King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

39. Stella

Chapter 39

Stella

T he night we’d met with that sleaze ball, Damon Carter, kept coming back to haunt me.

The looks that woman kept giving my husband.

My reaction to it.

All the things I’d said, and all the things I should have said.

Though I still couldn’t find it in me to take them back, or to tell Matteo the real reason why I caused that fight.

Maybe because I had no clue.

Matteo hadn’t flirted with her, or given her a second glance, or given her any reason to feel he wanted more of her.

My husband hadn’t given me a reason to feel that way either—that he wanted her.

Something was there, though, under the surface, that hadn’t made itself known yet. All I’d been feeling about my mom, my past, was still clawing to be free, but this new feeling had made itself known, and it was angry. So, angry, sometimes I wanted to punch things, or people, for no reason.

If Damon Carter would have shown his face after that second meeting, it probably would have been him. He was such an asshole! And on the ride back to our house in the So Cal hills, I’d looked out the window, wishing I could see more of this part of the world, as far as scenery, and told my husband, “What I said, I meant. I don’t want to be a part of…all that Damon Carter offered me. I want to go back to Italy, go back home, and if I’m going to act, do it there. I’m learning the language.”

He’d nodded and kissed my pulse.

Then I’d sighed. “It would have been nice to see more of California before we leave.”

That was all it took.

Matteo didn’t say it, but he didn’t need to. He extended our time. He started taking me to the beach, which was different from the ones in Sicily. The Pacific was gorgeous, and the sand felt so nice against my toes, especially in the evenings, but the water always felt ice cold, even during the hottest times of the day.

On two different evenings, he took me to outside concerts at the Hollywood Bowl, the same place Oscar had taken Noemi. She left right after the date, and Oscar went totally silent about it, but for some reason, I got the feeling that, even though she left, Oscar was satisfied for some reason.

After that, we seemed to explore every inch of Southern California. Museums, food, small events like comedy shows, hiking, dancing, evening rides to watch the sunset, the Griffith Observatory where we used telescopes to see the Hollywood sign and stars, even the Santa Monica Pier. One day, Matteo drove a motorcycle, me behind him, men surrounding us, and took a trip to San Diego to see Auggie. He was in some type of flight program there. We explored that area for a couple of days, and when we got back, I dared Matteo to take me to some of the theme parks to ride all the rides.

“You dare me?”

“I didn’t whisper, Matteo Leone Fausti. I dare you. ” I said it even louder, firmer, poking him in the chest.

We stared at each other, the distance still between us, but maybe not as far.

He took my finger, brought it to his mouth, and bit it. “I accept.”

“One more thing,” I breathed out. “No suits. We both go casual.”

He’d dressed causal for the motorcycle ride, bundling me up in riding gear until I thought I’d lose every ounce of liquid in my body and dehydrate, but he was almost always in a suit. I didn't want that day to be so formal. I wanted my husband, for just a day, without the rules of his family to keep him behind invisible lines.

I had a blast on all the rides, and if the lingering grin on Matteo’s face meant anything, he did too. He even exploded with laughter when Placido compared one of the wildest rides to a woman named Varvara, except he said the actual ride didn’t leave as many bruises as she did. Armando had to stop walking, he was laughing so hard.

Marciano called us on the way to the house and demanded to know why we were having so much fun, and he wasn’t invited. He said Mariano never had fun, so it didn’t matter that he wasn’t invited, but it hurt him—the fun fratello —to the vessels of his heart that he was left out.

I cracked up, and Marciano’s raspy laughter echoed through the car. Matteo had him on speaker, and he hung up with him. Matteo’s eyes were hard on the road. He’d decided to drive.

Matteo sighed when he had to press on the brake yet again. “So much fucking traffic.”

“I’m not sure I could get used to it,” I said. “But while we’re here…” I turned the music up and sang along until a song came on that sucked.

He turned the music down, and since we were stopped again, he looked at me, my hand still in his from the beginning of the ride.

“ Grazie. ” He kissed my hand over and over. “ La mia stella .”

I held the shark stuffed thing he’d won for me closer to my chest. “For what?”

“For being the light in my darkness.”

Seven words that choked me up.

For being the light in my darkness

“It’s my honor,” I whispered, borrowing words he’d spoken to me over and over before.

