King of Stars (The Next Generation #2)

42. Stella

Chapter 42

Stella

“ I ’d heard you were married, too, but I just thought it was a…stupid rumor.” I mimicked the chocolate maker’s voice, except I mocked it, making it whiny. I brought my lipstick down and looked in the mirror.

Again.

I couldn’t resist.

“ Congrats to you both! Hope you have a wonderful trip home, Matteo. Good seeing you. ” I switched to my real voice. “Yeah, congrats to you both, my ass .” What a fucking liar. She was probably sobbing into her pastries because she’d lost him.

Fucking wimpette.

Okay, I knew wimpette wasn’t a real word, not in English, but it suited a woman better. Wimp seemed more suited for a man.

And okay, I knew that was harsh on her, and I’d do the same thing if I ever lost him, but still. I felt like I had the right to be mean to her when she was probably thinking mean thoughts about me too. She was probably dreaming of the day when one of the townspeople rushed into her shop to tell her the glorious news.

Did you hear? Matteo left that chick—the one he introduced as his wife. He should have just called her his first wife. And then the chocolate maker would evil laugh. Muahahahaha.

And, yeah, okay, maybe I was going a little mad, but I still felt the truth in some of the thoughts in my head.

The Fausti men were not ordinary men. They almost seemed built to love a woman, love a woman in a way that made a woman feel like a woman, bringing out the damsel in distress in her while also making her the fierce heroine of the entire story, so there was nothing ordinary about them. And that kind of draw wasn’t easy to let go of. When the chocolate wimpette had pulled Matteo in, she’d sunk her claws in him, but it seemed like she did that years ago—when she’d been his first and much older than him.

The thought made me feel hot, and it felt like fire was going to blow out of my mouth and ears. Maybe cause enough smoke to send the detectors off. I was sure the thought of my husband being with a beautiful woman, and it making me jealous was normal, but the issue was…it was haunting me. Making me feel like he’d done wrong to me when he didn’t even know me. But it was like he’d cheated on the thought of me.

I sighed and set my purse over my shoulder, heading back out to the restaurant where the women were waiting. At Scarlett’s suggestion, we’d all gotten up and gone to church, and after, she thought it might be nice for just the women to go out to brunch at Br?ler. We had to take a river road to get to the place, and the restaurant faced the water. Scarlett had called it the Cane River.

The restaurant itself was quaint with what seemed like French roots. The entire place was mostly brick with wrought-iron details. Even gas lamps. The food was phenomenal, even though I hadn’t had much of an appetite lately. The oysters were doable for me and not so hard to get down.

Matteo had told me the restaurant was going to close at some point, but Brando invested in properties and businesses he felt had potential, and he’d bought the restaurant for Scarlett. He didn’t want to see her favorite restaurant in town closed for good.

I opened the door to the bathroom and rushed out. “ Eh! ” I bounced back after I seemed to hit a wall.

Mariano gave me a half smile, so like Matteo’s, after he caught me by the arms. “Going too fast for your own good, lil’ Star.”

“Yeah.” I shook my head. “I didn’t want one of the many soldiers surrounding this place to think I’d been abducted and come in with guns hot.”

He laughed. “You have quite the imagination.”

“Is it far from the truth?”

“Not at all.”

“Didn’t think so, brother.”

He set his hand over his heart, like the word brother meant something to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but we all loved you right away because Matteo did. We give each other shit sometimes, but Matteo is smart. His intuition is rarely ever wrong. The Fausti leader is strong in that one. And he wouldn’t have fell so easily for you if it wasn’t what his heart ordered him to do.” He growled. “You awoke the mighty lion in him. It’s an important thing in our family.”

“And you?” I smiled, and it felt like my face was made of paint and had cracked. Smiling was the hardest thing for me to do, because before, it was true. It didn’t feel true lately. “Has a woman ever made you fall?”

“Ahh,” he breathed out. “Stumble, yeah, but fall?” He grinned at me and then disappeared behind the door to the men’s restroom.

“Casanova Prince is the perfect title for him,” I mumbled to myself as I walked to the table where all the women were finishing dessert. I could barely stand to look at it. Anything that sweet made me think of celebrating, and I just couldn’t do it.

