Crossing Stars

by Nicole Williams

  My knees and the small bump at my hairline were healing up just fine. Disguising them had been the hardest part. Thankfully, I had enough dark knit tights in my closet to get me through the week, and I’d foregone headbands in hopes my hair would obscure the bump. No one had seemed to notice . . . except Mrs. Bailey and Luca. I’d told them a run-in with the bathroom sink was responsible for the bump. Since I wasn’t a rampant liar, they seemed to accept my fabrication and move on. For me though, moving on wasn’t so simple.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bailey.” Folding my hands over the desk, I studied the chalkboard and tried to make sense of the diagram. Without a frame of reference, we could have been studying chemistry just as easily as modern art.

  “Please, don’t apologize. It’s a relief to see you behaving like a normal student for once in your life.” She smiled as she dusted chalk off of her hands.

  “I don’t feel . . . normal.” As if I was making a confession, the words spilled out quietly and with an undercurrent of penitence.

  “Being who you are, Josette, I don’t know if normal will ever be in the cards for you . . . but this is something else.” As Mrs. Bailey approached me, her bangles jingled a soft song. “What is it?”

  Out of instinct, I peeked over both shoulders, scanning the library like either friend or foe could have been at ear’s or arm’s length. Finding no one, my gaze swept back around and met Mrs. Bailey’s. My teacher for twelve years, the person I’d spent more time with than my parents combined, and other than Serena, my only confidant. She had been the one I’d gone to after breaking one of the antlers off the giant elk head hanging in the West hall. With some mixture of Super Glue and miracle, she’d reapplied the antler, and no one had been any the wiser. Mrs. Bailey had also been the one I’d gone to first when I’d gotten my period because I simply couldn’t imagine asking Thomas, our butler, to add tampons to the household shopping list. Mrs. Bailey had been one of the few constants in my life and a true friend. She was a teacher first, but right now, I really needed a friend. Someone to help guide me through this foreign land of emotions.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about Rylan, but the intensity I felt as my mind orbited around him was so powerful, I felt as if I was being burnt alive from the inside out. I didn’t just want someone to talk to—I needed someone.

  “I . . . met . . . someone,” I started, selecting my words with such care that if I kept it up, I’d bring on a migraine.

  Mrs. Bailey repeated my investigation of the room. “Am I to take it by that this someone is a man?”

  I nodded, not quite able to look her in the eyes. She knew the unconventional rules and invisible bars in my life as well as I did, and even speaking about this topic seemed like high treason.

  “And is he truly? A man, that is,” she clarified. “Because most of the ones out there aren’t. Most are born, live, and die as boys, and boys are as useless to a woman as a screwdriver made out of Play-Doh.”

  The analogy made me smile. My experience with boys and men was nonexistent, so I’d have to take her word for it. Mrs. Bailey had always struck me as the kind of person who’d loved hard and lost hard, exactly someone whose advice I needed.

  “He’s a man,” I answered, smiling yet again as I pictured his face for the millionth time. The millionth time that morning.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because he saved me. Maybe not quite from death, but something . . . barbaric.” What other word was there for three guys holding a girl down to brand her face? “He risked his own life to make sure I made it back safely.”

  “Made it back safely where?” Mrs. Bailey’s voice got even quieter as she crouched in front of me.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have drawn her into it. If they found out she knew and hadn’t told them that I’d not only been involved with some guy my parents weren’t aware of and that I’d snuck out and crossed The Line. . . well, I wasn’t sure exactly what they’d do, but no doubt she’d be out of a job.

  “It’s okay. You can tell me, Josette.” Her hand, so warm and comforting, covered mine. “You can trust me.”

  That was yet another concept that had escaped me most of my life. Trust. The life I’d known made it difficult to both give and feel trust. Only Serena and Mrs. Bailey made the cut for this category. Sucking in a breath, I answered her. “Made it back safely to this side of The Line.”

