When Stars Are Bright

by Amber R. Duell

  My breath falls in quick disbelief. He was worried about me not being there? If he only knew the doubt that’s been swirling through me since we last met…“Have I ever stood you up before?”

  He shrugs. “No, but I know it’s intimidating for you to be around my family.”

  “Unless my mother comes back and finds you here, I’ll be waiting.” I push up onto my tip-toes and kiss his cheek.

  His breath skates along my cheek, shaking. “In that case, I better go. I need to pick something up in town anyway, then I’ll come back for you.”

  “Good idea.” I lean back and hold the dress out between us, eyeing the fine detailing. It’s the first present he’s given me. The first time we don’t have to worry about my mother finding something that could be considered a token of his affection, sending her into a fit. I grin up at him from beneath my lashes. “Go on, then. I have to get myself ready.”

  He cups my face and gives me a second kiss. When he tries to pull back, I grip his blue tie. He showers kisses over my face, laughing. “I’ll be back.” He presses a final kiss to my nose. “Don’t be late.”

  “Never.” I release his tie, pleased with the slight crook my grip put in the knot.

  Christian eases the door open and winks without fixing it. “I love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I twist my hips, letting the smooth fabric of the skirt swish against my calves. Christian won’t be along for another twenty minutes, but I can’t stand another second inside. After I drank the tea my mother made, a stone settled in my gut. I’ve never lied to her like this before. Sneaking around with Christian doesn’t count, exactly. She knew, and I never promised to stop so it was always more like willful disobedience. Not a lie.

  But this is one worth telling.

  The sheep slowly graze their way across the distant mountainside, dots of white among the bright grass. My mother and I helped pick the last of the tulips from the surrounding fields weeks ago. Now the landscape is brown and barren all the way to those emerald hills.

  The hum of an engine purrs in the distance, and my excitement sparks anew. I stare down the hill, waiting for the first glimpse of chrome, of a green fender. Suddenly, I’m practically humming with nerves. This isn’t a good idea. Christian’s father tried to pay us off! What am I doing, waltzing into their house, into their world, and throwing our relationship in his face? I have to tell Christian about the offer before the party—it isn’t too late to back out for either of us.

  I blow out a breath and pluck at my curls. Maybe I should wait inside so the humidity doesn’t ruin all my hard work. The pins holding my hair out of my face will only do so much. I drop my arms and drum my fingers against my thighs. I can fix it in the car if he still wants to go through with it.

  The whirling of a wheel draws my attention. I lean onto my toes to peek over the incline, praying none of the neighbors that saw Christian told my mother and leant her a bicycle. The wheel crests the hill and flies straight for me. I lock eyes with an overweight man pedaling furiously and leap off the road at the same time he jerks the handlebars in the opposite direction.

  I stumble into the empty field, my arms outstretched, and catch myself before I land on my face. Staring at the tilled earth, I press a hand against my chest and take a deep, steadying breath. The bicyclist groans from the opposite ditch. I shake off my shock and step out of the field.

  “Are you all right?” I call.

  I take another step and a familiar warning rings in my head. Don’t, it says. Run. But, in all good faith, I can’t turn my back without checking on the man’s wellbeing. The spokes on the back tire spin round and round in the middle of the road.

  “Help,” the man calls, his body hidden in the steep slope of the trench.

  I shift backward. “I’ll go get someone.”

  “Wait.” He sits up with his back to me and slowly trails his fingers through his dark hair as if searching for a cut. Then he reaches into his breast pocket and snaps out a handkerchief. “Can you help me up?”

  Just then, Christian rounds the bend. Relief sings through my body. “My boyfriend is much stronger,” I say.

  The man’s face hardens as the car rolls to a stop, and he tucks the fabric back into his pocket. Christian steps out of the vehicle with a puzzled look. “Are you well, sir?”

  “Fine,” the stranger grumbles and climbs to his feet.

