King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

29. Stella

Chapter 29

Stella

I t was hard to look away from Brando Fausti when he grinned.

Let me rephrase that, because the sentence felt like a lie.

It was hard to look away from Brando Fausti.

Period.

He had this intensity about him that Matteo had inherited, along with his perfect bone structure and fine build, along with a scent that no cologne could emulate. Even though Romeo claimed to have the best hair, and it seemed like he would die on that hill, they all had insanely gorgeous locks, along with eye lashes any women would pay top dollar for. They all had an olive tint to their skin, and it seemed naturally kissed by the sun, some more or less than others. Eye color varied, but what was the most interesting was even the darkest of irises stood out.

Brando Fausti, like Nonno, had aged like fine wine, and he was legendary. Maybe it was because of his looks and the way he carried himself. Confident in every step he took.

Personally, I thought it was because of how he loved his wife.

That was something to always remember. That was something to write down in books and make timeless. That was what made a man legendary. In my opinion, anyway. My mom would have agreed. The thought made me feel proud. She would have loved Matteo. He would have loved her too.

There was no doubt he was going to be legendary as well. I believed that in my bones.

Not only would he rule this family like Nonno, or maybe even better, he would love me for always—love me like Brando loved Scarlett. I could tell Brando’s behavior toward his wife, and love in general, moved Matteo, and that inspired him to want to be like his father.

Matteo had said our love inspired him too.

Would always inspire him.

The thought sent a rush of warmth through my veins. The same feeling I’d had when I’d asked Scarlett if I was strong enough to survive this life, this family, and I knew without a doubt I could—for him. I’d survived my non-existent life with Régine because of the thought of my mom.

Brando checked his rearview mirror, and for a second, I thought he was grinning at me. My breath caught, and I squeezed the bag on my lap. We were heading to Brando and Scarlett’s villa, and I was in the back seat, thankful to be sitting. If not, my knees might have turned to water and I might have fallen on the floor, making a major fool of myself. Brando was quiet—that intensity again—and I probably spoke to him least out of all the family. If I ever wanted to talk to one of the men, I’d have picked Romeo. One small remark about hair and he was on it. The thought made me grin, and my eyes met Brando’s in the mirror. The grin was still on his face.

My heart sped up even more, and I hoped he couldn’t hear the acceleration of my pulse. It felt like I was starting to pant for air.

“You were like that too,” Scarlett said, squeezing Brando’s hand. He’d taken it as soon as we were inside the car, holding it close. Just like Matteo did with me.

“Still like that, baby. You don’t walk away from me without taking my heart with you.” He said something in Italian to her, something that sounded so romantic, and she blinked her eyes at him, like she was a young girl again. He still dazed her.

I loved it and couldn’t wait for always with Matteo.

“This time, though.” He lifted her hand, breathed her in, and then kissed her pulse. “I’m not the one having to watch as someone takes you away from me.”

“We’re not taking her from him, Brando. She’s going to spend a little time away from him before their wedding.”

“From experience, the reason why doesn’t matter, and he won’t know what to fucking do with himself.” He looked in the mirror again, catching sight of Matteo watching as the car pulled from the driveway. “Look at him. Ants in his fucking pants.” He grinned again, and it lit up not only his face, but his wife’s face. “Even this small time will remind him of what it feels like to be apart from his heart.”

Matteo smiled, but it seemed like Brando rarely did, even though I was sure the entire world could tell his wife and family fulfilled him to a degree most people would probably never experience. Like he wanted for nothing.

After Matteo disappeared in Brando’s dust, it was my turn to keep looking back for him. I knew it was only hours that we were going to be apart, and the next time I’d see him, we’d be at our rehearsal dinner, or whatever it was called, and then I’d be his wife and he’d be my husband. But leaving him felt like it was turning my heart into a piece of gooey mozzarella, stretching to the point of almost breaking.

