King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

16. Stella

Chapter 16

Stella

O ne month in the hospital, and after my first surgery, Dr. Casella gave permission for a shower. It was Matteo who set up the bathroom and carried me inside the warm, humid room. The nurses had bathed me before, and he’d stepped out of the room to give me privacy, but even the short distance sent me into a panic. I’d tried to overcome it, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t be that far from him.

Once he’d found me, that was it . I was hooked and couldn’t seem to untangle myself. I honestly felt like I was becoming dependent on him, and I said so.

“So?”

“So…?”

He tested the temperature of the water, setting his hand underneath it. He fiddled with the knob, then turned to me. “I can’t be far from you either.”

“Is that normal?”

He shrugged. “Depends on the couple. My parents can’t be apart.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage to say.

His mom, or mamma, as he called her with an Italian accent, Mia, and Magpie had been coming to see me since the beginning, and I was growing closer to all of them. During their visits, and as my release from the hospital grew closer, it was like they were giving me lessons in all things Fausti. What I was learning was that the family was vast, and that they had their own set of rules.

It made me a little nervous.

It made me even more nervous when a woman named Ava, who was married to… shit! A cousin of Matteo’s father, maybe? She came to visit me when his mamma did. Ava handed me a notebook. Some of the pages were filled with information she filled in for me— thankfully —but the rest she told me to fill in as Matteo, his mamma, sister, and grandmother schooled me. Ava had whispered in my ear that I should pay attention to the women, especially, because they were the true rulers of the family. It was important to watch the mechanics from afar after I was released.

I closed my eyes and concentrated on everything I read. So far, I knew this much:

The Fausti family was a powerful family who looked one way to the world, but behind closed doors, was like a pride of lions.

Matteo’s grandfather, who he called Nonno, was the ruler of this ruthless family.

The Fausti men revered women and respected them.

They were known for stealing the hearts from their enemies’ chests while it was still beating—of course, these enemies were men and had done something personal to offend one of them.

The Fausti family was set up like a royal family, in terms of their rankings and how they operated, though they acted more like a bunch of deadly cats.

Those facts alone had my head spinning. I was sure it was going to combust once I started meeting all the members.

I blinked at the man on one knee before me. He smiled, and my breath caught. I felt the steam in the room touch my lungs, and I wanted it to keep touching my lungs because it smelled like his cologne. It was citrusy with a touch of spice.

“All is good, Stella,” he whispered, taking my cold hands in his warm ones. “Things are happening as they should. And when it comes to my family, I’ll take the lead.”

I looked away from him, toward the running water. “You called me something else on the phone.”

He was still for so long that I wondered if he had turned to stone. I met his eyes, feeling heat rush to my cheeks.

“I did. Did you like it?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “I did.”

“ Bene ,” he said, taking my hands, kissing my knuckles. “Always be honest with me. Tell me what you don’t like and do like.”

“I more than liked it,” I said. “I loved it. It made my heart and stomach feel funny, but in the best way.”

“I get that every time I look at you, baby.”

I wasn’t sure if the puddle on the tile floor was me or the water from the shower. I managed to smile at him and fix a strand of his inky hair that had come loose. He kissed my pulse and said, “Bath time. I’ll go grab the nurs?— ”

“No,” I said, and my tone was final, my mind made up. “Will you help me instead?”

His eyes were intense on mine, questioning my decision.

“I’m a dancer,” I said. “Or was. Privacy’s not a big thing for me.”

“Doesn’t matter what you were before. You’re here with me now, and you’re whoever you want to be.”

I shrugged. “I’m not uncomfortable with you.” I untied my robe and let it slide to the floor. I held out my hand, and he took it with a deep breath. It would be dishonest for me to claim that my heart didn’t speed up and my stomach didn’t swish when I heard his intake of breath as I stood under the spray, my back to him, moaning because the hot water felt so good.