  It isn’t until Christian helps him retrieve the bicycle from the road that I recognize him as the man from the dance. My heart skips a beat, and I race into the passenger seat. I believe in coincidences, but this is too much. The dance took place in another town, for one. Everyone around here is a familiar face, even if I don’t know their names.

  Christian finally joins me in the car with a giddy smile. “You’re beautiful.”

  I swallow my fear and force a smile. Today is a big day. If anything’s going to ruin it, it won’t be this. “Thank you.”

  “Are you ready?” He grabs my hand and kisses my knuckles.

  I eye the man walking beside his bicycle as he returns the way he came. Christian maneuvers his car back and forth until we’re heading away from him and my house. The further we get, the more my nerves switch back to the party.

  “Christian.”

  He stops talking midsentence, though I hadn’t realized he was talking before.

  “Your father came to my house last week.” I twist my fingers together and will them to stop shaking. “He offered my mother money to keep us away from each other.”

  His head whips toward me. “What?”

  “She didn’t take it,” I assure him quickly.

  Red sweeps up his neck, coloring his face with quiet rage. “I’m sorry, Lina. I’ll take care of it.”

  Take care of what? I want to ask, but can’t bring myself to. “Maybe I shouldn’t come today?”

  “No. This is all the more reason for us not to back down.”

  It’s practically a growl, a sound so different than I’ve ever heard come from his mouth that I ease away. “Christian…”

  He kisses my hand again. “I’m sorry. I’m not upset with you, okay? I’ll deal with my father.”

  There’s no arguing with Christian so I don’t try. This whole party, the pending proposal, all seems tainted. It’s like fate is stepping in to warn me away. My ears ring as we pull up to Christian’s house. No—house isn’t right. It’s a mansion. Stone railings lead up a wide staircase, and huge arched windows interrupt the creamy white exterior on both floors. Staff in dark suits and dresses line the bottom of the steps.

  “This isn’t going to work,” I say quietly.

  He stops the car and two men rush forward to open the doors. “Of course it will.”

  “I don’t think I can walk in there,” I admit.

  “You’re nervous.” He looks up at the man holding his door and motions for him to wait. “It’s okay, Lina. Trust me.”

  I do trust him. That isn’t the problem. It’s the sudden, overwhelming fear that I’ll be thrown out before I even reach the gardens, and, if I’m not, that this could become my life. Feeling inferior forever, hearing even more whispers at my back. At least the people working the fields don’t pretend to be my friend. I’ve heard about the socialites from other workers, who heard from maids. How the girls act one way to someone and another after they leave. I may not have friends now, but I have my mother. Who will I have in a place like this?

  “We can leave if you really want to.”

  The sound of disappointment in his voice pulls my attention to his face. Christian. I will have him, if no one else. “We’re already here, so we might as well go in.”

  I’m rewarded with a bright, relieved smile, and he hops out of the car. Rounding the back of the vehicle, he waves off the man holding my door to help me out himself. Even the gravel lining the drive appears perfect—all rocks and no dirt. I squeeze Christian’s hand and let him lead me toward the house.

  We don’t go inside but arou
nd the side. To get there, we pass through a courtyard with a large fountain. The water spewing from the giant fish’s mouth appears cleaner than what we cook with. I’m so transfixed that I almost don’t notice the copious amounts of rose bushes lining our path or the ivy hanging from a trellis overhead. Tiny yellow flowers peek through the foliage while the roses give way to rows of bright pink flowers. A white butterfly flits from one flower to another, dancing elegantly in the air.

  “It’s magical here,” I say in awe.

  “You haven’t seen anything yet,” Christian promises. He’s watching me with the same admiration that I feel for our surroundings, and I blush. “The actual gardens are fit for royalty.”

  I skim a flower with my fingertips. “I don’t think they could be better than this. Even a fairy king would feel at home here.”

  He blanches, but before I can ask why, a man bellows Christian’s name. I jump and immediately attempt to pull my hand out of Christian’s on instinct. He tightens his grip and stops at the very end of the trellised walkway.

