The One and Only Vivian Stone: A Second Chance Romance of Old Hollywood Secrets - Softcover

O'Connor, Melissa

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1668074834 ISBN 13: 9781668074831

Verlag: Gallery Books, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo meets The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel in this sweeping dual-timeline novel about old Hollywood secrets and a second chance romance that refuses to stay buried.

When Margot DuBois returns to her late grandmother’s house, she plans to sell it quickly and retreat to the safe, predictable life she’s built, far removed from the writing career that once defined her…and the failure that followed. But in the attic, she finds eight unlabeled cassette tapes. With no way to play them, she turns to the one person she swore she’d never need again—Leo, her first love and first epic heartbreak. He agrees to help on one condition: he gets to listen, too. The voice on the tapes belongs to comedy legend Vivian Stone. Why did she record these and how did Margot’s grandmother get them?

As Vivian’s story unfolds, it traces a dazzling rise through old Hollywood, a forbidden love with the industry’s leading man, and a career fueled by ambition in a misogynistic studio system. But behind the glamour lies a truth she never escaped: a single choice that changed everything. As Margot and Leo are pulled deeper into Vivian’s past, they’re forced to confront their own. Because some stories aren’t meant to stay hidden. And some loves deserve a second chance.

For fans of Taylor Jenkins Reid and Fiona Davis, The One and Only Vivian Stone is a story about the ways our pasts make us who we are and how it’s never too late to start over.

"Intriguing, sparkling with wit, and suspenseful in all the right places." —Abby Jimenez

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Melissa O’Connor became obsessed with stories involving family secrets, betrayal, and forbidden love after being given a box of used V.C. Andrews books at age ten. She lives in Buffalo, New York, where she can usually be found cheering on her kids’ hockey teams and sneaking words on the page between games. The One and Only Vivian Stone is her debut novel.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One: Margot: Now CHAPTER ONE Margot now
I’ll admit it: I’m a creature of habit. Change scares me.

Or maybe it’s less that change scares me and more that familiarity is reassuring. Living a couple of hours away, I don’t often drive through my old neighborhood in Long Beach, but whenever I do, it’s like rewatching my favorite movie. Knowing what to expect means being able to savor the details.

There’s something charming about how the Pete’s Hardware sign hangs slightly crooked. And the mist puffing out from the decorative mug above the door to Blossom’s Bakery.

Even the red-and-white awning as I pull up to Ruiz Music is the same. It’s been twenty years since I stepped inside, and I wouldn’t again if not for the old shoebox I discovered this morning while cleaning out my grandma’s attic. Inside was a note—a love letter—to and from people I’d never heard of, alongside cassette tapes. Probably mixtapes, but I couldn’t check. The player I also found was broken.

But I knew who could fix it.

Before I can weigh the merits of being a coward, I gather the cassette player and the shoebox from the passenger seat and walk through the music store door. The bell above jingles, and nostalgia at being here again tingles down my spine. To the left are rows of sheet music books. Guitars hang from the wall above, while amps and keyboards sit in a display on the floor. Classical music pipes through speakers.

To the right, a man stands behind the counter, his back to me. Broad shoulders stretch a black T-shirt, his forearms tensing as he transfers an amp to a nearby table. Though I can’t see his face, how he moves is distinctly familiar.

“How can I help—” He turns toward the door, his words coming to a halt as his gaze meets mine.

My stomach tumbles like it’s in a cocktail shaker.

I don’t know what I expected Leo to look like after all these years. Identical, I suppose, like he’d been frozen in time. For the most part, I still see the boy from high school in a man’s body. The brown eyes I used to know like the back of my hand are the same. So are his lips, which very well might be the best part of his face, with their soft slope and gentle peaks.

Other things have changed. He didn’t used to have stubble I wanted to run my fingers across. Or a voice so low and gravelly, it sent goosebumps down my arms. He abandoned the close-cropped haircut he once favored, his dark strands longer now, swept back in waves I didn’t realize he had. And the last time I saw him, his arms were bony—not muscled with biceps that more than fill his sleeves.

