Written in the Stars Read online

  Written in the Stars

  Starlight Terrace Proposals #1

  Jennifer Joy

  “Written in the Stars: A Sweet Romance Novella”

  “Starlight Terrace Proposals #1”

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems — except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews — without permission in writing from its publisher, Jennifer Joy.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Jennifer Joy

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  Twitter: @JenJoywrites

  Email: [email protected]

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  Copyright © 2017 Jennifer Joy

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN-13:978-1-944795-04-7

  For the hopeful romantics…

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Thank you

  About the Author

  Other Books by Jennifer Joy

  Chapter One

  Will Donovan's fingers trembled as he straightened his tie. He felt overdressed in the Armani suit his agent, Charlie Parker, had made him buy. Blue jeans and sweaters were infinitely more comfortable to write in. They certainly drew less attention. But special occasions called for fancy clothes. And tonight was the most important night of his life — well worth the discomfort of being noticed.

  Keeping his hands busy, Will cleaned the tortoise shell, thick-framed glasses Liz had picked out for him with his monogrammed handkerchief and looked past his reflection in the mirror to the gentlemen milling about the lobby of the Olympus Hotel. They were as nervous as he was.

  A man cleared his throat beside him. "Excuse me, Mr. Donovan?"

  Will looked behind him. It still caught Will off guard when people he'd never met before said his name.

  There being no other men answering to the name “Donovan” around, Will asked, “Yes?”

  The man didn’t look like a reporter. He wiped his palms against his slacks, no voice recorder in sight. “My name is Gary. My girlfriend is your biggest fan.”

  Ah, he’d already been recognized. “I’m happy to hear that,” he said, meaning it entirely while craving the anonymity he’d lost.

  Gary dug through his wallet. He pulled out a picture, kissing it before handing it to Will. “Can you please sign this for her? It would mean a lot to both of us.”

  “Of course.” Will felt silly for not remembering that most people who approached wanted an autograph. He patted his breast pocket for the fine-tipped Sharpie Charlie insisted he carry with him for such occasions.

  Gary shuffled his feet and dabbed his forehead with the sleeve of his sport coat. “Her name is Nicole. I'm going to ask her to marry me tonight.”

  Will's heart went out to the man. His nerves had nothing to do with approaching Will and everything to do with the small nagging doubt of uncertainty. What if she doesn't say, “Yes?” Will understood his anxiety. He suffered from the same.

  Making sure to write legibly, Will wished Nicole a lifetime of happiness, signed his name on the back of the photo, and handed the treasured picture back to Gary.

  “That's nice, Mr. Donovan. She'll love this, though I'll need to find another picture to replace this one in my wallet. She won't let this out of her sight once I give it to her,” he said with a chuckle.

  Aside from the diamonds in his pocket symbolizing his commitment to love Liz for an eternity, Will didn’t have anything else to offer the woman who invaded his every thought. Should he have gotten her something else? Was the ring enough? Was he enough? A cold sweat covered his back and sent shivers up and down his limbs.

  As if he wasn’t apprehensive enough, Gary stood rooted in place, still shuffling his feet.

  “Is there something else I can help you with?” Will asked, wishing to resume his nervous pacing in solitude. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, to go over the words he'd anguished over and edited to his satisfaction over the past month once again. They were perfect. Tonight would be perfect. Liz deserved nothing better than his best, and he would not to let her down.

  “Now that you mention it ... if it's not too much of an imposition ... I was wondering, since you're so gifted with words, if you would listen to my proposal and see if it's good enough.” Gary looked down at his feet, his Oxfords shining as brightly as the polished black marble he stood on. He fidgeted, picking at his nails until he stuffed his hands in his pocket. In a voice half-way between anguish and wonder, he said, “Nicole is the love of my life. I can't imagine how I ever existed without her. Every decision I make, every thought I have, includes her.”

  Will's stomach roiled at the beautiful simplicity with which this stranger spoke of his girlfriend. His own proposal included a metaphor he'd spend endless hours honing, but now it seemed too stuffy and complicated.

  “That’s inspired,” Will said.

  Gary’s head shot up to look at Will. “That wasn’t the proposal.”

  “Really? It ought to be.” Would that he could woo Liz with such delightful spontaneous words.

  “You think so?”

  Will nodded, encouraging Gary to continue.

  “Well, then after I tell her that, I'll get down on one knee and say, ‘Nicole, I love you with all my heart. I would love the chance to make you as happy as you've made me. Will you let me try? Will you marry me’?”

  Yep, his own proposal was too flowery. Nothing but purple prose. Will’s editor would have run his pen out of red ink, it was that bad.

  His new acquaintance waited for an answer from the "expert," only Will didn't feel like the wordsmith Gary expected him to be. He felt like a hack. A hack with a horrible proposal.

  “You spoke clearly from your heart. How could she not love it?” Will said, already rewriting his proposal in his mind. Simple and sincere with an element of spontaneity. That was the key.

  Gary sighed in relief, relaxing in a way denied to Will until he knew what to say to Liz. He had to figure it out now because just looking at her burned the connection between his brain and his tongue.