If Scarlett and Brando noticed, neither of them said anything. They probably understood our plight and had empathy. It wasn’t long before Brando was speeding up their long driveway, cypress trees like ours showing us the way. When he parked, Magpie was waiting outside, a group of women behind her, a hat on her head with a feathered plume dancing in the wind. She was dressed like a showgirl from a different time.

Brando groaned and Scarlett laughed.

“You know she can’t help herself!” She laughed even harder. “She wanted to do this for Stella so bad.”

“There’s a fucking scary thought. Maggie Beautiful planning a woman party.”

I wasn’t sure why, but Brando Fausti using the words “woman party” seemed to tickle me out of nowhere, and I exploded with laughter. Scarlett wasn’t far behind, probably understanding. He looked between us and shook his head. But I noticed when he glanced at me in the mirror again, he gave me a quick grin, which made my entire body warm. I knew it was foolish to wish, but I wished for the day he’d hug me. It would feel like acceptance—a true welcome into the family.

I’d never had a father, a true father figure, and he seemed like such a good one. Different from Nonno, but the same in a way. They both made me feel warm, just like Matteo did, but in their respective roles in my life.

Brando opened the door for Scarlett, then me, and then he disappeared.

Magpie wrapped her arm around my neck and beamed at me. “Ready to party, Stella Stellar?”

A collective “ woooo! ” went up behind me, and someone set the same kind of hat that Magpie wore on my head. It was heavy, and when a strong breeze passed, I had to rush to set a hand on it.

The party went on nonstop from the moment I’d stepped onto the driveway, and I even puked in the middle of the night because I’d had too much candy.

“It’s usually the drink that does that to people, not sugar.” Magpie gave me a pat on the head. “Maybe it’s because you’re so sweet already!”

Scarlett gave her a look, like— yeah, right . Not about me being sweet, but about her candy concoctions. I’d never be able to look at martini-shaped candies in the same way ever again.

Yak.

“Those candy concoctions you make are worse than hard alcohol. Trust me. I know.” Scarlett ran her cool hand underneath my hair.

Mia set a cool cloth from the bathroom against my neck. “We tried to warn you,” she whispered.

They all had, but I’d never had much candy before, and it was fucking addicting. I couldn’t seem to stop while we watched all the old movies Magpie had picked out. The ones we all dressed for and danced and sang to.

Matteo must have called a million times to check on me, and I noticed no one mentioned my not-so-finest-hour to him. It was for the best. Even though I missed him and couldn’t wait to be with him again, secretly, I wanted him to miss me so much that, when he saw me again, he’d vow over and over to never spend so much time apart again. And I was kind of embarrassed to admit that my body was aching for his touch. Every time I would think of him, which seemed to be every second, the pulse between my legs would throb.

I was hooked on Matteo Fausti sex.

Bad.

It seemed to invade my every thought. And I wasn’t even thinking about the times he’d looked at me with those dark bedroom eyes, or how he commanded a room by just stepping inside of it, or when he gave orders to his men, or when he was being sweet to his mamma.

I pressed the cool cloth harder against my neck, wishing I could wrap myself inside of it.

Where was I?

Oh, again, Matteo.

He seemed to chill out after Scarlett told him it was spa hour, and all the women were going to relax. She’d smiled to herself when she’d said something like, “There are no stun guns here, Matteo, only bath salts and steam.” Lourdes, the hairdresser (and Guido’s wife, I had to keep reminding myself), had an entire team set up a room that reminded me of a spa.

We were all treated to a few hours of relaxation, and before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep, and it was the day of our rehearsal dinner.

For a wedding that was thrown together at the last minute, everyone was being chill about it all. We woke up and ate breakfast, which was full of fresh fruit, a welcome change to all the candy from the night before. Afterward, Scarlett, Mia, and I walked the grounds, soldiers standing back but not far, going over all the plans for the next day.

Somehow our New Year’s Eve wedding was brought up, and I was describing the gown I’d described to Pnina, so different from the one I’d be wearing to our Tuscan wedding.

Mia sucked in a breath, setting her hand on her bulging baby belly. “From the way you describe it, that dress would look so gorgeous at the Palais Garnier!”