  Mrs. Bailey’s eyes widened for one moment, and then she recovered herself. “Which implies you were on the other side of The Line.”

  Her voice was so quiet, I had to strain to hear her words. I nodded.

  “Which also implies that if this man risked his life getting you back to the right side of The Line, he’s from the other side of it.” She was right, and she knew it, but she waited. She watched me as if she hoped I’d disagree. Like she was practically praying I’d tell her she was wrong.

  When I nodded again, her eyes didn’t widen, but she sucked in a long breath.

  “You think I’m a fool, don’t you?” I asked, using the term Serena had repeated all weekend.

  Mrs. Bailey squeezed my hand. “That depends on the man.”

  “What does that mean?” After admitting what I had, I’d expected her to accuse me of being the single most foolish person in the world who’d just made the single most foolish choice in the history of choices.

  “Even the average person has much to lose when they play the game of love, Josette. Hearts, feelings, souls, family, friends, careers . . . all stand a chance of being broken when one intimately opens up their life to another. I would advise the most normal girl living the most normal life the same way.” I lifted an eyebrow at the same time she lifted her index finger. “But . . .”

  I knew that was coming. Everything about my life had been conditioned with a but.

  “But you were born into a life filled with death, deception, drugs, and men so evil, the only explanation is that they are apprentices of the devil himself. Somehow, you’ve managed to keep this life at bay, not allowing it sway over the woman you’ve become. That is a true feat all its own, worthy of songs and poems to be written of your strength.”

  Had Mrs. Bailey just used strength and me in the same sentence? It didn’t seem likely, but if she had, she’d be the first. Other than Rylan . . .

  “But there’s another feat, Josette. One just as daunting that your family has dedicated much time and money to.”

  “Keeping me alive?” It was ironic that the two great feats in my life were me being strong and others keeping me safe. If I was so strong, I shouldn’t need a mini army of guards to protect me.

  Mrs. Bailey nodded. “I know your father has difficulty showing his care and concern for you.”

  If that wasn’t an understatement, I was next in line to be Wonder Woman.

  “But keeping you safe and protecting you from harm is the outlet he’s chosen to filter all his concern into. If he ever found out you’d crossed The Line, Josette . . .” She didn’t finish her thought.

  I knew what would happen. The Red Streets of ’72, when three dozen men had killed and been killed during a Costa-Moran gunfight right at The Line, would seem like a ray of sunshine in comparison.

  She continued. “That’s not bringing into the equation that this man who’s the reason you’ve spent all week staring at your books blankly is from the other side of that line. If your father ever found out about you two and who this man is, you know what move he will make the very next instant.”

  My eyes closed, trying to erase the image from my mind. Closing them only made the image grow more detailed. All I saw was Rylan’s body spread across some back alley, blood spilling from his head and heart, his eyes open but never to see again.

  “He’d order a hit,” I whispered, my fingers curling into fists. “He’d offer a reward so huge, every man in his crew would cross The Line with dollar signs in his eyes. The only way he’d . . . he’d survive”—I couldn’t bring myself to say his name. I trusted Mrs. Bailey, but I didn’t t
rust these walls. I didn’t trust this place—“was if he left the planet or slipped into an alternate universe.”

  Mrs. Bailey sat on the edge of her desk, a mixture of pity and pride on her face.

  “But that isn’t where it would stop. The Blue Krait wouldn’t rest until every guard assigned to me was dead, along with every man in any way associated with him. I’d be chained up and forgotten about until the day I marry Constantine Lombarti and fulfill my one duty of tying the East coast with the West coast.” Every last book on the bookshelves seemed to pile on my back until I felt ready to snap in two. “I would be responsible for the deaths of dozens, if not hundreds, of people . . . all because I fell for the wrong man.”

  Mrs. Bailey sighed with me. “Well, you wouldn’t be the first. Nor will you be the last.”