  "Like you said, I just tried to express how my heart sees her," Gary said, now an expert on the subject.

  "Easier said than done," Will mumbled, tossing ideas out faster than they came to him.

  Gary laughed and slapped Will on the back. They were buddies now, comrades in love. "For us men, yes. But it's worth learning. They say communication is the key to a successful relationship, and I don't want to do anything to blow what I have with Nicole. If that means expressing my feelings and talking more than I'm comfortable with, then I'm going to do it!"

  Communication. If only life were like fiction, with its ability to rewrite the garbled bits. Will always managed to say the wrong thing, his attention divided with a scene developing in his mind or the synapses in his brain jumping ahead in the conversation and prompting him to utter something wholly inappropriate. Liz had helped him improve, to focus on the present and the real people in front of him … but it was a struggle. And the fame he’d earned through no effort of his own (so far as he was concerned) engulfed him like an itchy,
too large sweater he’d rather return to the store.

  He looked behind him. The lobby was getting crowded. A group of people at the reception desk saw him. One of them waved like they were long-lost friends, pointing at Will and chattering excitedly to her friends. Will waved curtly and turned away to give his full attention to the closed elevator doors before more people noticed him. If only the elevator would arrive. What was taking it so long?

  So lost was Will in his own thoughts of escaping the lobby without garnering more attention, he startled when Gary spoke again. He’d forgotten his buddy still stood beside him. In fact, he provided a nice shield from the reception group so long as Will didn’t move.

  “Yeah, Nicole bought me your latest audiobook so I can listen to it in my truck. The gal who reads almost makes me forget that I'm driving. I have to listen in small doses or risk rear-ending someone.”

  “That's Liz Benetti,” Will said, his crisp twill shirt stretching over his chest. “She's one of the best voice talents in the industry. She's meeting me here tonight.”

  Gary's jaw dropped. “You're a lucky man! I bet she could read her grocery list and make it sound exciting.”

  Will chuckled. Liz’s astounding range of emotion brought the pages of any work she read to life. “True.”

  He had to hand it to Gary. He had excellent taste. Will knew he shouldn't ask, but he did anyway. “What do you think of my story?”

  Gary paused a second too long before he babbled quicker than coherent thought, “Oh, it's great. Great, yeah. Like I said, I can only take it in small doses. It's heavier than what I'm used to. Really makes a guy think...” He let his generic praise trail off and took a sudden interest in looking around the lobby — anything but make eye contact with Will, who had known better than to ask in the first place.

  The initial sting of disappointment lasted the few seconds Will granted it, and not a second more. Will had developed a thick skin over the years, his determination stronger than Burgess, the book critic who took pleasure in blasting his work. He had learned to take criticism as a personal challenge. It had made him better. Stronger. Until Will wished he could give all the recognition away when his name grew beyond the quiet calm of the book world to the glitz and glamour of movies. Will tugged at his tie. He’d tied it too tightly.

  With a smile to show how unaffected he was, Will said, “Literary fiction isn't everyone's cup of tea. I like to read mysteries and action adventures between projects.”

  “Really?” Gary’s shoulders relaxed from his ears and he dropped his voice conspiratorially. “I just found an author I can't get enough of. I've already pre-ordered his next audiobook, and I'm counting down the days until I get it. It's that good.”

  “I'd love to check it out,” Will said, his pulse racing at the suggestion of a truly good story. Years of reading and studying his authorial idols had made him particular, but his thirst for beautiful words weaving a well-told story to linger over was insatiable. And he had learned the value of listening to readers. “Who is it?” he pressed.

  "P. Dasher is the author. He writes a series about a kick-butt heroine who saves the world while falling in love with her partner. Just when I think I know what's going to happen, Dasher throws me off the trail completely. It'll keep your pulse up. It keeps me awake when I need to get down the road in my Kenworth hours before dawn." His speech grew louder as he spoke, his enthusiasm the best recommendation any author could wish for.

  "Thank you for the recommendation. I'll make sure to look him up." Truth be told, Will already had. Dasher had published his first book only four years before, and already he had eight books and thousands of five-star reviews to recommend them to inquisitive readers.

  "Don’t forget. P. Dasher. Oh, and I'll finish your book this week. It's important to my girlfriend. She likes it when I mention your books at her office parties. Makes me sound smart," Gary said with a guffaw and another slap on Will's back.

  Will focused on the positive. "I'm happy to help where I can." He leaned forward and dropped his voice. "If you really want to impress them, casually mention how the rain in The Girl Named Sophia is a metaphor for Sophia's troubled relationship with her foster parents. And the purple flowers symbolize undying hope."

  Gary nodded his head seriously. "Rain, troubled relationship. Flowers, hope."

  "The purple flowers. The roses in the garden suggest an entirely different meaning ... if you believe everything you read in the reviews." Will still had no idea how people drew the conclusions they did, but who was he to deny them meaning where he hadn't intended to put it? That was the beauty of symbols. People looked for them everywhere. Will was guilty of the same. He collected symbolisms and metaphors like little kids collected action figures.