It was the first time I’d taken a bath on my own. I physically couldn’t before. And it was my first shower since my time being caged with that woman. The hot water in the servant’s quarter of the chateau only lasted for about five minutes before it turned ice cold, especially in the winter. I’d battled pneumonia more times than I could count. I waited for the day Régine would have it fixed, since she hated putting me in any danger, but each time I’d get sick, she’d say, “It’s too expensive to fix. We’d need an entirely new setup. Wash faster!”

There was no rush to wash faster. The warm water flowed over my body, and I closed my eyes in pure ecstasy. Whatever shampoo and body wash Matteo’s sister had brought over for me smelled divine. Mia called the scent that, divine , and said she thought I’d like it. I loved it. It seemed made for me. I couldn’t wait for it to linger on my skin so I could smell it all day.

“That needs to be opened.”

“Oh,” I said, smiling a little. I’d just been sniffing the bottles.

Matteo stood from the seat in front of the mirror and took the shampoo from me. “Turn around,” he said. And when I did, he squeezed some of the liquid in his palm and started to massage my scalp with it. I had to press my hands against the tiles to keep steady. I’d never felt pleasure like that before. It radiated from my temples to the base of my skull, all the way to my lower back.

When he started to wash me, my knees gave out.

He said something soft in Italian, wrapping his arms around me, while he seemed to carry all my weight. The water beat down on the expensive shirt he wore, but he didn’t care. After a few seconds I whispered, “I’m okay now, but I don’t think your shirt is.” He held me even tighter, setting his face in my neck, kissing my pulse.

If he kept touching me that way, I would have to sit.

The heat from the water, but mostly him, was making me a little lightheaded. But…I was enjoying myself too much. I turned in his arms and looked up into his eyes. Droplets of water were collecting on his dark lashes, and his warm eyes could have melted chocolate. He had an intensity to him that I’d never experienced from another person before. It was aimed all at me.

Keeping eye contact, I started to unbutton his shirt. He didn’t look down or away from me. It seemed like his eyes were narrowing even further, his stare only growing hotter.

“Can I wash you?” I whispered.

I’d never seen a naked man before. And I’d never cared to. But this one? This one I wanted to see bared to me, just like I was vulnerable to him.

“You can do anything you want to me,” he rasped out.

“I doubt that.” I reached out to smooth the shirt from his shoulders, but the sudden lock he had on my wrists stopped me.

“You could kill me, and I wouldn’t fight you,” he said. “If you’re going to break my heart that way, might as well steal it first. Make sure it’s still beating in my chest. It would hurt less than you hurting me.”

I shook my head and tested his pressure on my wrists. He lightened it enough to free me. I moved toward his pants and unbuttoned them. He took a step back, got the wet shirt to the floor, and then kicked off his shoes and removed his pants. He was in nothing but boxers, and they were tented in the front.

Okay, he was beyond whatever word meant more than beautiful. He was fit, with muscles in all the right places. And his face? His face was like a magnet to the eyes. I couldn’t stop staring. I got the feeling he felt he couldn’t survive me , but I had no idea how I was going to survive him . Those eyes alone could melt the hardest of hearts. He was all sharp lines and an impeccable jaw structure, the softest thing about him probably his lips.

The rest was hard and warm and so perfect without being pretentious.

I’d made a pact a few nights ago, though, to experience Matteo Fausti like I’d experience the ride of life—by strapping in and fully committing. I had a lot of heavy weights in my heart, but he seemed to free me from them, like he’d freed my wrists.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I whispered. “I want to make your life as good as you’re making mine.”

“So fucking honest,” he rushed out. He stepped forward, took the back of my head, and pressed my lips against his before he started kissing me in a way he hadn’t before. His tongue reached out and touched mine, and I gasped into his mouth at how good it felt. It sent tingles all over my body, and my nipples started to ache along with a spot between my legs.

The pleasure was such a rush that my hands instinctively reached out for his wide shoulders, and my nails dug into his skin. He seemed to like this. The kiss became…more. It was tender, the way our mouths and tongues came together, but there was an intensity to the…hunger that I knew meant more was on the way. It felt like the power of his eyes came together and caused a beautiful storm between our bodies.

