks. So there’s a chance.”

  Katrina: “Darling, of course you’re going to win.”

  “Is there anyone at home you want to say hello to?” the reporter asks.

  Katrina grabs the mike. “Hi, Mommy.” She waves. “And Daddy, if you’re watching this from prison, just know I love you.”

  I have to say I’m a little touched. The reporter takes the mike and angles it back at me. “And what about you, Brandon?”

  Just one person. “Yo, Zoey.” I blow her a kiss. I hope she’s watching and catches it wherever she is.

  Katrina shoots me a dirty look. Make that a look that can kill.

  Is everyone and their mother nominated for an award? The Emmy’s, now that I remember, are bad enough, but the Golden Globes go on ad nauseam because they cover both motion pictures and television. Oh, and now they even give awards to online shows produced by Amazon and Netflix among others.

  The only thing that makes these awards bearable is that you get to eat and drink during the show. Unlike the Emmy’s where you’re trapped for hours in a stadium-sized auditorium downtown, at the Globes, you’re served a full-course gourmet dinner in the expansive but more intimate Beverly Hilton ballroom. The place looks spectacular with dazzling arrangements of flowers on every table and is overflowing with Hollywood glitterati dressed to the hilt. If I had to guess, there must be over two thousand attendees and that’s not counting the press.

  Everyone looks like they’re having a blast. A chumminess saturates the room—reminiscent of a camp reunion. Hugs and kisses abound. As we make our way to our table, I’m both astounded and humbled by the number of people who stop to congratulate me and express their relief that I’m okay. Wow! Even De Niro and Scorsese give me man hugs and Glenn Close gives me a big kiss on the cheek. But most I don’t recognize on account of my amnesia. Especially those nominated for all these cable series and movies I can’t recall. Zoey’s briefing only went so far. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never catch up.

  Our table consists of the Conquest Broadcasting nominees. In addition to me, there are several other stars, directors, and producers nominated, including Kurt Kussler director, Niall Davies. Also at our table is CBC production chief, Blake Burns and his lovely wife Jennifer, the head of MY-SIN TV, the women’s erotica channel that’s part of Conquest Broadcasting. We chat and I learn that several of her series are up for awards.

  “When you have the time, you really must do one of our telenovelas,” she tells me over the salad course. “We’re putting Shards of Glass, another one of Arianne Richmonde’s erotic romances into development, and you’d be perfect to play the lead, Daniel Glass. Women love you. Oh, and by the way, I love Kurt Kussler. I so hope you win tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I reply. “I’d love to be considered for the role if my production schedule allows.” So far, except for a short hiatus over the summer, the chances aren’t good.

  She takes a sip of her champagne. “Oh, and I suppose I should congratulate you on your engagement. I’m glad it’s working out between you and Kat. More than you’ll ever know.”

  Just like Blake, she calls my fiancée Kat. She’s a little bit more supportive of our nuptials though hardly what I’d call enthusiastic. There’s something unspoken. Do I really know the whole story? Maybe there’s more to learn, but tonight’s not the night.

  Katrina is seated on the other side of me. After a very cold but cordial hello to both Jennifer and Blake, she’s been on good behavior. Thank God. Most of the time, to be honest, she’s been working the room, hobnobbing with every A-list celebrity, talking to reporters, and posing for photographers. And when she’s not up and about, she’s been tweeting non-stop, snapping photos, and taking selfies with her iPhone.

  Come
diennes Tina Fey and Amy Poehler are co-hosting this year’s awards, and they’ve had the audience roaring with laughter. Though they’re not on my memory radar, they’re two funny chicks. While their opening jibe about Bratrina becoming a popular baby name and their ensuing Kurt Kussler “Get it. Got it? Good.” spoof had me flushing with embarrassment, the audience was in stitches as was Katrina. The presenters, however, haven’t been as entertaining, and now they’re going through a phase of documentary film awards that I could care less about. Naturally, they leave all the big awards like mine to the end so viewers will stay tuned. I’m getting restless, plus Katrina is bugging me to take selfies with her that she can post on Instagram. No thank you. During a commercial break, I take a run to the little boys’ room.