The brunch was just for the women and the soldiers who were on duty, but chairs had been brought out, and all our men were sitting around the table. Except for Matteo, who, it seemed, had been walking toward the bathroom. Our eyes met, and when I was close enough, he pulled me close.

“You didn’t want dessert?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I had oysters. They filled me up.”

“Oysters, ah?”

“Yeah, I could get a few down without feeling sick, so I thought they were a good idea.” I wasn’t pregnant either. I kept up with my birth control and was getting reminders every month.

“ Bene ,” he said, kissing my neck. And continuing in Italian, I think he said, “This pleases me.”

He held me close while conversation kept steady, and when it was time to leave, it was decided we’d take a walk-through downtown Natchitoches, where Scarlett’s dance studio was, before we headed home. And even though some of the ladies had dessert, Scarlett and Mia had decided to hold out for ice cream. Scarlett told me as we left Br?ler that the parlor was along the same strip as the studio.

Her studio was in the quaintest area of Natchitoches, it seemed to me. Across the street was the same river, Cane, that we’d followed to get to Br?ler. And her studio itself was tucked into a building made of vintage brick. It was surrounded by more wrought iron, just like they had in the French Quarter. This area of Natchitoches reminded me of a smaller version of the French Quarter, without all the bars.

I gazed out the window as we rolled down the scenic streets. And I wasn’t sure what possessed me to ask, but I did. “Do you have to go back to Italy for work?”

“You want me to leave.”

“No!” I rushed out, the two-letter word more heated than I’d intended. “No,” I repeated, taking it down a notch. “I was just wondering.”

“I’m not leaving you, baby. We go back to Italy when we decide to.”

We both became quiet, settled. Probably because my answer told him I didn’t want him to, and his answer satisfied me on a level I couldn’t even comprehend.

Matteo found parking down the street, and so did his family, and we walked the strip after, stopping for ice cream for those who wanted it. Matteo got an ice cream, and every so often, he’d set it close to my mouth. I realized after he was done with it, I’d probably gotten more than him.

“Trickery,” I whispered to myself, but he heard it and grinned, wiping my mouth with his pocket handkerchief.

He kept my hand in a firm grip in case my heel got caught in the cobblestones as we continued forward as a large group. Violet kept bringing up old stories that made the ones who were there to experience it comment and laugh.

It all seemed like background noise at a funeral to me.

Nothing seemed funny, and voices were hazy.

It was hard for me to concentrate on conversations when I kept thinking about what was to come for me. The next step.

“Matteo!”

It seemed like the entire group turned at the sound of a woman’s voice. Inwardly, a groan that was just too much energy to release out in the open seemed to echo inside of me. It was another woman.

Another one.

This one had bright red hair with bright blue eyes and dangerous fucking curves.

And for some reason, I was done.

Done seeing.

Done hearing.

Done feeling.

But I couldn’t escape any of it.

I felt like I did when I was with Régine—trapped inside of myself with all these fucking swirling feelings I couldn’t release. I had to keep burying, burying, burying, each time deeper inside of myself.

Where did that even come from?

Matteo introduced us, and even though I didn’t catch her name, I caught that she was the sheriff’s daughter, but I didn’t want another scene like the one with the chocolate maker’s niece.

Slipping my hand out of Matteo’s, I turned and started walking toward…wherever. I’d find Scarlett’s dance studio, or I’d cross the street and walk along the river. I’d walk and walk and walk until my mind was numb and my body gave out.

In a few long strides, he caught up to me, though. When he went to grab my hand, I whirled on him.

“Go back to her, Matteo! Go back and give her a few seconds with the man of the town. The town where every woman in it wishes his marriage was a stupid rumor.”

His face scrunched up. “That’s the sheriff’s daughter.”

“I caught that.”

“The sheriff’s daughter has a partner, a woman who will soon be her wife. Mia knew before anyone else and confided in me about it. She could trust us.”

