Love in the Spotlight

  Love in the Spotlight

  Laura Burton

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  The characters and storylines are fictitious, and any resemblance to real-life people and events are purely coincidental. The author retains all of the rights to this work which may not be copied and distributed online or elsewhere without the written permission of the owner of the rights.

  All rights reserved by Laura Burton 2020.

  Cover Design by: Milktee Studios

  This book is written in the author’s mother tongue using U.K English spellings. Please contact laura@burtonburchell.co.uk to discuss translation rights.

  First Edition

  Created with Vellum

  Dedication

  To my readers.

  Without you, I could not have completed this book during such a difficult time. I hope this fun story will be a ray of sunshine when the clouds are grey.

  Chapter One

  I’m late to the party.

  There are two reasons someone is late to a party.

  One: poor time management––which includes having no contingency plan. Two: they don’t want to be there. As an assistant to an events manager, it is my job to make sure everyone is where they need to be on time. It may have attributed to my premature greys, but thankfully they’re not obvious yet. One perk of being a blonde.

  This time, it’s my turn to show up late to a party. Which never happens. Not since the time Peppy, my pug, got into my secret chocolate stash and vomited in every room in the house. Just thinking about that day makes my stomach lurch. Several years have passed since, and I still haven’t been able to eat a chocolate bar again.

  My hands are trembling, even though I turned off the car ignition a few minutes ago. And my stomach could churn butter. A babble of voices to my right has me sliding down into the footwell and holding my breath, hoping no one sees me. Not that they can. It’s dark outside. As long as I sit still, I’m invisible. Of course, just as the thought crosses my mind, my elbows slip and I headbutt the horn. I jolt upwards, which sets off the alarm and now the car is flashing and giving off the most shrill, ear-splitting sound imaginable.

  Well, that’s my cover blown.

  A strike of genius hits me, and I slide across the seats and push open the passenger door. I parked right up to a bush, to stop myself getting blocked in by another car. Thankfully, no one sees me slide out of the door, straighten my dress––which keeps riding up at the hips––and close the door again. Thank goodness for the line of cars parked up behind mine. If anyone saw me squatted down tip toeing on my stilettos and elbows tucked in, bobbing my head to gain momentum… I’d die. I look like a pigeon that got into some bad apple juice. I sit still for a few moments and listen to the car flashing and screeching like a banshee. I fumble with my keys and press the clicker. The possessed car falls silent and the dark night floods my vision once more.

  Breathe Melissa.

  I wait for the sound of voices to die down as the guests make their way inside. Then, I slowly rise to my feet and brush myself off. Right, no harm done. Thanks to my quick-thinking, my ego is spared. And lives to see another day. Although the night is young, so anything can happen. I am so busy trying to stuff my keys into my tiny bag, that I don’t notice I’m not alone.

  “Good evening, beautiful.”

  I yelp like a wounded puppy and nearly jump out of my skin. The shock throws me back and my heel breaks which sends me even further off balance and before I know it, I’m in the bush. Not just on it. But I have fallen right inside.

  As if things are not bad enough, a light blinds my eyes and I lay there, my legs sprawled apart and dress hitched up to my thighs. As I squint into the light and my eyes adjust, I see the outline of a man’s head.

  To anyone who might glimpse this scene, it must look like I have chosen the oddest place to have a gynaecology appointment. I am equally mortified and relieved that I’m wearing shapewear underneath my dress. I didn’t just go for the hi-leg vest either. No, I had figured this was one of those events you go all-out and wear the most robust piece of shapewear you own. Which for me, was a full body suit, not dissimilar to one you might use underneath scuba diving equipment. Only this one cuts off just above the knee.

  “Wait there, I’ve got wire cutters in the van.” The light moves from me and fades as the man disappears. Wire cutters? Who the heck is this guy and why does he have wire cutters in his van? I move my arm a fraction and yelp, I imagine some of these thorns have punctured holes in my skin. Though the shock hasn’t worn off yet, and a nice surge of adrenaline is acting as a great form of pain relief.

  Well, at least I’m not on show for everyone to laugh at anymore.

  “I’m back.” The light returns and I resist the urge to roll my eyes and say something sarcastic. Without this guy, I will probably remain in this thorn bush for the rest of my life. I groan at the imaginary tabloids.

  Twenty-eight-year-old Woman found in a bush.

  It would appear that Melissa Jones, from Bristol, would rather camp out in a bush than take part in the Love Trials. When she failed to turn up to the opening night. Her body was discovered just one-hundred-feet away from the event. Chris Stones, our reporter, asked other guests what they thought about it all.

  “I’m totally surprised––you like––have no idea this sort of thing could happen? You know?” says Shelley from Newcastle.

  “We’re all shaken up,” Suzie from Portsmouth adds. “You read about this stuff online, but never think it will happen to you.”

  It is yet to be determined why Melissa applied for the show in the first place.

  I applied for this stupid show as a dare.