  “There you are,” the man continues.

  “Father,” Christian replies.

  A man in a well-fitting suit with perfectly combed blond hair strides up to us with authoritative steps. Everything about him exudes power from the shine of his shoes to the thin mustache above his lips. He resembles Christian so much that there’s no doubt they’re related.

  “Your mother’s been looking for you everywhere. Where—” Mr. Van Buren stops in his tracks. His face is expressionless as he takes me in, but there’s a storm in his eyes. “You brought her here? Have you lost your senses, boy?”

  Christian straightens. “Have you lost yours? I know you offered Ms. Holt money.”

  “She would’ve been wise to take it,” he seethes. “There have already been enough issues with this party today, so take her home before your mother sees.”

  “I will not,” Christian insists and leads me around his father to an enormous yard behind the house.

  White linen canopies flutter in the breeze with nearly fifty people socializing beneath their shade. More guests sit in chairs beneath their parasols or walk beside friends while small children race around the perimeter of the party. Their gleeful shouts fill the air. Beyond the jubilant party-goers are hedges, a second fountain, and a rainbow of colorful flowers that stretch on and on. A gasp escapes me before I can stop it.

  “You will not ruin this day with scandal,” Mr. Van Buren growls behind us.

  My stomach twists. I don’t belong here among these happy, carefree people in their light color dresses and callus-free hands. Even the wait staff carrying silver platters look as if they know nothing of hard labor. Perhaps they do, but they don’t look like it. Even in the new dress Christian gave me, I stand out.

  “Take me home,” I agree. “It’s okay. Let’s just go.”

  “At least one of you has some sense,” Mr. Van Buren spits.

  Christian ignores us both and tucks my hand in the crook of his arm before striding out toward his peers. We’ve barely made it three steps when I’m ripped backward by my other arm. Mr. Van Buren shoves his way through a partially opened glass door, dragging me along with him.

  Floor to ceiling windows let in the afternoon sun. The rays bounce off the gold décor situated around the room. Sweat immediately beads on the back of my neck from the heat. Colorful flowers grow in pots all around the room, filling the room with an almost cloying scent. The furniture situated at the center doesn’t look like it’s ever been used, and a small chandelier hangs down with amber-colored sconces.

  The door vibrates when it slams shut, and Mr. Van Buren twists a lock. My heart bangs in my chest. “What are you doing?” I ask desperately.

  Christian screams to be let in from the other side of the door. His father ignores him and calls for someone named Cobus.

  “Let go,” I demand.

  “Listen here,” he barks. “If I see your face again, I’ll make your life so miserable that you have to flee the country. No! The continent.”

  A man—presumably Cobus—enters through a heavy, ornate door on the other side of the room. “Sir?”

  “Prepare the car.”

  “Cobus?” A woman slips in behind him. “What’s all this?”

  Christian skids into the room, practically shoving the butler out of his way. Fury paints his fair cheeks bright red. “Release her.”

  “Go back to the party, dearest.” Mr. Van Buren speaks in a somewhat softer voice. “We’ll join you in a moment.”

  The woman flicks open a fan hanging from her wrist and uses it to cool herself. If she is Mr. Van Buren’s dearest, she must be Christian’s mother. She’s wearing a white dress with small pastel flowers and layered sleeves. A strand of pearls circle her neck three times and a large-brimmed hat protects her face from the sun.

  “Mother,” Christian says. “May I introduce you to Miss Lina Holt?”

  She pales and grips the doorframe to keep from collapsing to the floor. The pressure leaves my arm as Mr. Van Buren rushes to his wife’s side. “She’s leaving, dearest. Don’t worry yourself.”

  “Don’t worry myself?” she asks, shrill. “This… this creature you call a son brought his floozie into our home. And today of all days!”

  Christian clenches his fists. “Mother—”

  “I am not your mother! You are not the son I bore!”

