Forbidden Fruit Read online

  Forbidden Fruit:

  A Modern MMF Bisexual Ménage Fairy Tale Retelling

  Copyright © 2020 by Roxanne Riley

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is completely coincidental and not intentional. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the author, other than brief excerpts for the purpose of reviews or promotion.

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  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Lumi

  Chapter Two

  Xander

  Chapter Three

  Orion

  Chapter Four

  Lumi

  Chapter Five

  Orion

  Chapter Six

  Xander

  Chapter Seven

  Orion

  Chapter Eight

  Lumi

  Chapter Nine

  Orion

  Chapter Ten

  Xander

  Chapter Eleven

  Lumi

  Chapter Twelve

  Orion

  Chapter Thirteen

  Xander

  Epilogue

  Lumi

  Special Inside Look into Just This Once!

  Prologue

  “What the fuck is this?” Isabella Pelletier snapped, slamming a printed screenshot down on the table.

  JD Song raised an eyebrow lazily before lifting his dark gaze to the fuming songstress. “Hello, darling,” he drawled, “Lovely to see you, too.”

  “Cut the crap, Song, answer me.”

  “A screenshot of my blog,” he replied drily.

  “No shit,” Isabella snarled, “I meant what the hell is this blog post?!”

  “It’s a review,” the man’s tone remained cool and unaffected, “What’s your problem?”

  Her lip curled into a mocking sneer as she read the article aloud: “If the rest of Lumi LeBlanc’s debut solo album carries even half the punch of this new single, the Princess of Pop will be celebrating a takeover of the genre along with her 18th birthday next week when it launches!”

  “Her new single is killer,” the blogger replied with a shrug, “The kid’s got potential.”

  “The “Princess of Pop”? She’s just another shitty teen movie actress who thinks she can sing now,” she spat.

  “I’m not the only one calling her that. So what?”

  “You shouldn’t be encouraging it!”

  “Why not? You love your Queen of Pop moniker, I would think you’d be thrilled at the idea that everyone considers her beneath you. And besides, she is your daughter, after all,” he picked casually at a hangnail as he spoke.

  “Stepdaughter,” Isabella hissed like it pained her, “She’s only six years younger than I am. And that’s not the point, that’s not how it’s being interpreted and you know it. It makes me look old, like I’m going to be phased out and she’s taking my place. And when you throw on your line about her “taking over” the genre?!”

  “Whatever, that shit is your hang-up, not mine. Look, if you’re just here to bitch about an honest review, you can get out of my office,” the man yawned, leaning back in his chair, “The Magic Mirror doesn’t exist solely to stroke your ego, babe. If you want attention, maybe try focusing on getting a new album out instead of harassing your favorite blogger.”

  “I could ruin your pathetic little blog in an instant, you worm.”

  “First of all, if that were true, you wouldn’t be here mincing words in my office,” JD replied, rising to his feet and resting his palms on his desk, leaning forward, “Secondly, without me, you never would have been anything more than a forgotten one-hit wonder. Now, are you going to continue to waste my time, or will you kindly get the fuck out of my office?”

  “Why, you little-“

  “I said, out,” a hint of anger finally pierced through JD’s cool façade, his eyes glinting pure steel.

  Isabella, startled by the sudden shift in demeanor, decided to shift tactics. Ignoring JD’s demand, she skirted around and squeezed herself between the man and his desk, pressing her palms on his chest and guiding him back down into his chair.

  He sat slowly, still glaring daggers up at her. She kept her hands on his chest, bending forward to give him a generous view of her cleavage. “Is that any way to talk to your Queen?” she purred at him in a low, playful tone, clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

  “You need to leave, Bella,” JD sighed his expression softening, “One of these days, someone is going to catch us. Your husband’s going to find out.”

  “Your office is the safest place in town,” she crooned, walking her fingers along the silk of his tie, “No cameras here. No one’ll never find out, especially not that oblivious old ”

  JD’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t reply, either in protest or agreement. Isabella climbed into his lap, straddling him, and wrapped her arms around his neck, twirling his ponytail around her fingers. He watched her, something steely and dangerous in his gaze, but he remained still until she made the first move and planted her lips on his.

  Gotcha, Isabella thought smugly when he finally responded to her, grabbing her and kissing her back fiercely.

  When his lips moved down her neck, she leaned in and whispered in his ear, dropping her voice to a girlish, vulnerable whisper. “You still think I’m the prettiest, right?”

  Helpless and caught under her spell, JD’s dark eyes moved up to hers. They glowed like emeralds lit from within. “Of course,” he murmured, entranced by blood-red lips and honey-colored curls, “Beauty incarnate. No one else compares.”

  She flashed him a smile and fluttered her eyelashes. “No one?”

  “No one,” he assured her firmly.

  Chapter One

  Lumi

  It feels like surely it’s been at least an hour since I last looked at the clock. But when I let my eyes flit over to the blaring red numbers on my night stand, to my horror, only twelve minutes have passed.