  I laughed a hard note and let my head fall into my hands. “Make me a list of all of the others who got a small city of people killed because of one choice, and if there’s more than a dozen, I’ll give you the answers to all life’s secrets.”

  “I don’t mean your exact situation, but plenty of people have sacrificed much in the name of love.”

  “I didn’t use that word,” I said, shifting in my seat.

  “Well, I did. That’s what we’re skating around, isn’t it? That’s what you’re worried about this growing into, right? You’re on the verge of tears because you already know that there’s a very real potential for you falling in love with him.” After that, she was silent for a few moments, staring at me without seeming to blink. “I’m waiting for you to correct me, but since I’ve waited plenty long, you’ve confirmed my assumptions.”

  I should have contradicted her, but I couldn’t. She was right; of course that was what had been keeping me up at night and distracted during the day. Love was distant on the horizon, but I was sailing in that direction. “What do I do?”

  “Not only can I not answer that question, I wouldn’t even attempt to try. Only you know how you feel or could feel for this man, and only you can decide how much you’re willing to sacrifice to be with him.”

  Her answer only confused me more. “How much would you sacrifice for the person you love?”

  “We’re talking about record-breaking, earth-shattering, once-in-a-lifetime, from the depths of hell to the heights of heaven love, right?”

  I nodded. “In theory.”

  Mrs. Bailey gave me a look that spoke more than a dictionary of words. “And you’re asking what I’d sacrifice for this legendary kind of love?”

  Another nod. “Yes.”

  “In theory . . .” Her eyes locked on mine, either a challenge or a warning. “Everything.”

  Her answer surprised me. Her answer didn’t surprise me. Her answer lit the fuse inside of me, the one that would eventually set off the bomb I’d been carrying inside of me for so long. Where would I be when it exploded? Who would I be with? What damage would be done?

  As I continued to puzzle over Mrs. Bailey’s answer, the library door whined open. “Dinner will be served early tonight, Miss Costa,” Thomas announced as he stepped inside. “Your father has requested you change into something more fitting for a formal dinner. He’s had Rosa lay out a dress for you, and she is waiting in your room to do your hair as well.”

  Thomas was an adept butler and had been with the family for so long, he was almost an honorary member. But he was my father’s man, and I’d never made the mistake of thinking he wouldn’t betray me if he thought it would put him that much higher in my father’s esteem.

  “It seems I’m unfitting. Better go remedy that.” I capped my sour words with a smile as Thomas turned and waited for me at the door.

  Thomas was English, brought over as a young man to serve in my father’s house. He’d started as a driver, moved up to manage the kitchen staff, and had been the butler for close to twenty years. That an English man—which was a mere border away from Ireland—ran the Costa estate seemed a contradiction, and when I’d been young and foolish enough to bring it up to my father, he’d replied that some people are born to serve and others to lead. He didn’t have a single Italian servant in the household because, according to him, no Italian was made to serve.

  “Bye, Mrs. Bailey. Have a nice weekend,” I said after closing my books and straightening my desk.

  She was at the board, erasing the diagram I had daydreamed through, as if she and I had not just been discussing the most dangerous topic to likely have ever been whispered in this house. That was saying a lot given these walls sheltered the Blue Krait himself, where dangerous was the underlying theme of every conversation.

  “Good-bye, Josette.” She paused long enough to exchange a look with me. “Have a thoughtful weekend.”

  Last weekend she’d told me to have an adventurous weekend, and I’d listened. This weekend, a thoughtful one . . . It remained to be seen if I’d take her advice again.

  As I passed Thomas, he nodded conventionally and closed the library door behind us. “Dinner will be served in an hour, and there will be a guest.”

  I froze for one moment when an image of Rylan’s head on a platter with an apple stuffed in his mouth flashed through my mind. The only thing that unfroze me was reassuring myself that there was no way my father could know about Rylan.

  “What guest?” I asked as Luca followed a pace back from my heels, just starting his weekend shift.