The name of the place hit me like a ton of bricks. “You mean the opera house in Paris?”

Scarlett and Mia glanced at each other.

“I’ve been there before,” I whispered for some reason. “My mom took me there to see the ballet before she…left me. She said it was something special for us to both remember. You weren’t dancing there by that time,” I said to Scarlett. “But I remember my mom mentioning you. How beautiful and talented you were.” I bit my lip, then blurted, “Is it possible? To get married there?”

Mia squeezed my hand. “Money makes most things possible.”

“I’d love to get married—again—there.”

Scarlett squeezed my hand. “Talk to Matteo about it. I’m sure he can find a way to make it safe.”

I did after we saw each other for the first time since the night before. It felt like we’d been apart for years, and after we kissed until I couldn’t breathe, I brought it up. His eyes were intense on mine, and his face serious.

“You want to go back to Paris.”

“I refuse to let those people ruin something that was special to me and my mom. I refuse to let them steal that time in Paris from me. It’s not the city’s fault that awful people are there—there are awful people everywhere. And I want to…I want to go there. Experience it as a free person.”

Maybe the world couldn’t see past the darkness of his eyes, but I could. It was like I was the brightest thing in them, and my light lit up his mind. It was like I could see his thoughts.

He nodded. “We’ll make it work.”

We started kissing again. We didn’t stop until it was time for the dinner.

We ate outside, where everyone was dressed so beautifully, and Mia had her camera out snapping pictures with Scarlett’s old camera. I’d asked her ahead of time if she would take the pictures for the wedding. She was so good at it. She’d taken what she called our “engagement” pictures around Castello Astro . They were the most stunning pictures I’d ever seen.

The night was warm, our time slow melting, but before either of us was ready, it was time for Matteo to go back to our place with his brothers and a lot of his male cousins. Ninety nine percent of them were male.

I opened my mouth to tell him goodnight, but he slipped his hands beneath my hair and pulled my lips to his, giving me a kiss that left me breathless and reaching out for him a second too late. He’d turned and was getting into a fast car Saverio was driving.

I had to touch my lips to make sure it was real. That he was real. That he had the power to consume me with just a kiss.

And I instinctually knew what he’d done.

He was leaving me with a promise.

That night, I was just his girl.

The next day, I’d be his wife .

The thought made me shiver, and goosebumps puckered my arms.

I was reminded, for the umpteenth time, that not everyone seemed to experience a love like ours, and, for the umpteenth time, I vowed to the sky to always remember what a gift it was.

The thought of Matteo keeping his hand on me all night long had me grinning after the shock of the kiss lessened. I knew the feel of his kiss wouldn’t entirely go away. I’d feel it for the rest of my life. That was how deeply he touched me. But he’d said the dress I was wearing was giving him heart palpations because of how gorgeous I looked in it. He said I was “a feast for the eyes” for the single men in his family (and a few that were not single) every time they looked at me.

Pnina had designed all my dresses for this wedding, and would for the next, and like all of them, she called them couture. The one I wore for the dinner was strapless, sequined, midi length, with a slight slit in the back. The color was an ivory that bordered on the softest pink, and it had a white lace flower design— where the sequins were—on the front and back, almost as if I had nothing on, and the flowers were a part of my skin. Almost like an illusion. The top accentuated my bosom, and the waist cinched, showing off my hourglass figure. It was so elegant with a touch of glamour that seemed to suit my personality. The heels seemed both silver and gold, depending on how the light hit them.

I realized then why all these women dressed up for these men.

The way Matteo looked at me, touched me, was addicting. It was like he appreciated the art that I wore on my body, but nothing came close to taking it off. He was in love with the canvas as much as he was with the painted art.

I sighed, and it was a sweet, soft sound. A sound that came from a content heart.

Nonno seemed to be watching the entire exchange with a pleased look on his face, and without a word, he offered me his arm. He walked me up to my room, placed a gentle kiss on my cheek, and left me to it.