  3:43 AM. I let out a groan and scrub my hands over my face. As of a hour ago, I’m officially eighteen years old. Well, legally I was an adult as of midnight, but if we’re going by my actual birth time…

  Oh my God, what does it matter? It’s still almost three in the morning, just go the fuck to sleep! My brain screams at me.

  I can’t help it, though, I’m excited. Eighteen is supposed to be a big deal, right? I’ll finally have a little more freedom in my career, which I’m looking forward to. I’ll finally have some control and my father won’t be able to interfere.

  I know he means well, but I’m tired of being typecast. His meddling has left me relegated to the “girl next door” type role in lame coming-of-age movies, and the goody-two-shoes act over and over again is getting mind-numbingly dull. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful and I love what I do, but I’m ready for something new.

  Which is another thing to be excited about tomorrow. My first album is finally being released in its entirety. It feels like I finished recording eons ago, but between production and then the release of the first single to build the hype, I’ve been waiting not-so-patiently for my music to be shared with the world.

  Admittedly, the music’s not exactly what I was hoping to create, between the interference of my dad and the record label, but I was hoping that at least a few people out there would be able to see past the “bubblegum” beats and catchy hooks I’d shoehorned in.

  Another glance at the clock.

  3:47 AM.

  I slam my ey
es shut with a heavy sigh. I need some sleep, tomorrow is going to be a long day, and all of that is before tomorrow night.

  Tomorrow night. A smile blooms across my face just thinking about it. As a combined birthday-slash-album-release party, we rented out Chateau Noirault, one of the hottest hotels in the country, and the party we’re throwing is set to be incredible.

  At the top of the guest list is my best friend, Aurora Rayne. Rory and I were co-stars on a teen drama and ever since, she’s been my closest friend. But unfortunately, she moved out of the country when the show stopped running, so I only get to see her on the rare occasions where she’s filming here or coming through for an event.

  But “your eighteenth birthday is a big fucking deal and my manager can eat my ass if he thinks he’s keeping me away,” she had told me.

  I actually found out that recently that she’d passed up a movie role that would have required her to be in New Zealand over my birthday. I was deeply touched, and when I tried to ask her about it, she claimed she didn’t know what I was talking about.

  There are hundreds of other names on the guest list, some I recognize and some that I don’t, so I’m only half looking forward to the party itself. But I figure, this will be the last time I’m forced to schmooze with whatever contacts Dad wants, right? After that, the reins are mine. And it’s not like I won’t have a good time, anyway, I’ll have Rory and a handful of other friends around.

  I try not to dwell on all of that, though, and instead I decide to try to count sheep. But my mind is still too wide awake and all it does is open up a whole new can of worms.

  I lie there and wonder, how do people count sheep, anyway? Are they supposed to be real sheep, or little cartoon ones? And are they just in a huge heap or something, or are they passing by one by one? Why sheep? What is it about sheep that’s just inherently supposed to make you sleepy?

  And so finally, in my frustration, I decide to forego sleep. You can’t force it, right? And that’s why energy drinks exist, I guess.

  So I throw off the covers and make my way to the bathroom, the cold shock of the tile under my bare feet chasing away any last little hints of sleepiness. I flip the light on, grab my brush and start working it through the tangles in my dark hair.

  The inky waves are about the only feature I have of my father’s. Everything else, I got from my mother, at least so I’ve seen in pictures and videos. She died when I was two, so I don’t really have memories of her.

  But because she and my dad met on the set of a movie they were in together, I’ve gotten to see plenty of her face on screen. I’ve gotten to know her the same way her fans did; through her art and her interviews. It’s not like I had much choice, though, Dad won’t talk about her.

  I’d begged him to, time and time again, to tell me what she was really like underneath the glitz and the glamour, but he refused. When I was younger, this infuriated me, but as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized that he isn’t trying to keep her from me. He just can’t bear to talk about her. Sometimes he looks at me and I think he sees a hint of her in my eyes or the curve of my smile.

  It almost makes me wish I didn’t resemble her. But it’s hard not to appreciate what she passed on to me. Delicately carved cheekbones and a button nose, large blue eyes framed with a thick fan of black lashes, and full, rosy lips. My complexion is smooth and creamy, even if I can’t tan to save my life. More than about fifteen minutes in the sunshine and I freckle and burn.

  But as I strip off my pajamas and turn on the shower, I’m reminded of one thing besides my hair that differs between my appearance and my mother’s: she was tall and supermodel-thin, with legs that went on for miles.

  While I wait for the water to warm up, I look in the mirror and twist this way and that, assessing. It had been a few weeks since I’d seen any tabloid articles about my weight, which was a nice break. Although now that I was eighteen, I shuddered to think of what kinds of things they might say about me, since they’d shown at least a little restraint while I was underage.

  With a thicker waist and fuller ass and bust, I didn’t have the typical figure of a starlet, but I tried to be proud of my body all the same, and ignore the constant critiques. It seemed like I was perpetually either being shamed for my weight or sexualized for my curvy figure, and it seemed like the latter would only get worse now.