It was his honor to be my husband.

To be the man who would love and protect me for the rest of our lives.

It was his honor that I was his.

“ Mine ,” he’d always said, hitting his chest, the spot right over his heart. “ La mia luce .”

“I’ve always been yours, Matteo Fausti. Will only be yours.”

“Always have been, and always will be, my light, my life, my wife.”

I hugged the shark even closer, willing myself not to cry. The things he said to me were heartbreaking at times. I thought they might break his heart to say them. To soften up a spot in himself that allowed those thoughts to breathe in air instead of being trapped in his blood.

A car was directly up ahead of us, two on each side of us, and one behind us. Each car followed close as Matteo whipped up the hills in a sporty Jeep Wrangler that I really liked. I really fell in love with it when he pulled to the side and took the top down. It reminded me of our last days in Sicily: the weather hot, the wind warm, and the smell of salt, sand, and sun on our skin and clothes. I closed my eyes and lifted my hands, letting the feel of freedom rush through me.

It was dark when we got back to the house, and after Matteo opened the door for me, I held out my arms for him. He grinned, picking me up and carrying me inside the house. Armando had gone in ahead of us a few minutes before, and after we walked in, he offered Matteo a phone.

“ Italia ,” Armando mouthed.

Matteo took it. He nodded once or twice at whatever Whoever was saying, and when he hung up, he turned the television on. I crept behind him with my stuffed shark and watched as the news played across the screen. Two anchors were discussing a missing person who had been found.

“It has been confirmed, Damon Carter, the famous movie producer, has been found.”

The second anchor chimed in. “What looked like human remains washed ashore a week ago, and we’re now getting confirmation that the remains are that of Damon Carter.” He shook his head.

The woman anchor said, “Two fishermen found what appeared to be human remains and called local law enforcement to report it.”

Two young men appeared on the screen. A microphone was stuck in their faces.

“Yeah,” one of the young guys said, taking his baseball cap off, running a hand through his sandy blond hair, making it stick up. “We didn’t know what it was at first.”

The screen cut back to the anchors.

“This is a loss Hollywood will feel for a long time. Carter was part of the Carter dynasty, his family being a Hollywood fixture since the golden age,” the female reporter said. “This isn’t the first time the Carter family has been in the news lately. The family has filed for bankruptcy.”

“No foul play is suspected,” the male anchor said. “Police suspect Carter fell off a small yacht he’d rented and into the ocean. Massive tissue loss and hemorrhaging have been cited as causes of death.”

“A shark attack,” the woman said, her features set into a mask of horror.

The male anchor organized some papers, then tapped them against the desk. “Carter was alone at the time of his disappearance. The yacht has been found.”

Matteo turned off the television, sucking us into complete darkness.

I cleared my throat. “He’s dead.”

It was so lame, but it was all I could think of to say. My thoughts were elsewhere. Matteo had told me he was just walking him to the door, to see him off. The meaning of that cut through my thoughts and seemed to cut off my air supply for a second.

Words.

Their meaning.

How they were spoken.

All those things meant a great deal to Matteo and his family.

It was an art form to them.

Seeing him off probably had a much different meaning than what I assumed in that moment. I thought maybe he would have threatened him. Told him to stay the fuck away from me.

I should have known.

Threats weren’t Matteo’s style. He had probably seen Carter off the fucking pier that night, or a day or two later. Or from a…yacht.

After we’d gotten home from the day meeting with Carter, I didn’t feel like going anywhere, and after dinner, Matteo said he had some business to take care of. I assumed he was in the office of the humongous house, but maybe…he’d left for a while?

When I turned my eyes up, he was facing me.

“Great Whites,” Matteo said, shaking his head. “You have to take great care when you get in the water with them. If you don’t respect their ocean, they’ll rip you apart—limb from fucking limb. All’s fair when it comes to their territory.” He came to stand next to me, in his causal clothes, but it was like he was wearing his suit again. He leaned down and whispered in my ear, while I closed my eyes, “Mine, Mrs . Fausti .”

When I opened my eyes, my husband was gone, but the plush shark he’d won for me was still clutched in my arms, and the darkness had turned deep and cold, like the water of the Pacific.