I’m Dating A Hollywood Star!



Today’s blog post is all about marrying a Hollywood Star. A dream come true? Not necessarily, as our heroine finds out in this glamorous tale of what happens when you marry a superstar but try to keep your own identity.

Kelly is a pretty girl from a very ordinary family, with an extraordinary secret…she is dating one of Hollywood’s biggest stars. Rufus George – the handsome, millionaire star of countless blockbuster films.

No one knows. And it’s great.

But then Rufus asks her to come and live with him, so she tells her flatmates and takes him to meet her parents and all hell breaks loose – it turns out that it’s very hard to live an ordinary life when you’re going out with a movie star.

Soon photographers are circling, unscrupulous journalists are hovering and ADORING WOMEN EVERYWHERE want to ruin her relationship with her Hollywood hunk as she tries to make her relationship work.

Can a normal girl stay normal when she is plunged headfirst into an abnormal world? Or will the backbiting, lies and media pressure drive her to distraction and drive them apart?

Below is an extract from the book.

It’s from Chapter 10, the scene when Kelly takes Rufus back to meet her parents for the first time:



We arrive at Mum and Dad’s house in something of a state, with Rufus

having nearly killed us en route. He didn’t mention that he was yet to drive on

the left for any period of time, having designated all previous long-distance

driving to Henry. Rufus said he was eager not to have Henry drive us on this

occasion for fear that it looked too ‘flash’. It seemed slightly ridiculous given

that Rufus is an international film star and one of the best–looking guys on the

planet. He’d look ‘flash’ lying in rags in the gutter, begging for food. Rufus is

the very personification of ‘flash’. He could no more avoid being flash than I

could avoid being female: that’s just what he is.

Still, I appreciated the gesture. I was glad he was worried about how he might

be perceived by my parents. I loved that he cared. Just a shame that he had to

demonstrate it by risking both our lives.

‘Mum and Dad, this is Rufus,’ I say when we arrive at the front door.

‘Oooo, hello,’ says Mum, patting her hair and fussing over her flowery apron.

She might not know her Rufuses from her Johnnys, but she knows a pretty face

when she sees one.


‘Nice to meet you, son,’ says Dad, patting him on the back in a manly fashion.

‘Do you want to shove that car of yours up onto the drive so it doesn’t get

bashed into? The cars come round at a hell of a pace.’

Mum and Dad live on a crescent and most of Dad’s life is spent fixating on

what’s going to become of the cars parked outside.

Rufus thanks Dad and heads off to ‘shove’ his Maserati GranCabrio onto the

drive while Dad stands there in his brown cardigan, directing him into the tiniest

space, with all the skill of a drunk. It is a scene which has disaster written all

over it.

‘Come inside, dear,’ says Mum. ‘We’ll leave the men to it.’

I look over at Dad waving his arms wildly as if to indicate acres of space,

while Rufus manoeuvres the £100k car slowly and cautiously into the three

inches available. The very last thing I want to do is to ‘leave the men to it’. It

seems to me that ‘the men’ are far from capable of being left to it.

Still, I follow Mum into our small, cluttered family home. The smell of

cooking leaks out from the kitchen. Mum is preparing a large Sunday roast and

it smells absolutely delicious. I walk into the kitchen to find eight of our

neighbours, all crammed up against the window and peering through it as my

boyfriend and father bond over car manoeuvring.

‘Oooo, Betty, he’s better looking in the flesh, isn’t he?’ says Margaret, the

lady who runs the coffee shop at our local church.

‘He is,’ says Betty with a leeriness to her voice. ‘Oh yes, he definitely is.’

‘Hi,’ I say, and watch as the ageing ladies jump back and pretend to be

admiring the petunias on the shelf by the window.

‘Lovely shade of purple, Jayne,’ says Betty. ‘Oh, Kelly, how nice to see you.’

The others mumble their greetings, comment on how well I look, and how

gorgeous my dress is. ‘Must have cost a fortune!’ declares Doreen. ‘But I guess

you can afford it.’