“It doesn’t matter!” I screamed, still hot. “Okay, take the sheriff’s daughter off the list, but the fact still stands that you spread your seed all over the world, Matteo. You spread your seed all over the world while I was stuck as a fucking prisoner! My best nights were when I could fall asleep in an itchy fucking bed after dancing for a woman who never showed me a penny of the money. People were convinced that I was a star. A real star, Matteo. It wasn’t symbolic, like it is to us, but REAL to them. They looked at me like I was a fatal fucking fantasy. They reached for me, groped for me, and if I didn’t deliver, I would be punished in a room full of rabid rats!

“And for those seconds that I was being punished, every second of my life after my mom left me, YOU were giving and receiving pleasure. Having a grand old fucking time without me. It just doesn’t make sense. You tell me that we have a love written in the stars, but were there faults along the road? Because when I was suffering, you were smiling, getting your fucking groove on!”

And…there it was. The center of my jealousy.

Yeah, some of it was normal. But that was what was hurting me the most. He spewed off all these beautiful things about our love being written in the stars, always being so meant to be, not being able to live without me…but he was going to marry to fulfill the requirements of his family to rise to the throne. He was having sex, doing his thing, and probably going to have mistresses while he was married to a songbird like Rosaria.

From the bathroom break I took at Br?ler to that moment, I’d made sense of why I felt so hostile about his past. It was because my past was hell.

Why didn’t he come for me before?

Why did I have to stay with that wicked woman for so long? When my life with him was going to be my life?

And what lessons did I learn from it?

That my husband was out galivanting all over the world, sampling the women instead of the food. Yeah, they called his brother the Casanova Prince, because he was honest about refusing to settle down, but his older brother had had his share of the fucking pie too. He was just more subtle about it.

While he was touching her skin, kissing her , seducing her , I was being fucking ruled by the evil witch of France and bullied by her two wicked daughters, one of them my half-sister!

Resentment.

It was rising in me like the lava from that volcano in Sicily, while the rest of my hurt was clawing at my insides.

The heat was making me feel even sadder than I’d been feeling. It was like I was hot, and the humidity was too much to carry, and I just wanted to scream, cry, fall on the ground and claw at it, because I didn’t know what to fucking do with myself.

“Stella,” Matteo’s voice was breathless, like for the first time in his life, he had no fucking clue what to say. How to make this better. It was like, by saying my name, he was reaching out to me with his soul instead of his arms.

He couldn’t make this better!

He couldn’t take back his past.

Just like I couldn’t erase mine.

Why didn’t he feel me, if our love was written in the stars?

Why, why, why… a three-letter word that was haunting me louder than my mom’s laugh in that moment.

A car pulled up next to us and Rocco got out, fixing his suit. The family caught up to us, eyes darting from Matteo to me, to Rocco, back to Matteo and me. Rocco spoke to Matteo in Italian, but he wasn’t looking at his uncle. He was staring at me with such a helpless look in his eyes, I wondered if he had turned into a mirror and was reflecting me.

Rocco snapped his name, and he still didn’t look at his uncle.

I got the gist of how the conversation would go, though. “Go ahead!” I screamed at Matteo. “Go ahead and tend to another woman who loved you first. Who got you first. Chloe.”

Rocco hadn’t spoken a word, waiting on Matteo to turn and face him respectfully, but instinctually, I knew what he wanted. He wanted Matteo to speak to Chloe’s family, maybe even Chloe herself, in defense of Massimo.

Rocco snapped something at Matteo in Italian.

Probably something like, Get control of your wife. You’re a Fausti, and we’re on a public street, not behind our gates.

I whirled on Rocco, my fists clenched. “Maybe if you’d get control of your wife, your son would still have his fiancée, and my husband wouldn’t have to speak in defense of anyone! Your wife is a boil on the ass of humanity!” It was like my thoughts about Rosaria were also reflecting my thoughts on Régine Nemours.

She had me back in her haunted castle, ruling me, keeping me so fucking quiet!

Rocco took a step toward me, and my husband took a step toward him. Then it seemed like the people around us turned into pieces of a chess game. Scarlett and Mia came to stand on each side of me, the women huddling around, and the men huddled around those two. But no one said anything. It didn’t seem like anyone was breathing. Everyone was holding their breath.