  There are a couple of men taking leaks in the bathroom, none of whom I recognize. I find an empty stall and sit down on the toilet seat. I don’t really need to take a dump. I just need a quiet place where no one will fawn all over me. I mean, it’s nice to feel the love, but it can get to be too much. And besides, there’s only one person I want to talk to. I pull out my phone from my trouser pocket and text Zoey.

  Are u watching?

  I hit send and wait impatiently for a reply. Finally.

  Yes. I saw u on the red carpet.

  :) Are u alone?

  For some reason, I’m sorry I asked that question after I hit send. My pulse accelerates waiting for her reply.

  No.

  My stomach twists.

  Who are u with?

  It’d better be a girlfriend. Or her mother.

  Someone really cute.

  My blood runs cold. It’s her fucking boyfriend.

  We’re cuddling in bed.

  My blood sizzles.

  WHO?

  Teddy.

  Jesus. A new boyfriend?

  Teddy who?

  Bear. LOL! We’re sharing a quart of Häagen-Dazs.

  Relieved, I smile.

  What flavor?

  Coffee chip.

  My fave. :)

  I know. I stole it from your freezer.

  I laugh.

  U better replace it.

  I will.

  What do u think of the show?

  Boooring! But Tina and Amy are funny.

  Agree. What’s going on now?

  They’re giving the Best Actress in a TV Drama award.

  Who won?

  Julianna Margulies for The Good Wife.

  Oh.

  BTW, where are u?

  Men’s room.

  Taking a dump?

  No. Just texting u.

  No shit! LOL!

  :-D

  Shit!

  What’s wrong?

  They’re about to announce the Best Actor in a Television Series…Drama!!!! They mentioned ur name!

  Fuck!

  I leap up from the toilet seat and dash out of the bathroom.

  Jet-propelling myself back to the ballroom, I dig my hand into my breast pocket to retrieve my acceptance speech should I win. Except it isn’t there. I fucking forgot it!

  My heart beats into a frenzy as I speed dial Zoey. Panicked, I shout into the phone. “Email me my speech!”

  Silence.

  “Zoey, what’s going on?”

  “Hmm…can’t find it.”

  “What?”

  “It must not have saved. Just wing it.”

  “Balls!”

  “Oh my God! You just won. They’re looking for you! Hurry!”

  “I’m almost there!” I end the call and slip the phone back into the pocket.

  My heart is practically beating out of my chest as I race into the ballroom and sprint up to the stage. Applause and cheers boom in my ears. I can’t believe it. I won the Golden Globe!

  Breathless, I accept the award from my presenter, Kevin Spacey. All eyes are on me. I take a deep, calming breath, but my heart’s still beating a hundred miles a minute. Clutching my award, I manage to get my brain to communicate with my mouth.

  “WOW! This is amazing and so unexpected. Thank you members of the Hollywood Foreign Press. Um…uh, I also want to thank Conquest Broadcasting and Blake Burns for believing in Kurt Kussler…my incredible producer, Doug DeMille and his stellar production team…my talented, wonderful co-stars, Kellie Fox and Jewel Starr…my outstanding fellow nominees…my dear parents, Phyllis and Edward, and my mentor, Bella Stadler…and last but not least, I want to thank my beautiful assistant, Zoey Hart, for all you do for me. Love you!”

  I triumphantly hold up the award and soak in the audience. Holy shit! A standing ovation! Everyone is applauding and cheering wildly except one person. Katrina. She’s in her seat, seething.

  What the hell?

  Chapter 31

  Zoey

  Jumping up and down on my bed, I’m literally doing a happy dance. I don’t even care if I break a spring and the mattress crashes to the floor. I can’t believe it! Brandon just won the Golden Globe and thanked me on national television! In front of a gazillion people! Called me beautiful! And then said, “Love you.”

  My cell phone rings. The strings of my heart go zing. It must be him. I hop off the bed and make a beeline for my phone. A tinge of disappointment. It’s Jeffrey. We’re on FaceTime.

  “Girl, that was so exciting!”

  “You’re watching the awards?” My TV’s still on, but I’m not paying attention.

  “Of course. You’re practically a household name. You’re already trending on Twitter.”

  I laugh and then laugh harder when he tells me about Katrina.