  Elsie, my roommate, and lifelong bestie was consoling herself after yet another dramatic breakup. We were watching whatever was on TV and consuming ridiculous amounts of ice-cream, which was not smart because ice-cream is my poison. Though I couldn’t let a bit of lactose intolerance impede friendship. I was just in the middle of my “men are stupid,” rant, when Elsie stuffed a hand over my mouth and shushed me. She picked up the TV remote and turned up the volume and pointed to the screen.

  “We are on the search for the next King and Queen of the Love Trials. Contestants will stay here at the Love Castle and undergo several rigorous challenges to put their relationship to the test. We will award the King and Queen one-hundred-thousand pounds and end the show with a live wedding.”

  “I dare you to apply to that,” Elsie said. Her apple cheeks lifted, and her eyes turned into tiny slits as she grinned.

  “Only problem,” I said, shooting her a look with one eyebrow raised. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  Elsie wriggled in her seat, straightening her posture. Her sign that she meant business.

  “Then you probably won’t get chosen, but it would be hilarious to video your audition.”

  I wanted to laugh, but it caught in my throat. I coughed and blinked incredulously at my best friend, thinking she was pulling my leg or had gone mad.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  The
furious nod of her head told me she was.

  “I dare you to apply,” she said, her lips curling up devilishly. She’d done it now. Elsie and I treat dares seriously. You don’t back out of one. Not without suffering a forfeit––not to mention eternal disappointment. Besides, there was no way I would actually get chosen for the show, I figured I had nothing to lose. Until I received the horrifying phone call a week later.

  Which reminds me, next time, just take the forfeit.

  “Hmm, how will I do this?” The voice is so low, I swear it makes the ground rumble. Or perhaps that’s just my stomach. All I’ve had today is a stick of gum.

  I watch this mysterious man take two minutes to consider his next move as he juggles his phone and the wire cutters from hand to hand.

  “Right,” he says gruffly, then clamps the cutters between his teeth and stuffs his phone into his jeans. It sits precariously behind his belt buckle at a very distracting position. The light over me sways side to side as he swaggers forwards, and I stifle a laugh.

  “That’s better, okay. Let me get you out of this.”

  I freeze, my eyes tearing up as I try to stop blinking. One foul move and those cutters could cause some serious damage, and I am not decided whether this stranger has good intentions. The bush rustles as he lunges forward and sets to work. A plume of cologne washes over me, lowering my defences and I lay there, basking in his masculine scent as he works to remove my helpless body from the thorns. The humiliation of the situation fades, and I embrace the role of damsel in distress. My hero is silent as he snips the branches around me and I see a flash of brown as he moves to my other side. Dark hair covers the bottom half of his face. Within moments, he takes my arm and pulls me up. The fact that my dress has several snags in it, doesn’t dampen my excitement to be free. Before my brain kicks in, I throw my arms around this mysterious man and squeeze his burly arms. His muscles tense under my touch and makes a breathy laugh.

  “Sorry,” I blurt out, breaking away and stepping back. The LED light shines from his belt buckle once more.

  “It’s okay,” his voice is deep, smooth like silk. There’s a calmness about this guy that soothes me. I shield my eyes from the blinding light as it moves side to side. Then we’re both thrown into darkness and for a moment I wonder if someone blotted out the moon and stars as my eyes adjust.

  “Are you hurt?”

  The question puzzles me. I’ve already forgotten about the thorn bush charade. I’m already thinking about the snakes writing in my stomach again as the memory of why I am here rushes back to me.

  “I’m fine,” I say with a laugh. Now my eyes are adjusting, I see a tall male silhouette and a blue haze around him from the clear sky. His eyes look like two stars, twinkling at me. It comes to my attention that I’ve been gazing up at his face for too long and it’s awkward.

  “That’s good,” he says firmly. He sounds authoritative, sure. The complete opposite of how I feel in this moment. Do I shake his hand? Introduce myself? I’ve never been in a situation like this before, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Then it hits me.

  “Thank you,” I force myself to say. It should have been the first thing to leave my big mouth, because now I’ve left it so long it sounds weird. But he’s too polite to say it.

  “Anytime, I’ve just got to get something from my car, but would you like me to walk you in?”

  I clamp my teeth against my bottom lip as I look up at the castle. Yellow lights illuminate it from the grass, it glows as it towers over us.

  The opening party.

  “I’m sorry, I need to go. I’m late, thanks again.” I turn on my heel to leave and stumble as my ankle gives way.

  “Right, maybe I’ll see you in there?” he calls after me as I hobble towards my car. I wave a hand in the air but refuse to look back as I stagger away, probably looking like a ninety-year-old lady. The combination of a tight dress and broken heel make it impossible to walk with any elegance. Not that I’m bothered. Just minutes ago, I was sprawled out, flashing this stranger my shapewear. There is no recovering from that.

