Page 63 of A Summer of Stars

I wanted to know what she was thinking, from one enemy to another. But even if I tore the wallpaper off the walls around us, I’d likely only find a fraction of what she was hiding. And I didn’t know, for the love of God,why I cared.

All I knew was that one moment I felt strangled having to watch her break down in front of her ex-husband, and the next I was about to witness the downfall of our plan. Now, I felt confused about—aboutwhatever that just was.

“I…” She brushed the tip of her finger against her bottom lip. It was torture to know that it had been between my teeth moments ago.

Her eyes caught mine in unease. She swiped her hands against the bodice of her dress and cleared her throat. It gave me a second to gather my thoughts and figure out what the hell to say. How to explain what I just did. How to think about anythingbutthe feeling of her.

But she turned and walked away as if nothing had happened, the light from the windows flickering over her departing figure.

My shoulders fell. Relief should have flooded my body, but I only felt stuffed with knots as I watched rain begin to fall outside.

“Luna Aldridge Looks Breathtaking at Private English Countryside Ball”

—Enigma

ONE FOOT INfront of the other. One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. Focus your body weight on the balls of your feet as you move; it was the first rule they taught you in tennis on the starting stance. Who would have known the same worked for walking in heels? Not me. Apparently, there was a lot I didn’t know!

As someone who thought she knew a lot at the ripe age of twenty-six—how to make French toast that didn’t taste like eggs; when the right time was to send a text after an argument; how to decipher when your opponent was going to hit a drop shot; when a sweater was made of a polyester blend rather than cotton—I sure knew nothing about how to control myself.

All of the signs were right in front of me. God, rule number one was the first to take place!

Rule Number One to Controlling Oneself: Never get into an argument with a man who wore pinky rings, called you a narcissist, and enjoyed knowing you thought he was handsome. It’d onlyend with him thinking he was right. And what would you know—Kieran was right! I should have left that conversation with Jeremiah the moment it started!

Inhale for four seconds through the nose and hold. Exhale through the mouth for eight seconds. Again and again and again.

Coach would be proud if he knew I was rehearsing breathing techniques on my weekend off.

I could hear his voice: “You’re telling me all it took was for you to kiss that Kieran fellow to practice your damn breathing exercises?”

Shit, shit,shit. Nope,no, we weren’t going to think about that.

Just walk straight to your room where you’ll sleep and pretend like nothing happened. Definitely don’t stop at a window to stare outside and comb through all your panicky thoughts in a monologue Shakespearean-style.

Luna, Luna, Luna. You’re breathtaking.

“No!” I ordered myself to stop, finally reaching the correct hallway and shoving the door open. I let my back rest against the hardwood, heaps of air circulating through my body in disarray.

I kicked my heels off in frustration and marched to the other side of the bedroom, throwing the window open. Air, that’s what I needed.

Droplets of rain created a whip, throwing themselves at the glass. I let them hit my face and ruin the smoothness of my updo. My grip on the wrought iron window frame weakened, and my shoulders fell.

Luna, Luna, Luna. You’re breathtaking.

No.

He didn’t get to say that. He didn’t get to call me by my last name like some colleague in the financial district and then throw my first name at me like some—some romantic gesture. He didn’t get to call me uptight, narcissistic, calculated, stuck-up, bossy,controlling, and thenthat. He didn’t get to say I was an excuse for a tennis player and then watch me dance like I created the footsteps. He didn’t get to say I was incapable of loving and then trace his hands over my skin and grip my waist like it was something he wanted to familiarize himself with.

He didn’t get to sayI could never think less of youwhen I brought my divorce up, especially when he hadn’t heard the recordings of me screaming. He didn’t get to make me feel likeme. Only for me to shout at him for no reason other than the feeling of Jeremiah’s temper still making my skin crawl.

Luna, Luna, Luna. You’re breathtaking.

I ripped the clips from my hair, along with the hundreds of bobby pins. Running my fingers through my scalp, I tried to scrub out every thought of him: the dazed look in his blue eyes after we kissed; the grasp he had on my neck to tilt my head up; the greedy way his lips captured mine.

This entire night had already been a complex kerfuffle of stubborn memories I never wanted to recall. I wanted to cement my fake relationship. Prove to Jeremiah that I didn’t need him.

I didn’t want to see stupid Kieran get more handsome, and then leave knowing what it was like to kiss him.

The way I imagined this weekend going was shredded into long, wispy strips that made the leaves outside look durable.