“As real as it gets.” Her voice softened. “Tell me a story about you.” I was quiet for a moment before I spoke again. “I told you about my father and how my parents died. What I didn’t tell you was what my mom left behind.” The words came out faded, like furniture webbed with dust after being hidden for so long. “It was a goodbye note.” The police found it on the scene. My aunt hadn’t wanted me to see it, but I’d insisted. I still remembered how it smelled, like ink and my mom’s favorite perfume. My skin had still been warm from the afternoon sun, but I hadn’t been able to stop shivering when I read the note. “She told me how much she loved me and didn’t want to leave me, but that she had no choice. That she couldn’t live without my father and that her sister would take care of me.” A bitter smile touched my lips. “Imagine telling your child you loved them before you left them all alone in the world. Knowing they’d lose the only parent they had left because you couldn’t stick around long enough to even try? It’d been two days. That was it. I wasn’t sad when I read that letter, Stella. I was angry, and I was glad about that, because anger is easier than abandonment.” “But my mom also left something else behind. Her one attempt at painting. She loved art, but she was a terrible artist, and even my father couldn’t lie and tell her it was good. We put it in the basement, but after she died, I dug it up and held onto it. I didn’t know why. Maybe because I resented what art had done to my family, and I liked seeing its ugliness and chaos immortalized on canvas. I had her note as well, and when I was older, I reworked the frame and placed it inside the painting. The most fucked up part was, I named it after her. Magda.” “Yes,” I said when Stella’s eyes widened. “The same Magda you heard me talking about with Dante. I should’ve tossed both the painting and the note out long ago, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It wasn’t the items themselves. It was what they symbolized—what my parents did and how they abandoned me. I hated Magda, yet she was the most important thing in my life. Enough so that I had it under guard. I even forged documents saying it’s this priceless piece of art so no one would question why I was expending so many resources on it.” A rough laugh left my throat. “It seems like a stupidly elaborate ruse for something so simple, but that painting has always fucked me up. I could never let it go. That hideous piece of art symbolized everything she loved more than me. Whenever I see it, I see her. I see her sitting down, writing that note, then blowing her brains out.” Stella flinched at the visual imagery, but I was too far gone to stop. “I see myself sitting in my classroom when the principal called me into his office. I see my aunt’s face and the funeral and the pitying looks everyone gave me after she died. The town didn’t know the truth about my father; the businessman he was stealing from didn’t want any extra publicity about the case, and he paid off the authorities to keep the whole thing quiet.” I swallowed past a strange lump in my throat.
“A mother’s love for her child is supposed to be the greatest love of all. Yet it wasn’t enough for her to stay with me.” Stella had been quiet throughout my story, but now she looked at me with a thousand words in her eyes. “Christian…” she breathed, her voice thick with unshed tears. I tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “This isn’t a sob story, Butterfly,” I said gruffly.
“Don’t feel bad for me. I got over it a long time ago.” It was a heavy story to tell given the day she’d had, but she wanted real. And my history with Magda was as real as it got. “I don’t think you’ve gotten over it,” she said softly. “Not if you’re still holding onto it.” “Technically, Dante is holding onto it.” I sidestepped her observation. “How did he get it?” “The painting got stolen, then sold in a bunch of estate sales.” I didn’t get into the dirty details about Kage, Sentinel, and how, in the mother of all coincidences, it landed in Josh’s hands. I’d found it before Josh bought it and retrieved the note, but I’d let the painting’s sales run their course in order to track down
who stole it. I’d been right about Sentinel and wrong about Axel. “Dante acted as my proxy and bought it back since I didn’t want more people knowing about my connection to it. He’s holding it at his place while I figure out what to do with it.” “Have you?” Stella asked. “Figured out what to do with it?” “Not yet. But I will.” We lay there, our breaths intertwining in the compressed space between us. Stella was right. I hadn’t gotten over Magda. I’d pushed it to the back of my mind because of everything that had happened the past few months, but I could still feel its skeletal grasp on me. I could destroy it, or I could live in its stranglehold forever.
But that was a decision for another day. “Can I tell you a secret?” Stella whispered. “When I was in the cabin, and I thought I was about to die…the person I thought about most was you.” Her words sliced me open and dug into my heart—both the part about her almost dying, and the part where she thought about me. “I’m not saying I’m one hundred percent over what you did because I’m not,” she said. “But I also understand keeping things secret and not knowing how to tell the truth. I also realized I was wrong when I compared you to Julian. You would never hurt me the way he did. And, to be honest, I…” Stella visibly swallowed. “I missed you.” The compression in my chest loosened, and my mouth softened in a genuine smile. “I can work with that.” “Also…” A ruddy flush spread across her cheeks. “I might be able to up the percentage if you give me a goodnight kiss.” Laughter rumbled in my chest. “I can definitely work with that.” I drew her closer. “I missed you too,” I added softly before pressing a gentle kiss to her mouth. I could kiss her forever, but I forced myself to pull back after the count of three. Now wasn’t the time for a hot and heavy makeup session. “That’s all you’re getting for now. You need rest.”
Stella sighed. “Tease.” Despite her grumbling, she was out like a light minutes later. I tucked her closer to my chest and, after weeks of restless nights, let the soothing rhythm of her breaths finally lull me to sleep.
51
STELLA
I slept in until noon the next day. It was the latest I’d ever woken up, but the previous day’s events had taken their toll. Even after a solid sixteen hours of rest, fogginess clouded my brain as I walked to the kitchen. Being drugged and kidnapped. Finding out my old classmate slash the reporter who’d written that amazing profile on me was my stalker. Nearly dying, then getting rescued by Christian, staying the night at his house, and sort of/kind of making up with him. I’d had time to process, so it was easier to wrap my head around what happened, but yesterday was so surreal I still felt like I was walking on the edge of a dream. It was Monday, so I’d expected Christian to be at work. But when I entered the sun-splashed kitchen, I found him standing by the espresso machine, dressed in a black shirt and pants instead of his usual suit. I blinked with surprise. “You’re here.” “It is my house,” he said dryly. He nodded at the array of covered plates on the kitchen island. “Nina’s here and made breakfast. Lemon ricotta pancakes, your favorite.” My stomach growled at the mention of breakfast. I’d had a pastry for lunch and