Teenage Leo was cute. This Leo is a wildfire. If I’d known he would look like this, I don’t think I would have summoned the courage to come inside.

Deep breath in. Breath out.

“Hi.” I force a smile, stepping forward as if drawn by a magnet, and set the shoebox and the player on the counter between us. “It’s been a long time. I wasn’t sure you still worked here.”

Very cool, casual. If my throat were gripped by a vise, that is.

His gaze slides over my brown curls, my face, then down my body. He studies me with the kind of deep concentration he used to have when fiddling with electronics.

“Margot.”

That’s all he says. I suppose he’s forgotten how we used to spend so much time together, our moms had a running joke about paying each other rent. Or all the times we sat on the roof outside his bedroom, talking under the stars. How he once kissed me like it was more vital than air.

Then he rounds the counter, closing the distance between us, and wraps his arms around me. “You’re back.”

I rest my cheek against his chest and return the embrace, oxytocin rushing through me as I inhale. The familiar scent of his detergent is an addiction I’ve never overcome.

He pulls back but doesn’t let go, holding my arms. “It’s so good to see you. I’ve been thinking about you.” Before I can consider why, he adds, “I saw the obituary for your grandma. I would have come to the wake if there’d been one.”

“Mom and I decided to keep it small.”

As small as my family. I don’t have aunts or uncles. No cousins. Gram never married. Without her saying it, I sensed that her relationship with my absent grandfather hadn’t been a loving one.

Same story with my dad. He left when I was a baby, claiming he wasn’t ready to be a parent, so Mom and I lived with Gram. Ironically, three years after he moved to Arizona, he got married, and within a decade they had three kids. He’s never shown an interest in my life.

“I’m sorry.” Leo’s lips press into a thin line. “I stopped by the house a while back, hoping to offer my condolences to you or your mom, but no one was home.”

“It’s okay,” I whisper past the lump in my throat. “Gram had a long, full life. I got more time with her than most people get with their grandparents.” But she was more than a grandparent. She was like a second mother.

It’s been two months since she passed, and I keep obsessing over the last time we spoke. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have rushed her off the phone, eager to keep reading a romance novel. I would do anything to get back that last conversation and let it stretch all night. To have one more piece of her to hold on to.

“How old was she again?”

“Ninety-three.”

He lets out a low whistle, releasing me. “And she was still driving.”

“How did you know?”

“She stopped by once in a while. Brought me cookies on my birthday.”

Gram had a calendar with special dates she meticulously transferred over every year. I hadn’t realized his birthday was one of them.

“Everything is exactly the same.” I walk a few feet to a keyboard and test a few keys.

“Do you still play?”

I curl my hand away. “No.”

Leo scans me again before shifting his attention to the counter. “So what brings you in? I’m guessing there aren’t cookies in here.” He points at the shoebox.

There’s no ring on his finger. I shouldn’t notice. It shouldn’t matter. But I do, and it does.

I want to ask what he’s been doing with himself. If he ever thinks of me. Instead, I go over to the box, all red save for Salvatore Ferragamo printed in cursive on the side and top. According to my research, it’s a luxury Italian fashion house that’s been around since the 1920s, which is odd. Gram wouldn’t have been able to afford anything from the brand.

An unfamiliar scent wafts into the air as I lift the lid. “I found this in Gram’s attic.”

“Talk about a blast from the past.” He smiles wide, thumbing through the cassette tapes, and a melody of soft-strumming guitars plays in my chest. “What’s on them? Some Fleetwood Mac? Guns N’ Roses?”

“Gram was more of a Beach Boys lady, and Mom likes Mariah Carey.” Spiderweb-like cracks spread over the plastic case I pop open, the tape labeled 1 of 8. “See that? There should be eight, but the last one is missing.”

“Have you listened to them?”

I flip the player and open the battery compartment to show him the powdery mess inside. “Not yet. I don’t have a spare one of these.” I give him a knowing smile....

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Gallery Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2025
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1668074834
• ISBN 13: 9781668074831
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Auflage: 1
• Anzahl der Seiten: 368
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: River House; mail@indigo.de; ; Schlachthofstr. 36 A; Hamburg; 21079; Deutschland