Instead of taking a long, hot bath, I decided to go straight to the window in search of the stars. I undid the straps of my heels and just…breathed. The view didn’t disappoint. And neither did the telescope either Scarlett or Brando had left in the room for me. Matteo’s parents had given us one as a gift during dinner, explaining that Brando had bought one for Scarlett as a wedding gift. Since our love was written in the stars, they both thought it was a gift we’d both treasure.

I wasn’t sure how to work the one in my room, but I had a feeling Matteo was across the hills, gazing in my direction with our gift from his parents.

Even though he probably couldn’t see me, I lifted my hand and closed my eyes, like maybe he was lifting his too and we were touching. Two stars drifting underneath a sky full of them.

A knock came at the door, and I went to answer it.

Matteo’s great-uncle, Dr. Tito.

He was very old, and almost too thin, but there was still something very strong about him. He was intelligent and still had a sharp sense.

“You are busy?” He lifted his eyebrows.

“Just star gazing.” I smiled at him. “Would you like to come in?”

He returned the smile. “ Sì . Just for a small while. I do not want to keep the bride up before her special day.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.” I moved away from the door, and rushing into the bathroom, came out with the chair to the vanity for him to sit on.

He took it from me and placed it in front of the window, which held views of what seemed like a million miles of stars, all circulating above our heads. “Sit.” He nodded to the plush chair with wrought-iron legs.

“I’d be happier if you did,” I said, not wanting him to get tired. “I have too much anxious energy. I need to stand.”

He smiled like he knew I wasn’t telling the entire truth, but he sat with a contented sigh. Being quiet around these men never made me feel awkward. It almost felt as if we were bonding in the silence, and Great Uncle Tito was no exception. We both seemed to take in the view, not saying a word, just absorbing it all. Then he sighed and I looked at him.

He smiled at me. “You know that I am a doctor?”

“The best, or so I’ve heard.”

He waved the compliment off, but I could tell he was pleased. “I have only done what most healers do—all that I could do with these two hands.” He lifted them, turning them left and right some. With the way the stars seemed to crowd the window, it looked as if he were washing them in a celestial bath. “And with this.” He tapped his temple. “And this.” He touched his heart.

“You must have so many stories to tell,” I whispered, leaning my back against the window frame. I wasn’t entirely blocking his view, but I knew I’d become a part of it. Which was really cool. I was in with the stars.

He looked up, over my head, at the sky. “My mamma would always say that was a sign of a life well lived. Stories to share with the world. And stories kept in the heart. Like secrets, ah?”

“I love that,” I whispered again. It felt right. This man wasn’t brittle, but there was something soft about him that made me feel like it was right to match his tenderness.

“She would have loved you. All the old ones would have.”

“I feel like I’m doing okay with all the new ones too—well, except for one.”

He met my eyes, and he seemed to know who I was talking about. Rocco’s wife.

He made a noise, like… ach . It came from deep inside of his throat. “There are some people we do better not getting approval from. These are the people who are not our people. My mamma used to say this as well. We do not pray for our people to come into our lives. We pray for the ones not meant to be in them to get kicked out.”

“Amen,” I said, having picked up the response from my soon-to-be mother-in-law.

He grinned at me. “My mamma did not use those exact words, but it is her point all the same.” He went quiet after that, his eyes moving to the stars again.

Sighing, I turned my head slightly, keeping an eye on them too. They were so real here. Touchable, almost. I lifted my hand, imagining I could feel their cold heat against my palm. After a few minutes, though, it felt like a tepid breeze had caressed the side of my face. When I turned, I could’ve sworn it was the old man’s eyes. He’d been watching me.

“Scarlett gets lost in the stars as well. They bring her comfort.”

“Me too.”

For whatever reason, we smiled at each other, as tender as our voices had been.

He lifted his hands, the flesh taut over the bones, touched with age spots. A bruise here and there from him probably accidentally hitting the brittle skin too hard. “When I was a young man, studying to be a doctor, my mamma had a talk with me. She said, “Tito, who do you think you are?” And the question stopped me from what I was doing. Cooking something for her, I believe. I thought about that for a minute or two, knowing my mamma well enough to know that she was not asking me who I actually thought I was, but who I believed myself to be. After those minutes, I told her who I believed myself to be. “A doctor, mamma,” I’d said. “A healer.”