  “Your father asked me not to say. He wanted it to be a surprise, I think,” Thomas said.

  I withheld my groan and continued down the hall. Some fathers surprised their daughters with ponies; my father’s surprises had never been something to look forward to. “Thank you, Thomas.” I had to remind myself I wasn’t upset with Thomas or Luca or anyone else; I was upset with my situation. Lately, I’d been reminding myself of that on an almost hourly basis.

  After winding through this hall and that hall, climbing and descending this staircase and that one, I realized I barely recognized my own house. The one I’d been born in, raised in, and wasted away eighteen years in. I’d been walking those same halls and staircases for so long without really seeing them, I noticed pictures I’d long forgotten about. Chairs tucked into corners I hadn’t sat in. Faces of people I no longer recognized.

  I’d been a ghost, haunting these halls but never really living within them. It was yet another realization that shook me. One I wanted to forget, knowing I never would.

  “Did you enjoy your days off?” I asked Luca to take my mind off the sobering revelations.

  “I did. Thank you for asking,” Luca replied formally. The exact same response I got every time I asked one of my guards the same question.

  “I’m sorry for Serena. She was persistent last weekend. Well, more persistent than usual.”

  When she hadn’t been chiding me for being an idiot, she’d thrown everything she had in her feminine prowess arsenal at Luca. She’d left on Sunday looking as defeated as I’d ever seen her.

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

  There was something in his voice, just enough of something different. I glanced over my shoulder. Luca’s eyes were forward as they always were, but it wasn’t me he was seeing . . . it was something, or someone, else.

  “Do you like her?” I asked. It didn’t seem possible, but his far-off look had me wondering.

  “If I did, I couldn’t show it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Your father doesn’t allow his family’s personal guards to have girlfriends, or wives, or families. He wants us committed to no one but the Costa family.” His gaze swept the hall, up and down, before he opened my bedroom door.

  “But that isn’t fair. If you like someone, you should be able to be with them. He pays you to protect us—he doesn’t own your life.”

  Luca’s head tilted. “Doesn’t he?” He slipped inside my room and cleared it. When he came back out, he nodded, giving me the all clear to go inside.

  I stopped inside of the doorframe. “You should get to be with whoever it is
you care about, rules be damned. That’s what I’d do.”

  Luca looked me in the eye—not as a protector to the hunted but as one person to another. “Would you?” He held my stare for one more moment before taking his mark just outside my door.

  MY WHOLE LIFE, I’d been dressed in understated clothes that were as boring as they were practical, but tonight . . . Tonight I felt as if I’d just been shot through Las Vegas and rolled in glitter and glam and gaud.

  After Rosa had decorated, I mean dressed me, the first thing I’d reached for after looking in a mirror was a blanket. I didn’t know I had that much skin to show, or that much face to cover up with paint, or that much hair to pile and curl and spray. Rosa just kept clapping in delight, shooing me out the door as if I was her daughter off to her Quinceanera. In my face paint and motley, I felt more like I was off to play the court jester.

  Luca had assured and reassured and assured me again that I looked lovely, beautiful even, but I’d never felt less so. Or more insecure in my own skin . . . since that was mostly all I was wearing to dinner. I’d seen enough movies and thumbed through enough fashion magazines to know the short black dress I’d been stuffed into was en vogue, but it was one thing to see it on a model and quite another to be dressed in it. Or try to actually move or sit in it. It covered most of my chest and shoulders, but it couldn’t have been any shorter without showing my underwear, nor could it have been any tighter without cutting off my circulation. I’d once been strapped into a strait jacket—one of Serena’s pranks, of course—and I’d been more comfortable in that. The matching heels that made a tall girl a freak didn’t help.

  Everything from the neck up was equally as foreign and garish. I wore lip gloss and mascara most days and nothing on some days, but I’d never worn a gallon of paint. If this was the way my parents wanted me dressed for dinner with a “surprise” guest, I could only assume they were selling me to a pimp.