I wish I could tell you this place is crass.

That it is Hollywood overkill like everything I’ve ever known Hollywood to be, but I can’t.

I wish I could say this is the circus I thought it would be, but in fact, it is anything but. And it makes me wonder if my perception has been off all these years—if I haven’t been blinded by the lights of my parents, and somehow unable to see past them.

Sure, there are tents at the bottom of the acres and acres of green-sloped grass, but there are no elephants or peanuts anywhere, just a white sand beach and pristine surroundings that make this the event it has been touted to be.

The wind blows cool over us.

And as I glance at my phone and read the text on it, I close my eyes and sniff the salty air because it is ripe with possibility.

Feeling on top of the world, I look over at Amelia sitting beside me. And even though I know in a matter of hours we said we would be over, I can’t help but take her hand and squeeze it.

I want to ask her to stay.

In fact, I’m going to ask her to stay as soon as we leave.

Don’t look at me like that.

We’ll talk to Cam together; he’ll understand.

I hope.

I’ll explain to him that I’m a changed man.

I’m going to quit my job as a lifeguard, and finally be what I want to be. Finally put one foot in front of the other, and jump.

In fact, I’d say that today is the beginning of the new me. And she’s the first person I want to share my news with. I want to tell her Mr. Gerhardt loved my manuscript. And that Blake Johnson, who is Mr. Gerhardt’s nephew, and one of the biggest indie movie backers in Hollywood, wants to talk to me tomorrow about the possibility of moving forward to production.

I want to thank her for not doubting me.

Tell her that I wish I hadn’t doubted myself.

That being born into Hollywood royalty and growing up in the shadows of famous Hollywood parents wasn’t easy.

That it took me this long to realize I can be my own person.

And that even though my father is washed up now, there was a time he was all anyone wanted to talk about. And even though my mother is behind the camera now, there was a time people went out of their way to snap her picture and sell it to the highest bidder.

It was a time in my life when I was either Brooklyn James, Todd James’s son, or Brooklyn James, Emma Fairchild’s son.

That was even the case when I starred in Chasing the Sun.

But, I can honestly say right now, that time is gone.

As I breathe in the cool air and feel the heat lamps on my skin, I know it to be true. This generation of Hollywood knows me—Brooklyn James, the guy writing a screenplay they can’t wait for me to share.

And it feels so fucking good.

Just as the traditional wedding march starts to play, I move our hands to her leg and slip my fingers under the slit of her dress to feel her silky, smooth skin.

I’ve been an asshole to her, and I intend to make it up to her.

Reluctantly tugging my gaze away from her to Chase, who is standing up front in a white tux, black tie, and white pocket square, I can’t help but envy him.

Always the guy the girls called heartbreaker, he found the right one and decided to settle down like it is the most natural thing in the world.

We all turn our heads to catch a glimpse of the bride, but the archway remains vacant.

“What’s going on?” Amelia whispers in my ear.

With her body so close to mine, it’s easy for my fingers to inch a little higher inside the slit of her dress. “Probably just a timing issue,” I whisper.

She looks over at me, and then down. Her lips twist in scorn and her eyes narrow.

I don’t like it that she’s upset with me.

She looks like a pissed-off kitten whose claws want to come out. And yeah, my dick gets a little hard at the thought of her scratching my back.

Among the chatter of people, I lean even closer, and take her wrap and purse and set them on her lap.

She casts me another frown and firmly puts her hands on top of the items to stop my movement.

“Don’t be that way,” I whisper. “I’m sorry for being an ass.”

“An arrogant ass,” she whispers to me.

I smirk at her. “Yes, that.”

Her hands remain where they are, but they are no longer pushing down and blocking me from her pussy. Nobody is paying any attention to us, and I quickly discover she did just what I told her to do—came pantyless.

Fuck me. She’s so hot and silky smooth.

The music continues to play and as my fingers ever so gently caress the wet folds of her pussy, I let my mind wander to visions of just us sitting here. And if we were alone, how I’d grasp her firmly by her hips and hoist her right onto my lap. Unzip my fly and set her right on top of me and tell her to ride me. How it would be quick, hot, and out of control because my need for her is that fierce.

“Gigi is not anywhere on the island,” someone calls from the archway.

The hushed whispers turn louder and I quickly remove my hand. People are standing now, and the music stops.

“It’s because of the video,” the woman behind us remarks rather loudly.

Curious, I turn, the delicious scent of Amelia’s pussy still on my hand and wafting toward my noise. “What video?” I ask.

Gigi’s costar is the one sitting behind me, and her lips are pursed in disgust. “The one TMZ just released of Chase at some strip club.”

“Oh, my God,” Amelia gasps under her breath.

Knowing he didn’t do anything wrong, and it seems ridiculous for the bride to run off because of that night, I say nothing and turn back around. Amelia is on her phone searching for the video, and when she pulls it up, the headline reads, “Chase Parker is a sex addict.”

My blood boils with rage. This is the Hollywood I remember. The one that lives and breathes fabricated lies and ridiculous accusations.

And then my blood is boiling for an entirely different reason because a text scrolls across Amelia’s screen with the name Landon Reese attached to it and the question “How’s the wedding?” beside it.

My entire body tenses.

Fuck me, I’m such an idiot.

The whole time I’ve thought this was real, all I have been is the bad she’d been craving. And I fucking knew it. And still I let it happen. All the while she has been fucking me, she’s been in contact with the good.

The one who is her Mr. Right.

Furious, my entire body starts to shake.

Fear flashes in her eyes when she notices my brooding stare. “It’s not what you think.”

I brush my lips against her ear. “Yeah, it is. You broke my one rule.”

And my heart…but that she’ll never know.