King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

13. Stella

Chapter 13

Stella

W hen I was a kid, one of my mom’s friends gave her two tickets to The Nutcracker . Her friend, another dancer at the strip club, won them on the radio and didn’t want to go. Said she wasn’t interested in that kind of music and dance. My mom had always dreamed of going. I remembered her telling me the story on the way to New Orleans to see the ballet.

“ Ooooh , I’m so excited, Stella! I’ve always wanted to go, but when I asked, my mom slapped me across the face. We didn’t have the money to go, and I should have known better than to ask.” Headlights coming toward our car washed light over her face, and for an instant, I could see how sad her eyes looked. They had welled over with tears, but she wiped the sadness away almost too fast for me to catch. No tears ever rolled down her cheeks. She said it was a waste for a woman to cry after she’d done her makeup.

What a night we had. It was so much fun. We’d watched the ballet and then grabbed beignets and café au lait, made with chicory coffee, on the way home. We even took a bag to one of her friends, another dancer who was staying with us, and after my mom went to take a shower, the friend had snuck me another beignet.

I remembered all of that, and I also remembered the dress I’d worn. Mom bought it from Walmart, but she was so excited because it was a three-piece outfit—the dress, which was silver velvet and had scenes from The Nutcracker on it, a silver ribbon for my hair, and matching slippers. She bought me a pair of stockings, and I never remembered being so excited about an outfit before.

Before we’d left, her friend took a picture of us on her phone. Mom said she was going to get it printed out and frame it.

I was seeing the dress in my dreams again.

I was wearing it again as a child, and child-me was staring at older-me. I could see her standing next to a hospital bed, and she was giving me—us?—a stern look. The fire that used to be in my eyes—burning stars, as mom called them—was as hot as ever. Child-me was mad at older-me for not finding the strength to get up. I was just too tired.

How could child-me be mad about that? After all we’d been through?

For whatever reason, though, it irked me. The fire inside child-me had gone out in older-me. I wanted to see that same look in my eyes again. I craved it. Life had burned through my soul and had been shining through my eyes.

My eyes barely opened, and when they did, I was sorry I listened to child-me.

Everything hurt.

It hurt so bad that I couldn’t move.

The room was bright, almost too bright, and it smelled clean. So fresh. Noises surrounded me, but they only sounded like pleasant beeps. Not the frantic sound of my heart about to explode from fear. Of feeling hopeless. I stared at the ceiling for so long, my eyes started to burn.

Am I dead?

That could be the only possible explanation for being here. If I were dead, though, why couldn’t I move? Wasn’t being dead supposed to be a good thing? The blind can finally see and all of that? I could see, but I felt rooted to this bed. Like my limbs were too heavy and were keeping me pinned down to a semi-soft mattress. No itch. And my heart? It was hammering in my chest, though it felt kind of sluggish too.

Think back, Stella.

My things! I wanted to screech. That was the last thing I remembered before…nothing. Snippets of being in a box, being stomped on, the radiating pain in my head…but was that after my things? Or another time? They had trapped me with the rats before. I still had bite marks on my toes. I thought I was going to die from some disease after.

What about Régine? She usually lost her head when she found out the Russians locked me up for being insubordinate. She must have demanded that they come and get me. She didn’t want me to lose a toe, or worse, die from vermin-transmitted disease. How would she make money then?

My things!

That was all my mind could register, and then cool tears streaking down my cheeks. I wanted to cry out but couldn’t. Something was in my throat, but I could still breathe.

Then…

A touch so soft that I shivered.

My eyes moved slowly to the left, and if I could have gasped, I would have.

That beautiful man. Matteo Fausti. He was staring at me with eyes that were bloodshot and looked a bit crazed. His fingers were caressing my head, and when our eyes met, he stopped. It was like he was shocked to see me looking at him.

I was the one shocked to be looking at him .

What the hell was he doing here?

Did he come to finish me off? And if so, why was he being so tender with me?

I had no clue, but what I did know was, he was much more beautiful than I ever imagined. Like…he was so beautiful, it was hard to stare at him. I closed my eyes for a second, took a deep breath, and when I opened them—he was still there.

Was this heaven?

Him being next to me felt like it.

Then again…if this was reality, was that even better? Like heaven on earth? Or would it soon get worse for me?

I was so confused.

“Stella,” he barely got out.

All I could do was nod. Or I thought I did.

His large, warm hand engulfed mine, and squeezed so hard, it almost hurt. Maybe I would have complained, but it had been so long since someone touched me that way—in a reassuring way. It made me feel so safe, I almost wanted him to squeeze my hand so hard that he broke my bones. Make a permanent mark on me that I’d carry around whenever I felt sad or overwhelmed or scared. My bones would tingle at the thought.

My entire body was tingling with him being so close. I would have thought it was all the aches and pains, but those were different. Closer to the surface of my skin. Whatever he was doing to me, and he wasn’t really doing anything, went much deeper. I’d felt it the night he showed up in Sub Rosa, which screwed with me more than anything else I’d been through up until that point.

Why? That had been a question I’d been asking myself ever since he showed up. He’d been nothing but an apparition that became a fantasy to keep me going. To keep my fire alive on the darkest days and nights.

I tried to open my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.

“It’s all right,” he whispered. “You’re going to be okay.”

I closed my eyes, and the tears ran down my skin even faster. I couldn’t stop them, just like I couldn’t stop anything else that seemed to happen to me.

“You’re going to be okay,” he kept repeating, and his head came next to mine, and it was the most wonderful thing I’d felt in years. He was so warm and so inviting, and my skin had been much too cold for far too long.

When he told me to open my eyes, I gazed into his dark ones. I could hide in them, be saved and safe in them.

“What took you so long?” he rasped out. He closed his eyes, breathing me in, my hand against his mouth, and tears ran down his cheeks, warm against my frigid skin.