  I sigh and step under the falling water, letting the warmth melt away the thoughts for now. I can’t help but wonder what tonight might bring, because now that I’m 18, there’s another door open to me that my dad can’t keep locked anymore: dating.

  Yeah, he’s that kind of overprotective. But I suppose it’s been for the best. Poor Rory’s love life has been plastered all over tabloids and the internet since her first kiss on a movie set when she was fourteen.

  He hasn’t been so heavy-handed that I’ve never had any kind of romantic roles or anything, but they’ve all just been strictly roles. I’ve never even had a real kiss that was my own and not a character’s.

  What if that changed tonight? The idea made my heart flutter. Some tall, dark, handsome thing twirling me around the dance floor, hand on my waist…I imagine that moment, that heart-stopping moment just before his lips touch mine where the whole world falls away.

  My mind takes it a step further and I can picture the world really falling away. The scene in my head shifts and instead of the crowd in the ballroom, we’re alone in a candlelit bedroom.

  My heart skips a beat and my breath quickens, but I quickly shake the thoughts from my head. That seems like a little too much of a jump, to spring from my first kiss to a man’s bed.

  Chapter Two

  Xander

  I don’t know why I agreed to come to this. Stuffed into Chateau Noirault with a shit-ton of other overdressed people and trying to avoid the cameras. I don’t even know the actress chick whose birthday I’m supposed to be celebrating. My band had done the soundtrack for some movie she was in, but I never actually met her.

  But our band manager had talked me into it, telling me that there would be movie people there and that I should try and work in another soundtrack deal.

  The idea appeals to me about as much as the rest of this party, but the other guys agreed to do it, so I had to suit up and drag my ass out. I’d rather be spending my evening hanging out with my best friend Orion.

  Ugh. Thinking of Orion makes me wince. If he knew I was here…Oh, who am I kidding, I know he’ll find out.

  Orion

  At least the other guys have been doing the schmoozing, leaving me free to hang back.

  I love being a musician, don’t get me wrong. But I hate the “celebrity” aspect of it. I hate feeling constantly on edge, like I’m perpetually being watched.

  Someone collides with me from behind and I stumble forward, my drink splashing across the front of my suit. I let out a muffled curse and whirled to see who tried to knock me over, but my anger fades when I see a tipsy girl who had stumbled in a sky-high pair of heels. “You ok?” I ask her.

  She giggles. “I’m just great!” she chirps.

  The blonde is familiar, but I can’t call her name to mind. I doubt that she’s twenty-one, but judging by the designer outfit and general vibe of the girl, she could probably afford to bribe the bartender, if they were bothering to card at all in this mess.

  “Rory! There you are!” a flustered feminine voice breaks through the noise and the blonde turns.

  I follow her gaze and it feels like something even bigger slams into me, knocking the breath out of me. The girl approaching is the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen. Her pale skin glows like moonlight against the shining black waves of silk falling around her face.

  Red lace encases an hourglass silhouette, dipping low in the front to display a generous amount of her lush, perky breasts. “I thought you were going to wait for me at the table!” she exclaims.

  Holy shit, even her voice slices through me, stirring feelings that I’ve only ever felt around-

&nb
sp; Nope. Not going there tonight.

  The brunette looks up at me, as if suddenly noticing my presence. “Oh, I’m sorry,” that musical voice laces with embarrassment, “I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything.”

  “No, no, it’s fine,” I wave off her worry and offer her my hand, “I was just about to introduce myself. Xander Valentine.”

  “Oh, I know who you are,” she says, shaking my hand, “I’ve got all your albums, and it was an honor to work with you on Final Stones, even if it was totally indirectly,” she laughs nervously.

  Oh, shit. This is the birthday girl. Lumi LeBlanc. I guess I’d never paid much attention to photos of the girl, but here, face to face with her, I can’t take my eyes off her. “Thank you,” I flash her a grin, “That means a lot.”

  Her breath catches and she clears her throat, those pale cheeks coloring a soft pink. Her eyes are glued to mine and maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but she seems as spellbound as I am.

  “Rory!” A booming male voice behind me startles us both out of our reverie and draws the attention of the blonde.

  “Oh, fuck, Captain Killjoy to the rescue,” the blonde gripes, rolling her eyes as the man approaches.

  “You shouldn’t pick on Griffin so much, Rory, you know he just wants to help you,” Lumi chides her.

  “He’s got a pole up his ass the size of Mount Everest,” Rory complains, “I’m gonna get out of here before I get caught.”

  With that, she slips away startlingly fast. “Rory!” Lumi calls in protest, then sighs.

  “So that’s the infamous Rory Rayne, eh?” I asked.

  The other girl’s face was splashed across the tabloids far more often than Lumi’s. Neither of them were totally wild or anything, but Rory was definitely more the “party girl” type, her name linked to a different guy every few months and leaked photos of her drinking and dancing on tables weren’t an uncommon occurrence.

  “Infamous seems like the right word,” Lumi admitted with a laugh.