  “Did you see the expression on Katrina’s face when Brandon thanked you?”

  I tell him I missed that.

  “Don’t worry. I recorded everything. There was a camera on her. Everyone in the audience stood up and gave Brandon a standing ovation except her. She was fuming. I thought she was going to throw a plate at the lens.”

  My laughter dies down, but a question burns on my tongue. “Jeffrey, I have to ask you something.” I can tell him anything. And you can always count on a gay guy to tell it like it is. Brutal honesty.

  “Shoot, Zoester.”

  “You know, when he said ‘love you’? What do you think he meant by that?”

  “Honey, this man’s going to sweep you off your feet.”

  The breath in my throat hitches. In the corner of my eye, I glimpse the Kurt Kussler poster I shattered in a fit of madness. It’s leaning against a wall. I still haven’t fixed it, and now I regret my actions. Before I can get down on myself, Jeffrey’s boyfriend Chaz gets on FaceTime and makes me laugh again. He berates Katrina’s red carpet performance.

  “Oh my friggin’ God! I wanted to barf. That bitch was in everyone’s face. I wanted to slap her! And can you believe that dress? It was so vomiticious! Oh and when Brandon blew you a kiss, she practically blew a fuse.”

  I’m laughing my head off. I so love Jeffrey and Chaz. They’re my equivalent of Cinderella’s chattering, adorable, supportive mice. We watch the rest of the Golden Globes together, and we all squeal when Kurt Kussler wins for “Best Drama Series” near the very end. The cast and crew rush to the stage and swarm a blown-away Brandon. Executive Producer Doug DeMille speaks for them all. What a night for the show! What a night for Brandon! What a night for me! I only wish I could be there with Brandon to celebrate.

  After Tina and Amy congratulate all the winners and thank everyone for watching, I bid Jeffrey and Chaz goodnight. In no time, I’m hugging Teddy, dreaming of my Prince Charming.

  The subconscious is a strange place. When I doze off, all of tonight’s events come together in a fantastical dream that plays out in my head like a surreal fairy tale.

  It’s the night of the most anticipated event in Lalaland. The Golden Globe Ball. Everyone who’s anyone will be there. A glittering gathering of Hollywood royalty. It’s being given by Prince Brandon, the most eligible and handsome bachelor in the land. Rumor has it he’s seeking the woman of his dreams—his princess bride. He’s my id
ol. My sigh master. The love of my life. I long to attend, but my chances are nil.

  “I’d like to go too,” I plead to my evil stepmother, Enid, already dressed to the nines and hopeful that my stepsister will be the one to marry Prince Brandon.

  She rolls her eyes. “Puh-lease. Peasants don’t attend balls.”

  Her equally evil and done up daughter Katrina snorts with wicked laughter. “Mommy, she probably couldn’t even find a ball gown to fit her.”

  Their words sting me like a hornet. She’s right. I can’t even fit into my beloved late mama’s beautiful vintage dresses. In her haughty voice, Katrina demands that I zip up her coral ball gown. Reluctantly, I do as bid when what I really want to do is rip the dress off her back.

  Not even a thank you.

  “Now, Zoella, while we’re gone, I want you to mop the floor and polish the furniture,” pouts Enid as she heads toward the front door, arm in arm with her stunning daughter.

  I sigh silently. I’m more of servant than a stepdaughter. I’m thanklessly worked to the bone. Expected to tend to their every whim and need. Dear Papa had no clue when he married Enid and left her his two cents.

  Their imposing black limo awaits them outside, leaving me behind with Katrina’s sweet little white mutt, Gucci. Weighted with gloom, I sink into the couch. Life’s so not fair. The fluffy pup dances around my feet, licking my ankles in an attempt to cheer me up. With tears in my eyes, I gather him up in my lap.

  “Oh, Gooch, it’s futile. They’re right. I’m just a no one.” My tears give way to uncontrollable sobs. I squeeze my eyes shut while my body heaves. I don’t know how long I’ve been crying when Gucci barks madly, hurtling me out of my misery. My eyes blink open and my jaw drops to the floor. Standing before me are two boyishly handsome men dressed alike in flamboyant sequined jumpsuits. Each holds a sparkling wand.