Take Two (The Jilted Bride #1)(30)

I wonder what she’s wearing under the dress…

“Just being honest.”

“But now all of sudden you hate the attention you get?”

“It’s been a gradual thing,” I sighed. “I hate it when I’m trying to do normal things you know? Like, whenever I want to get some fresh air, I can hear the click clicking of cameras going off. If I blow my nose and use a napkin instead of a Kleenex, if I trip over the sidewalk, or if I’m seen with another female celebrity, it blows up and takes on a life of its own. That’s why I hope you don’t believe everything you read.”

“It’s hard not to believe things when someone does interviews that confirm what you’ve read,” she mocked my tone.

“It shouldn’t be hard if that person goes out of his way to tell you that things aren’t how they appear to be.”

“Fine, Mr. Sterling.”

“I’m back to Mr. Sterling now?”

“Yes,” she finished off her wine.

I laughed and walked over to the snack table. “S’mores?”

“Sure,” she joined me on the other side of the bonfire.

“Are you originally from New York, Melody?”

“No. Memphis, Tennessee. I’m a Southern girl.”

That explains a lot…

We slid our marshmallows onto sticks and watched them roast over the fire.

Chapter 15

Melody

I pulled my marshmallow away from the fire and sandwiched it with graham crackers. I carefully sat down in the sand and waited for it to cool.

I was mad at Jen for making me wear her ridiculously short red dress. Its halter top made my br**sts appear twice as big and its fabric hugged my hips so tightly that I had to be extremely conscious of every move I made.

“Don’t forget the chocolate,” Matt handed me a Hershey bar.

“Thanks. I can’t remember the last time I made one of these.”

“I can,” he sat next to me. “It was last year when I was on the set of Summer Nights.”

“That was one of the worst films I’ve ever seen.”

“It wasn’t that bad. There are worse movies out there.”

“I’m aware. Do they purposely tell you how to act? Like, do they say, don’t try so hard during this scene?”

“Something like that,” he laughed. “It’s more like: Matt, remember who your audience is. Don’t make things too complicated. Oh, and take your shirt off.”

Please take your shirt off…

“How inspiring.”

“I know. I’m trying to break the typecast mold, but studios only want me as the lead in romance movies. That’s kind of why I want to go back to Broadway, you know? It’s more fulfilling.”

“I understand. I don’t want to be a critic for the rest of my life.”

“Oh really?” he moved closer. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m not sure yet. I just know it doesn’t involve sitting in an office.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out with time.”

He’s so close to me…

“I hope so,” I took small bites of my S’more.

The crackling of the bonfire was the only noise between us, save for the soft music coming from his iHome. I tried to hear what was playing, but it was no use. I looked over at Matt and he was beaming.

“What’s so funny?”

“You are. Do you want me to turn up the music?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

“Okay, on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“You have to dance with me,” he stood up. “Who’s your favorite artist?”

Is he serious?

“I don’t know. I have too many.”

“Okay, we’ll go with one of mine,” he walked over to the iHome and touched his iPod’s screen.

The first notes sounded—trumpets, trombones, and strings. Then Frank Sinatra began to sing.

Matt pulled me up and placed my arms around his neck. He slipped his arms around my waist and we swayed back and forth.

“Do you know this song?”

“It’s Frank Sinatra, right? What’s the name of it?”

“It’s his most famous song, “New York, New York.” Every New Yorker is required to know this song,” he moved my arms and dipped me towards to the sand. “You can dance?”

“I know a few things.” I lifted myself up and twirled around.

“Hmmm,” he held my hand high above my head and watched me spin.

Quick step. Quick step. Long step. Long step…

He began to sing along. “These little town blues are melting away. I’ll make a brand new start of it, in ol’ New York. If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere. It’s up to you, New York, New York.”

I laughed. “I forgot you could sing.”

He dipped me again. “I don’t recall telling you that I could.”

Please kiss me.

“I’m assuming it’s a Broadway requirement.”

“Good assumption.”

Quick step. Quick step. He’s switching to the waltz now…

As the song approached the bridge, we gazed into each other’s eyes—keeping pace. He brushed a hair away from my face and drew my body to his.