Hollywood Hearts (Steamy Standalone Instalove)

Denise and me though, get on great. It’s like having the mom I never had in real life and once I see how organized she is I ask Jack if we can’t just let her arrange everything.

“I want it to be our special day. Just us,” he groans.

“But it is,” I encourage him and peck his cheek, politely overlooking the fact that half of Hollywood is going to be turning up and there’s a documentary being filmed to mark the occasion.

A little side project of Denise and mine. And one I haven’t exactly told him about yet either.

Oops.

But there’s plenty to keep him busy too, and despite all the big names and publicity, it’s still going to be a small intimate service where it counts.

Small. There’s that word again. And I thought I was big before the dress fittings.

The seamstresses from the studio are so nice, never complaining when the dress needs to be let out for the fourth then the fifth time.

“It’s a good thing the ceremony’s today,” Denise quips so only we can hear. “I think we’d run out of fabric otherwise.”

She’s helping me into the dress we had made, a reproduction of her grandmother’s dress I’d have no hope of fitting into.

People from back then were just tiny, plus the lace and whatnot. It was just easier to copy it, and it’s a stunning dress. Everybody thinks so, except Jack who hasn’t seen it yet.

“How’s Jack?” I ask Denise, thinking about him more than ever now after agreeing to the traditional not seeing the groom before the wedding day thing.

Another Denise suggestion, but one I don’t really mind.

“People don’t get married properly anymore,” was her argument for the full traditional, which I was keen on from the start. Jack not so much so.

“People don’t have their elderly agents running their whole lives either,” he growled, which Denise pretended not to hear but I know it hurt her just a little to hear him say that, but we’ve been best pals since so I hope that makes up for it.

“So, you got something old, something new, something borrowed…” Denise counts off as I try to take a breath in while she adjusts the dress from the back.

“Something blue,” I tell her, nodding confidently.

She tilts her head in a question but I explain. “It’s something for our wedding night. Something under my dress.” She seems more than happy with that.

“And when are you gonna tell him about the other thing?” she asks casually, putting a pin in the corner of her mouth and taking a step back to examine me, satisfied with her handy work.

“The other thing?” I ask innocently, wondering what I could have possibly forgotten.

“Or does he know already?” she asks, looking at me sideways, not sure she should say much more.

I feel dizzy again and sway, she grips me firmly and sits me down in front of the mirror.

“Honey, you know this isn’t all Jack’s cooking do you?” she asks softly, gently placing a hand over my belly, making me flush a deep red with embarrassment.

I’m not sure what I think, but I know I feel a mix of emotions rising up inside me, blending with the sensation I’m about to be sick again today.

I thought it was nerves.

“You mean you think I’m really...?” I ask Denise looking up at her, watching her head shake in disbelief a little before she smiles knowingly.

She leans in to hug me, wiping my tears as she congratulates me.

“Honey, I thought you already knew,” she whispers, stroking my hair. “Not that I’m a doctor, but I mean…”

She’s right. I knew it at the second dress fitting, I knew it from the first night Jack and me...

I just knew it.

Does he though?

I ask Denise if she thinks Jack knows, making her smile, a silver line of her own tear forming in her shining eyes.

“Oh, Jack wouldn’t know if the sky was falling, Olivia. I think this is the best wedding present. The best present ever,” she tells me, choking up.

We both choke up until I’m just plain old bawling.

So happy on so many levels, only wishing Jack were here right now to share this beautiful moment.

“I don’t mean to rush sweetie, but we have like five thousand people waiting to watch you and Jack say I do, well maybe not that many,” she suddenly says with a lot less tact than we just shared.

I feel my stomach drop from the inside and nod firmly. “Right. Okay,” I tell her, letting her guide me up out of the chair and back to have my hair and face straightened before we head out.

The service is small, upfront. But before that, before we reach the studio lot that has the studio set of a church, there’s everyone who’s invited, and maybe a few more who aren’t. All turning up to wish Jack Mercury the best on his special day.