Before I’d realized it, my hands had found the hem of his boxers, and I lowered them, freeing him.

Okay. Okay. Okay.

Was it supposed to be that big?

I had no fucking clue, but it was beautiful. Long, thick, hard, ready for me to wrap my hand around. When I did, he hissed out a breath and stepped into the shower with me. He closed the curtain, and it seemed like our bodies came together like a magnet and whatever it was drawn to. Our hands were exploring, learning, soaking each other in. His hand slid between my thighs, and something wild and powerful took over my body. An instinct too powerful for me to fight. I gave in to it. I cried out and shook.

All he’d done was rub his hand between my thighs.

My eyes were closed so tight, even with the water, I had a hard time peeling them open. His eyes were still on me, and instead of grinning or something, the look on his face almost seemed dangerous. Like he was addicted and needed another hit. We were both breathing heavy, and my hands ached to reach out and touch him. I did, and he touched me, and before I knew it, he was down on his knees, the water flowing over his back, parting my legs. I cried out and stuck my nails into his back when his tongue started to lick me.

I didn’t come back to myself until after my body did the same thing it had before. Gave in. A garbled sound came from my mouth. It sounded like a wild animal crying out. I wasn’t sure what I was doing, or what he was doing, but I didn’t care. It felt so good, I wanted to keep doing it.

Doing it.

Doing it.

And doing it.

We only stopped when the water turned cold. He helped me out of the shower and dried me off, dressing me after. The moon was out and lit the inside of the room. I was so tired, but the odd thing was—I felt so weightless. I felt wild and free, like riding a surging wave.

I was blinking at him, while he stared at me, and when I started to touch my hardened nipple, he grabbed my wrist. “No toys and no boys—only a man. Me. I’m the only one to give you pleasure when you need it.”

Fine with me.

Nodding, I wrapped my arms around his neck, and fell asleep.

I slept so soundly, my entire body felt stiff when my eyes flew open. I had to pee so badly that my bladder felt like it was cramping. I wasn’t even sure if I could make it to the bathroom. I went to sit up, but an iron bar was locked around my waist.

The iron bar belonged to Matteo Fausti, and it was also known as his arm. He’d fallen asleep next to me in the bed. I ran my hand over his left hand. He had a tattoo there. The dark ink created a rosary with a lion in its open center, a sacred heart in its mane. It must have been the symbol of his family. And I wondered if him getting the tattoo on that hand symbolized something more—maybe he was married to the idea of being a part of…whatever one wanted to call his family.

One of his eyes opened, and his eyebrow lifted.

“Bathroom,” I croaked out. “ Bad .”

He was up in less than a second and lifting me off my feet. He carried me there and set me down on the toilet. I pointed to the door. “You said whenever I needed privacy…”

He grinned at me and shut the door behind him. I let loose as soon as he shut me in and moaned when the relief made it to my cramped stomach.

How different my life looked these days.

I was telling the truth when I said I was a dancer and didn’t need privacy. It was just part of the description. Especially in my mom’s line of dancing, and I wasn’t all that shy about my body, but… I closed my eyes and remembered the time I had to go before a show.

The food that bitch fed me was top notch, but it was also filled with a lot of fiber. My body had timed my dance schedule pretty good, and I’d go not long before whoever came to get me. One evening, though, the guy was early. By the time I’d made it to the underground club, my stomach was cramping, and my ass cheeks were clenching.

Long, horror, horror, horror story short, I was forced to go in a bucket while he kept guard, and it wasn’t like he gave me space.

It was one of the most horrifying moments of my life.

I told myself it was a bodily function, and everyone did it, but…I was extremely private about that stuff, even if I wasn’t about my body.

