Page 111 of A Summer of Stars

—KLY

“THE ONLY REASONMs. Aldridge’s team is allowing you at this event is because she wants to see you, so don’t screw this up. This charity event is no joke,” Nari ordered over the phone as I got out of the car. The city street looked the same as it always did; a stream of gold blinking in apartment windows and light fixtures under the dark summer sky.

A woman tried to direct me up a set of stairs where others in formal attire entered and mingled at a bright entrance.

“I’m actually going to wait for someone, thank you, though,” I responded, standing off to the side as more cars pulled up. “Nari, I don’t need a speech.”

“Do you know who’s going to be there? What the event is about? The dress code?”

“I have a suit on, isn’t that all that matters?”

“Not my point. There’s going to be a lot of people who were at the Madrid Open. Investors, socialites, players. Ms. Aldridge will probably know more people than you, so the less talking, the better.”

“Don’t plan on it anyway,” I muttered. My plan was to watch Luna soak in her win while I waited for the in-between moments to hold her waist and cover her in congratulations. “Are you done now? Shouldn’t you be watchingThe Nannyin bathrobes with my grandmother by this time?” I nudged my sleeve up and checked my watch.

“Hey,” she threatened. “The Nannyis a superior show.” And she hung up. I shut the phone and turned anxiously, worried I had missed Luna. Eagerness had a heavy hand, one with a tight grasp and the determination to plunge its fingers through my chest.

But it was as if there was a string that tethered me to her. It tugged at the bones under my skin, shifting my focus anytime she was close—exactly as it was doing now when a car door swung open and the most beautiful woman I had ever laid my eyes on stepped out.

A lavender dress hugged her waist and flowed like a blossoming flower past her hips, ending just above her ankles. The front of her dress, held up by thin straps, cut down the center of her chest. Her dark hair fell in long, soft waves down her back.

I rushed forward, stepping out of the mental fog and opening the car door the rest of the way. Her gaze flicked up in surprise.

Dread churned in my stomach, making me second-guess this entire idea. She had wanted space. When I was back home, she said she wanted space. Seeing her match was one thing. To expect her to be pleased to spend time with me was another. The last time I had seen her this close, I was barging in on her in the bathroom, for God’s sake.

Why couldn’t I have just waited another week?

Well, I could answer that: Because I loved her.

I loved her so much that I struggled to breathe around her. But even then, I’d give her every breath that was keeping me alive.

I could feel the pulse of my heart all the way down to the pads of my fingers, intertwined with hers. Every part of my body was painstakingly aware of how close we were. How much I wanted her.

Her parted lips quickly shifted to a smile so ridiculously genuine and gorgeous that I almost tripped.

“Kieran!” She hopped, wrapping her arms around me. I lifted her without hesitation, taking the opportunity to squeeze her and breathe in her sweet vanilla perfume. “I wish I could’ve seen you after the match, there was just so much press and then I had private interviews after and—”

“Luna,breathe.” I laughed.

“I can’t believe you were there,” she gasped, her breath warming my neck. “And Abuela!”

“We had the best time. We’re so proud of you.” I spoke into her hair. Impatiently, I pressed my lips to her neck before putting her down so we could walk upstairs to the venue.

For an hour, I stood to the side and simply watched her. She answered questions. Pretended to smile at bad jokes. Laughed with people who were kind but still told bad jokes. Shook hands with those who looked forward to seeing her win again.

I was pulled into separate conversations here and there, forced to look around heads to see her. I’d rather watch the chandelier light bounce off her lip gloss than talk to anyone.

“Do you have any brandy? Two glasses would be great, thank you,” I told the bartender. When I turned, the older gentleman she had been speaking with was replaced by a younger man, his back facing me.

I went to return to the bar, but the forceful grasp on her empty glass made me stop. She parted her lips and responded to him. I couldn’t hear her, but I knew that look. It was a more intense,flustered version of the stare she had given me the past three years. Crease between the brows. Narrowed eyes. Pink cheeks.

But her eyes… they looked watery from here. Something was wrong.

Then the guy’s hand reached forward and grabbed her wrist.

I pushed off the bar and took six long strides before I was moving his hand off her and stepping between them.

“Not sure if anyone taught you this, but it’s rude not to keep your hands to yourself,” I said. Facing him now, though, I realized who it was.