“‘Are you doing the healing?’ she’d asked. ‘Who else?’ had been the response on my tongue, but I was a good Italian man who loved and respected his mamma. I had also valued my lips back then. She would have made them swell with that answer.”

I smiled and he smiled.

“‘Do not forget, Tito,’ she had said to me, “‘that your hands are only a tool. So is your mind. You know all these things, but when you heal, do not forget to heal the human spirit as well.” He looked away from me, toward the bedside table, where Scarlett had set up a pitcher of cold water with cucumber and lemon for me. Two glasses sat next to it, ready to be filled. Sprigs of fresh lavender, tied with silver ribbon, were placed next to them.

“Would you like some water?” I whispered.

He nodded, and I padded over and poured us each a glass. We sipped on it for a moment before he placed his between his legs to keep the glass steady.

“It took me time to understand her words. The human spirit is a powerful tool we have. Much more powerful than my own hands. The mind is also very powerful. What we believe can change the course of our fate, or so I believe. But I have seen it. A mind that believes the best, the mouth that speaks the best, will receive the best.” He took the last sip of his water, placing it between his thighs again. “Where is your soul, Stella?”

The question stumped me for a second, but I thought back to what he’d said about his mamma and decided to really think about what he was asking me. The only answer I had, though, was this one.

“Inside of my body.”

“Where?” he asked almost automatically.

“Does it exist inside of my heart, you mean?”

“Or in your mind. Or in your womb. Or even in your arm.”

My eyes flashed to his and he smiled, bigger than he had before.

I laughed some, but it was as light as the breeze. “I’m not sure.”

“Where do you feel your conscience?”

I closed my eyes for some reason, feeling around inside of myself.

“I think…my lower stomach,” I said, touching it. “My womb.”

“Interesting.” He rubbed his chin. “Most women I’ve asked that say the same, but some say their hearts. Most of the men I’ve asked touch the center of their chests.”

“Has anyone said arm?” I grinned.

He lifted a finger. “Once. A very smart seven-year-old gave me that answer. He said it was the only reason he resisted hitting his younger brother. His conscience got bruised when he did.”

We both laughed at that.

“Kids, ah?”

“Kids,” I agreed.

“Over the years, I have learned that I am just a tool to help save lives, but I cannot do it alone. I am guided by—” he chucked his chin toward the sky “—and it was my job not only to heal flesh, but to help my patients release the darkness they kept in that place inside of them which contained their souls. It is like drowning our liver with alcohol or flooding our heart with too many unhealthy fats. Just because a doctor cannot see a soul does not mean it does not exist inside of the body. It does not mean that it does not sometimes need medicine too. Have you heard the passage, “Man shall not live by bread alone?”

I shook my head. No.

“It means that we need more than world fulfillment. We also need spiritual fulfillment—healing. That was what my mamma was trying to teach me. To look past my schooling and see the body for more than what it looks like on a diagram. I am not a man of the cloth, but I do believe that healing goes past the flesh. If we do not heal this place inside of us, the only thing we will take when we leave this earth, it will make us sick, just as any organ will do if we do not take care of it.”

I looked away from the old doctor, toward the stars, knowing what he was trying to tell me. I felt his point in my bones. That the sadness I couldn’t let go of at the thought of my mom not being here, after everything I’d been through, could possibly make me sick. And he was helping me by giving me the diagnosis, but maybe I’d have to come up with the medicine on my own.

“I understand what you’re saying,” I whispered. “And I will face it. I will. But right now, it’s just nice to have company who understands what I’m going through. How lonely I feel sometimes… even in a crowded room.” I turned to face him. “How did you know I needed this right now? That I needed you?”

He used the chair to brace himself and stood, coming to stand next to me. “Years of watching.” He folded me in his arms, and even though I wanted to cry, break down, I didn’t.