  The blood drains from his face, but he says nothing more. He simply holds his hand out for me to take. I rush to him, reveling in the safety of his touch.

  “Get her out of here,” his father roars.

  “Trade him back,” his mother weeps. “I don’t want this one.”

  Mr. Van Buren shoves Christian’s chest. “Now!”

  Still, he doesn’t move, so I tug him back the way we came. Every step we take back to the car seems surreal. I don’t understand all of what happened, but I do understand one thing. Christian and I are fighting a losing battle.

  The house is dark when Christian pulls to a stop atop the hill. It’s expected—there’s another hour before sunset which means another hour before my mother will head home. For once, I’m disappointed. A lecture would be a welcome distraction tonight. The intense silence is more than uncomfortable and walking into an empty house will give me too much time to reflect on the day.

  “Lina,” Christian starts quietly, then pauses.

  “It’s okay,” I assure him in a flat voice that’s entirely unconvincing.

  “No, it’s not.” He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “I have no excuse for the way my family behaved…”

  I deflate. That should be the least of his worries—his mother just told him he isn’t her son. Whether it’s true or not, there’s a lot to process. “It’s not your fault.”

  “Isn’t it?” He faces me, the pain clear on his face. “You were worried about this very thing when I asked you to come today, but I brushed it off. I was so sure she wouldn’t make a scene.”

  I set my palm against his cheek to silence him. “Please stop blaming yourself.”

  Christian turns his face so he can kiss my palm. His eyes flutter shut, his right hand covering mine. The tension inside the car calms at his touch, and my chest fills with a new emotion. What more proof do I need that my mother is right?

  Panic scratches its way up my throat. I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t know how to keep him. The only action I can think of is to step back from the relationship. There’s no replacement for family, no matter how they treat you, and it will save us both heartache. He will eventually resent me if I allow him to choose between me and them.

  “My mother…” Christian hesitates. “I should’ve told you about her obsession with fairies. She’s usually better at hiding it, but I suppose I didn’t realize it would be so stressful to…”

  To see me at their house.

  “I was a sickly baby,” he continues. “I caught a horrible cough when I was only a few weeks old. The doctor told my parents I
wouldn’t survive more than a day or two, but the next morning, the cough was gone completely. Everyone tells me it was a miracle, but my mother thinks I was switched with a changeling.”

  That explains why he looked so upset when I mentioned fairies in the garden. I can’t imagine what it was like growing up with a parent that thinks you’re someone else—something else. The only mother I’ve ever known is loving and kind, but none of this changes the fact that we’re on a path to disappointment. “I love you,” I say, barely audible.

  “I love you, too,” he says, solemn.

  “But—” My chin trembles as I pull my hand away. “We should stop seeing each other.”

  Christian’s eyes go wide. “You don’t mean that.”

  I don’t want to mean it, but I see no other choice. At least for now. “I do.”

  “No.” His voice is hard, but his eyes glisten with the threat of tears. “No. We belong together. We’re going to get married.”

  I shake my head and twist my skirt in my hands. Surprisingly, my own eyes are dry, but a thick lump in my throat keeps me from speaking.

  “Please, Lina,” he begs. He searches his jacket pockets with trembling hands. “I… I have a ring, and you’ll be of age soon. We don’t need their permission.”

  “I have to go,” I say in a rush. His warm hand closes gently around my upper arm, and I freeze. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  “Please.”

  I fumble with the door handle. “It’s for the best.”

  “I love you,” he pleads. “Don’t do this.”

  The door finally opens, and I swing my legs out. “I love you too, but this isn’t going to work. We both know it. I’m simply the only one admitting it.”

  “You’re hurting,” he reasons. “I understand that. But… but if we just give it time—”

  I push his hand off my arm without making eye contact. If I did, I’d cave. “We’ve given it time.” His ragged breath fills the car. I have to get away before he cries because it will undo me, and I have to let him go. “I’m sorry.”