Rocco looked into my husband’s eyes, and my husband refused to move his. Rocco said something real low, and after a few seconds, Matteo took a step back.

And just like that, Rocco turned around and left.

Everyone seemed to start breathing at the same time, and without me even realizing it, Scarlett and Mia seemed to be moving me, Matteo right behind me.

“Mamma,” he said.

She lifted a hand, as if to say, I have this .

“ Mamma’s man ,” I mouthed at him, my eyes narrowed, my face pinched.

It was a lie, all but the man part. I wasn’t even sure why I’d said it. I was out of control, spinning like a top, and I had no fucking clue where I’d land. All I knew was that I felt like clawing at my clothes, at the anger and pain inside of me, praying I could rip it out with my two hands. It seemed so much easier than leaving it inside of me to make me sick, like Uncle Tito had said.

Scarlett opened the door to her studio and flipped all the lights on. She was moving quickly, and I noticed as I stood in the middle of the place that only Mia, Matteo, and Brando had come inside with us. Mia stood next to Matteo, and Brando took his place in the shadows, standing against the wall, arms and legs crossed.

I refused to meet any of their eyes, even though I felt my husband’s stare against my back. I took in the studio instead. Pale grays, the lightest of pinks, mirrors almost from wall to wall with ballet barres. It smelled like popcorn with a hint of rubber.

I hated it on principle.

This was a place a kid like me would have loved to go, and my mom tried, but she had to leave me. It was also a place some kids would hate but be forced into. I’d had a taste of both worlds—wanting to be a part of something fun, and being forced to do it.

Music started to play from the speakers, and a second later, Scarlett appeared, sans her shoes.

“ Danse ,” she ordered.

“What?” I breathed.

“ Danse .” She started to speak French, and something inside of me twisted and turned, because it was sharp and cold.

Memories started to churn inside of me. It was like I was hearing Régine’s sharp, cold voice again.

“No,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, but it was only to hide my shaking body.

Scarlett walked around me, like she was appraising me. She said something in French, then said with a French accent, “You will. Now.”

I shook my head and turned around, but she stopped me from walking away by snapping, “I said now !”

My husband went to take a step toward me, but she snapped at him in French. He was moving because I’d started to, but it felt like an order had stabbed me in the back, and I was helpless to free myself from it, just like I had been all those years. I’d danced out of a fear so great, it would sometimes make me pee the bed when I was a kid.

“This is why you have straw instead of a real bed! You have not earned it!”

I faced Scarlett again.

“ Danse ,” she ordered.

I nodded.

“Good.” When she went to move around me, she said, “You are dancing for yourself, but against yourself. Do you understand me?”

All I could understand was that something inside of me was forcing me to move. The beat of the song seemed to match my pulse, and the rhythm rushed through my blood like hemoglobin, bound to crucial oxygen. The room disappeared like it always did, except for my reflection in all the mirrors.

When it was time to move, I did so to the exact beats of the music, my body in tune with every one of them.

Except.

I could feel something rise inside of myself that I’d never felt before.

Defiance.

I was dancing against myself.

A version that being chained to Régine’s control had created.

I was dancing for myself.

For my future.

For that girl, for that woman, for the freedom they’d both always deserved.

It felt like I was dancing to save my life, and to claim it back.

The revolution I was after started with shaky feet and trembling legs, but as the song continued, and I could feel all of me inside of the battle, the war, to save my life, I was gaining strength while also losing a part of me that couldn’t shine in the darkness.

It was still terrified of being chained in it with strangers as my guards.

When the song ended, and I found myself on the floor, covered in blood and sweat, past eyes meeting future eyes in one of the many mirrors, I bowed to us, letting that chained part of me free. She’d saved me for so long; it was only fair to let her go.

To allow the little girl who had been hidden away from the world to be seen.

To be set in the sun.

To rest.

I heard my sorrow and could have sworn I felt the tears falling down my face in salty rivers. But when I lifted my head to stare at just…me, it wasn’t me who was crying.

It was the other half of my heart.

It was my husband.