  "Thanks for the tip. And thanks for your help with my proposal. You’re not like most famous folks."

  Will nodded, unsure how to reply without needlessly offending someone. That, and he was in denial about the fame. He still hoped it would just go away so he could return to being the nameless guy who walked into Pike Place Market for cioppino without getting his picture taken.

  The elevator finally dinged, releasing two happy couples with bright smiles and sparkling diamond rings on fingers strategically placed on their fiancé's arm to let the world know they had said, "Yes."

  Pulling his attention away from what he hoped his future would be to the elevator before him, Will extended his hand out to shake Gary’s. "I wish you the best this evening. Are you going up?" As much as he wanted to be alone, he’d share the enclosed space with the truck driver.

  Gary released his grip and stepped back. "I was so nervous I'd get here late, I left too early. Traffic, you know. I'll wait here a spell longer. Best wishes to you, Will. Pleasure meeting you."

  Will stepped inside the cologne-saturated elevator and breathed a sigh of relief … until five other men dressed in ties and jackets squeezed around him. So much for solitude.

  He patted his pocket, listening for the crinkle of paper inside his lined pocket and feeling the hard case of the ring beside it. He was doing this for Liz. His breath slowed as he conjured her image in his mind. He could do anything with her at his side. And he would do anything to please her … even swallow his timidity to propose publicly in a restaurant famed for its romantic mood and incomparable views.

  It was a promising start to a perfect evening. Will's hopes rose as steadily as the elevator climbing to the top floor of the Olympus Hotel — to the Starlight Terrace.

  Chapter Two

  With a unified nod in support of each other, the other men left their unmarried ambitions behind them and surged forward to the Starlight Terrace's bar, cheering to their futures and seeking the courage to face it in a bottle.

  Will stayed behind, finally able to breathe. He needed space. His proposal wasn't good enough yet, and he couldn't fail Liz. Not when she held such high expectations of him. She expressed herself with an ease Will envied and seemed to think him capable of the same. While Will preferred being in the background, she stood out in a crowd, in her element and at her best when surrounded by people. Her grace shone under pressure. She thrived off it.

  He checked his coat, then sat on the velvet-cushioned bench beside the water fountain surrounded by orchids blooms and colorful blossoms in front of the elevator. Leaning against the gold fleur-de-lis wallpaper covering the wall, Will closed his eyes and let the sound of running water and the smooth jazz wafting out from the dining room calm him. A moment alone would settle the knots twisting his stomach.

  A set of footsteps grew louder until they stopped before him. Will didn’t flinch, wishing to melt into the wall or sink into the floor — anything to go unnoticed. Maybe whoever it was would go away. Maybe they were searching for someone else. His reservation wasn’t for another ten minutes.

  "Mr. Donovan, what a pleasure to receive you this evening."

  Will opened his eyes to see a dapper man with a bow tie holding a wine list. While his desire to be left
alone was great, he couldn’t be rude to the maître d' for doing his job. "Thank you," he said politely.

  "Would you like me to show you to your table or would you prefer a drink in the bar?" the headwaiter asked with an eager-to-please smile. Will looked at the bar behind them. It was dark, crowded, and loud with lively conversation. Not a place lending to thought.

  Will sighed and returned what he hoped was a smile. "I prefer to wait by the fountain for a few minutes. Thank you." He hadn’t seen Liz in a long week, and he didn’t want to miss the few seconds it would take for her to join him at their table.

  The maître d' followed Will's gaze to the elevator doors. With an understanding wink, he said, "Absolutely, sir. Would you like for me to bring you a drink while you wait?"

  "No, thank you. I’m perfectly content here."

  “Is there a particular song you would like our band to play this evening?” He gestured behind him where the band separated the bar from the dining room with strings of strategically placed twinkle lights.

  Will didn’t need time to think. “Can they do Eric Clapton?”

  The headwaiter smiled. “Of course.”

  “Wonderful Tonight.” It was the first song he and Liz had danced to. He’d held her closer than he normally would, and she had left him weak-kneed when she’d rested her head against his chest.

  “I’ll see to it. Perhaps when the champagne is poured?”

  Will nodded, too lost in his memory to speak. She’d seemed as delicate as the orchids in the fountain in his arms. He’d held her tenderly.

  “I'm at your disposal if you require any assistance. Please, do not hesitate to ask. I wish you a pleasant evening, Mr. Donovan.” The maître d' bowed and departed, leaving Will alone to contemplate the night before him. He examined the intricate lace-like pattern drawn on the delicate petals of the orchid nearest him. He hoped Liz would wear her signature red lipstick. How fitting he should be accompanied by such a beauty while waiting for Liz. Will remembered some research he’d done on the flower some time ago. He’d seen pictures of how the exquisite blossom grew out of the crags of a mountainside in South America. For all its fragile beauty, it split the rock with its determination to blossom. Liz was his orchid. Dare he call her “his”? He wished it so. He was hers. If she would have him.