  I dig into one of my bags in the back of my car and change my shoes. Thankfully, I listened to my friend’s advice and brought enough shoes to fill a wardrobe.

  So here I am, looking a little worse for wear, my stomach growling and ego bruised. Ready to venture my way into the unknown. I can only hope that’s the last of embarrassing moments for me and it’ll be all smooth sailing from here.

  Well, a girl can dream.

  Chapter Two

  “Miss Jones. Yer’ve missed the introductions and welcome party, Lassie. Eee––I canny know what to do with yer now.”

  The woman talking to me, with a clipboard pressed firmly against her chest, may as well be speaking Greek for all I know. Her Scottish accent is hard enough to follow, but she adds in words I can’t even decipher. I smile and nod along. That’s what you do, right? Smile and nod, when you’ve no idea what is going on.

  “Hmm.” She purses her thin lips and her beady eyes narrow at me. I take the opportunity to look around the entrance hall. It’s bigger than my entire apartment, with high ceilings and tapestries on the walls. There’s a chill in the air that bites––and it’s not coming from the woman who is now ranting at me. I’m pretty sure she’s not speaking English now.

  “I’m really sorry. Traffic was… terrible,” I say, heaving a big sigh with a shrug of the shoulders. It’s a lie. But I don’t want to tell her I arrived late on purpose, imitated a pigeon to avoid being seen by other guests and threw myself into a bush. Although, crawling back into said bush sounds far more appealing now. The woman looks behind my head and jabbers away again. This time she’s not speaking to me.

  “Hello, you must be Melissa Jones?”

  I turn towards the familiar voice. A mature woman with silver spectacles perched on the edge of her pointy nose looks at me with a smile. Recognising her immediately, I resist the urge to gasp and nod at the sound of my name. I offer my hand as if this is a business interview.

  “Yes, I am. I’m terribly sorry for my late arrival,” I say in a voice that sounds nothing like my own. It’s far too formal, and in Queen’s English. I’ve turned into a private school girl who just got back to class from playing a few rounds of Lacrosse.

  “Not to worry. You missed the briefing, so I’ll fill you in on what’s happening. My name is Jewel Smith, but you may call me Jewel.” I do not need to be told. Jewel has hosted the Love Trials since it began. She touches the top of my arm briefly, and gestures for me to walk forward. Trying not to fangirl, I wave to the lady with the Scottish accent as we pass by. Her mouth remains a straight line that does not even twitch in the corner.

  “Come on in here where it’s warm, we have a fire burning,” Jewel says as she bids me to follow her.

  I am taken into a circular room, with a large Persian rug on the stone floor and a gorgeous mahogany table facing me. An array of paintings surrounds us, and a huge fireplace takes up most of the wall to the side. I stare at the flames for a moment, wondering whether the fire will warm me if I just look at it. Jewel tosses in a handful of pinecones and the flames flash red, then blue and purple. My mouth hangs open as I suddenly wonder if I’ve walked into a wizarding school.

  “Have you never seen colour cones before?” Jewel asks me. I shake my head, my mouth still open. “The grandkids love them, though I think I’m quite partial to them myself–– truth be told.”

  Jewel flicks her greying hair back from her shoulder and settles in the chair behind the desk. Then she motions for me to take a seat. I walk over to one of the huge armchairs facing the table and lower into one with as much class as I can muster. The springs have gone from the cushion and I fall inside a little too far for my liking. My dress hitches up above the knee and I stifle a nervous laugh as I edge it down my legs. Flashing one person is enough embarrassment for one evening.

  “Welcome to the Love Trials. I am sure you are curious to know why we chose you for the s
how, seeing as you are…”

  A loser? I swear she’s thinking it. Here I am buried in a broken chair, blonde wispy hair frizzing at the roots, my lace dress in tatters and I’m missing the most important element to be in this show. A boyfriend.

  “I’m sorry,” I blurt out before she can finish. “My friend gave me this crazy idea to apply to work on the event. The man on the phone said I didn’t need to have a boyfriend to be on the show. And I’m a huge fan. So, he put me forward, and then I got a call to come, and here I am.” I know I’m rambling, but I’m on a roll and once I’ve started, it’s impossible to stop. Thankfully, Jewel’s lips curve upwards and deep lines crease underneath her cheekbones.

  “Right,” she says, lacing her fingers together and resting her elbows on the desk. “The show is about testing couples to the limit. The viewers will vote for their favourite couple each week and the finale will involve a live wedding and the King and Queen will receive a sum of one-hundred-thousand pounds.”

  It’s slightly surreal to be sitting across from Jewel, who has been hosting the show ever since it began. I nod along to her words. I’ve been watching this show in awe since I was a kid. One year, there was a double wedding because the two couples received the same number of votes. No one could believe it! Although, my aunt Francis insisted it was a fix. She’s the family conspiracy theorist, but in this case, she had a point. How could they get the same number of votes? I inwardly shake myself and focus on Jewel, who is speaking again.