Shivering out of disgust, I forced my eyes open. I needed to be back in the present. I refused to live in the past, in those terrible times. I willed myself to bury those years, forget them. I stood, and every inch of my body felt…sore, but in a way that made me tired in the best way. I could crawl back into bed and let Matteo wrap me in his arms again.

Even if I couldn’t fall back asleep, staring at him was the best dream. He felt like hope to me.

Turning on the faucet, I yawned. Then I made eye contact with…myself.

Another horror story.

My hair.

My hair! My poor, poor hair!

It wasn’t as bad as it had been—no, maybe it still was. The bald patches were gone, but it was all different lengths, none of them as long as my ears. I was skinnier than usual, which was a change—a good change, the defiant part of me said—but my hair… It was another reminder that my mom was gone, and so was my connection to her.

My hands trembled when I reached up to touch it. My eyes closed and tears slid down my cheeks.

How could he even touch me looking like this?

I was disgusting.

So fucking disgusting.

He had to touch me out of pity. He felt sorry for me. And there I was, feeling all sexy, acting like I looked the way I used to, when my hair was my shining glory. My hands slapped the counter and I leaned over it, silently sobbing.

The door flew open, and Matteo stood there in the middle of it, his eyes narrowing on my face. I tried to wipe the tears, but it was no use. I squirmed in his arms when he wrapped them around me.

“Talk to me,” he said, and his tone was different, not as pliable. He wasn’t going to budge on this.

I pointed to my head. “My hair.” The words came out a garbled mess, but he seemed to understand.

“It’ll grow back, baby.” He turned me toward the mirror. “Look at it. It’s so much longer than it was before.”

“I’m so disgusting! How could you even touch me?”

He spun me around so fast, a wave of dizziness washed over me. He took my chin between his fingers and forced me to meet his eyes. I thought they would be full of sympathy, but the darkness in them seemed impenetrable.

“I love you, Stella,” he said. “That’s how I can touch you. You’re beautiful—doesn’t matter if you shave your hair off, color it a million different shades. What you see in my eyes, your reflection, that’s so beautiful that nothing could dim it. Except for these.” He dried my tears with his fingers, soft touches that made me shiver.

He said something in Italian, then said, “These tears kill me. They wound me so fucking deep. It would be easier to bleed me dry than to see you suffer like this. I know it’s fucking hard what happened to you—and they’ll get their day, I’ll see to it—but as hard as they tried, they could never steal your beauty. That’s something no one can steal, understand?”

I tried to look away from him, but he refused to let me.

“Tell me you see how you shine in my reflection.”

“I—”

He shook his head. “It’s not a lie. You’re shining in my eyes. You can see it. Tell me.”

“I’m shining in your eyes,” I whispered.

He nodded, then leaned down and placed a soft kiss on my lips.

I held on to his arms. “It’s more than that,” I barely got out. “My hair. It’s— was —just like my mom’s. I don’t have anything left of her, Matteo. Nothing!” I sobbed.

It felt so good to release it, but also so tiring. I hadn’t cried this much in my entire life, and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever recover from this. Matteo was making me softer, somehow, by being the hard I needed to depend on. But I wasn’t sure if he could even save me from the pain radiating from someplace deep inside of me.

He swooped me up, kept me close to his chest, and brought me to the chair in the corner. The one everyone sat on when they visited. He started to rock me, singing to me in soft Italian, and once my breathing evened and my eyes closed, he leaned over and kissed my forehead.

“Your hair will grow back, baby,” he said. “I vow to you that it will. And I vow to you I will wear the blood of your enemies on my skin. Whatever they put you through, I’ll put them through ten times worse. These are my vows to you, and they are just as strong as the wedding vows I’ll one day say to you on sacred ground.”

I reached up and touched his face. “I love you too, Matteo,” I whispered.

I love you, Matteo, The easiest four words I’d ever said.

Much too easy.

Which meant…were they strong enough, true enough, since they were so easy to say?

And if they proved to be as true as I felt they were, would those four sacred words be enough to heal me?

I hoped they would be.