‘Lovely to see you all too,’ I reply. Then I walk into the sitting room and push

the cats off the sofa so I can sit down. Mum runs in behind me.

‘Sorry, love, I couldn’t stop them!’ she says. ‘Once I told them about Rupert,

they all wanted to come and see him.’

‘Rufus, Mum. His name’s Rufus.’

‘Rufus. Yes. Funny name. He seems nice though. I’ll throw this lot out when

he comes in, and I can get to know him a bit better. Pretty dress. It must have

cost a fortune.’

I often think that Mum and Dad’s generation are obsessed with how much

things cost. They mention the price of things all the time, and whether things

seem cheap, expensive or reasonably priced.

‘Rufus bought it for me,’ I reply.

As we sit side by side in the warm sitting room, enjoying the late morning

sunlight coming in through the patio windows at the back of the house, it

sounds as if a small commotion is developing in the hallway. We rush out to see


what’s going on to find that Rufus has come into the house and Mum’s friends

have all gone diving out of the kitchen to say hello to him, with the result that

he can’t get in.

The problem is further complicated by the fact that local boys have seen the

Maserati and are gathering outside to see whom it belongs to. One sight of

Tarzan and the crowds are growing. Rufus needs to get in to escape the throng

outside, but is prevented from doing so by the throng in the hallway. It would be

safe to say that nothing like this has ever happened in Leemarr Crescent before.

Mum pushes past me and moves herself onto the stairs that run just off the

hallway, next to the sitting–room door. She claps her hands loudly and everyone

falls silent. ‘You can all meet Rufus later,’ she says. ‘But right now I’d like him

to be able to get into our home, so would you mind leaving. There’ll be plenty

of time for autographs later.’

There is mumbling and moaning from inside the house, and grunting and

groaning from outside but, to be fair to the old dears, they do depart, and the

youngsters outside retreat to pore over the car.

‘Thanks,’ says Rufus to Mum, causing her to blush hysterically and giggle

like a ten–year–old.

Before long Mum and Dad are chatting away to Rufus as if they’d known him

all their lives. We sit in the kitchen to eat ‘because it’s cosier’ than their dining

room, and Mum has drawn the blinds, just in case there are a few people still

hanging around outside. ‘Now it’s really cosy!’ she exclaims as we sit in

half–darkness while the late September sun shines gaily outside.

‘More lamb?’ she asks Rufus.

‘No, I’m full. Thank you very much.’

‘Not dieting, are you?’ she enquires. Mum doesn’t think that men should be

on diets. She thinks it’s ‘unmanly’.

‘No, just very full now,’ he says.

‘Leave the boy alone,’ Dad interjects, protectively. I love the way he does

that; treating the multi–millionaire film icon as if he were a snotty–nosed

teenager. He calls him ‘boy’ constantly and talks about the financial instability

of Rufus’s ‘line of work’.

‘Must be tough for you,’ he says, on more than one occasion. Happily, Rufus

has the good grace to nod and smile in the semi–darkness, and fails to mention

that he earns enough to buy the country.

‘Why don’t we pull the blinds up, Jayne, there’ll be no one there now,’ says

Dad, as Mum lays huge bowls of apple pie and custard down before us. ‘It

would be nice to enjoy the natural light.’

‘Good idea,’ she says, pulling the cord. We all look up, and there, in front of

us, stand around 500 people, packed onto the lawns, peering right through the

window and cheering madly at the rising blind as if at a rock concert.

‘Rufus, Rufus, Rufus!’ they chant. ‘We want Rufus.’ Camera flashes explode

and people come running towards Mum’s little kitchen from all directions.


‘Jayne, let’s not have the blind up after all,’ says Dad, quickly and calmly.

‘It’s quite nice to eat without the sun bothering us.’


I hope you enjoy the novel:


UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Im-Dating-Hollywood-star-glamorous-ebook/dp/B08HM717Z1/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1604670402&sr=1-1

US: https://www.amazon.com/Im-Dating-Hollywood-star-glamorous-ebook/dp/B08HM717Z1/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1604670402&sr=1-1


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