There had to be some rule about not crying on the eve of my wedding, right? I’d learned that most of these Italians were superstitious, and maybe there was something about crying on the eve of a woman’s wedding—like rain on a wedding day, but the opposite, because that was supposed to be good luck. But it was hard, so hard, not having my mom close. Not having a father to walk me down the aisle.

As if the thought summoned him, Marciano knocked on the door. I invited him in, and he smiled at us.

“Is my best uncle giving you word puzzles?” He squeezed Uncle Tito on the shoulder.

“I find her vocabulary to be stellar,” Uncle Tito said.

“That’s because all I had, mostly, to read was a dictionary with thesaurus all those years while I was in solitary confinement!” The words just came out in a rush. Blurted, more like. I’d told Matteo how Henri had left me books, but I hadn’t shared that with anyone else.

That was probably the reason why Rosaria had called my situation a lie in passing once. She was probably wondering why I didn’t have the vocabulary of a child. It was because of Henri. He gave me the dictionary/thesaurus, which would bore me to death sometimes, but I’d read it backward and forward. At one time, I even remembered all the insulting words and would think them about Régine and her wicked daughters like it was some kind of payback.

Both men’s eyes hardened, then softened.

Marciano touched my shoulder. “They will pay,” was what I think he said in Italian.

Uncle Tito nodded. Then he looked at Marciano. “Have you come to try to sway the decision, Marciano?”

“What?” He jerked back some. He pointed at his broad, chiseled chest. “Me, do such an underhanded thing?”

“Remember,” Uncle Tito said, fixing his glasses. “I named you!”

“Therefore, you know me.”

“Exactly! You were born to be a fighter!”

Marciano made a playful jab, jab, jab motion at his great uncle, and the old man slapped at him.

“Go to sleep, Marciano,” Uncle Tito said. “We have a wonderful day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“I—” Marciano started.

Another knock came at the door, cutting him off. Mariano peeked his head in, and when he saw Marciano, his eyes narrowed.

“She’s already decided, Marci,” Mariano said.

“My feelings state differently, Mari,” Marciano said.

Uncle Tito put up a hand, and it was like he’d put up a wall between them. They were about to fight. I had a feeling it had to do with bruised egos and the fact that they were screwing with each other’s names. I felt bad, though, because the bruised egos came from me. When the topic came up about who was going to walk me down the aisle, since Nonno was going to sing while I walked, both brothers offered at nearly the same time. Mariano’s offer came a second before Marciano’s. I could see the indecision in Maestro’s eyes. He wanted to offer, but probably figured I had two offers already.

As I’d looked between the two brothers, the tension became so thick, I’d lied and said I’d appreciated the offers, but I was going to walk myself. I’d noticed the look in Matteo and Brando’s eyes. It was like both men knew it was a lie. Maybe the brothers did, too, but it didn’t stop them from trying to one up each other, like maybe I’d change my mind if one of them did something nice enough for me.

The tension between them, again, was making me nervous. I didn’t want to have to choose between them. I thought maybe asking each one to take an arm would be a good solution, but that didn’t seem to be any better. It was one or the other.

“Leave,” Uncle Tito ordered. “Both of you. Now.”

Mariano looked at Marciano, and the brothers shook their heads.

“Outplayed by the ancient gangster,” Mariano said.

“He’s like a charm,” Marciano said.

The door shut quietly behind them.

Uncle Tito took my hand, forcing my attention on him. “This family loves you,” he said.

“I know,” I barely got out. “That was why I didn’t want to pick. I love them too.”

He smiled. “Will I do?”

“Are you asking me if you can walk me down the aisle?”

“It would be the honor of my life. I’ve walked a few legendary brides down the aisle, and they have become the daughters of my heart. My wife and I were not blessed with children, but somehow, we have been. And Brando thought I would look the best on your arm. Even better than him.” He winked.

I laughed through tears. “Yes,” I whispered while trying not to sob. “Yes. You will!”

He hugged me goodnight, and after a long, hot bath, I fell asleep and had lavender-scented dreams.