Written in the Stars

by Rachael Eliker

  The elevator dinged when we made it to the lobby and opened up to the vast, two story space that felt like the perfect combination of rich luxury and modernist décor. Our high heels clicked delicately on the smooth marble, and it wasn’t long before we spotted Robby and Warren sitting in wingback armchairs near the lounge. Warren’s back was to us, but I could see he was holding a guitar in his lap, and he was slowly strumming the haunting melody of Written in the Stars with great feeling and precision. That music tugged at my heartstrings, and I might’ve melted into a gooey puddle right in the middle of the floor if Stella hadn’t jabbed me in the back with her finger to hustle me along.

  Robby spotted us first and sprang out of his seat, his mouth hanging open in appreciation of the effort Stella and I had put in. Looking up over the back of his chair, Warren did a double take, his eyes widening appreciatively. Quickly, he moved the guitar off his lap and stood like a gentleman, stroking his hand down the front of his skinny black tie.

  “You look…” Warren started then stopped, his throat bobbing as he swallowed and ran his fingers through his parted brown hair.

  Hubba hubba, the little voice inside shouted. Aware I was about to start drooling, validating Vanessa’s accusation of my behavior, I said, “Nice suit. The skinny tie is a nice touch. Don’t see many of those around anymore.”

  Absentmindedly running his hand down the front of his tie again, Warren asked, “You like it?”

  “Yeah,” I smiled. Catching Robby looking at me out of the corner of my eye, I didn’t want him to feel awkward that I was outright ogling my sister’s date. “Uh, you both clean up nice.”

  “You both look lovely, too,” Robby agreed.

  “The only reason I look so nice is because Stella picked out my dress,” I said, grabbing a handful of the skirt and twirling it around me.

  “She has good taste.” Warren’s eyes bore into mine, and I had to look away to keep from blushing.

  “Where’d that guitar come from?” I asked, tapping the headstock with my pink nails.

  “This? Oh, I borrowed it from the lounge. They must have a live band in the evening.”

  “And you just took it without asking?” I asked. “That’s rather bold.”

  Warren’s lips slowly spread, revealing a pearly white smile. “You know when the musical urge strikes, there’s not much a person can do to stop it.”

  “It dangerous to deny an urge so powerful.” Holy cow, my brain screamed again, are you flirting with him? Trying to keep myself from cringing, I pretended not to notice the adorable redness spreading like a rash across Warren’s cheeks.

  “I guess I’d better put it back before someone starts looking for it.” Picking up the guitar, Warren trotted to the lounge stage and returned the guitar.

  Robby and Stella didn’t seem to notice my embarrassing, unintentional trifling with Warren, since they were already deep in conversation, gabbing about their impending work presentation the next day. I tried to pay attention to what they were discussing but was completely distracted by Warren jogging back to our group. I wasn’t sure how watching a hot guy running could be so captivating but it was.

  When Warren rejoined us, Stella clapped her hands and rubbed them together vigorously, asking, “Shall we? The night is young, but I need to be in bed before midnight. If I’m not, there are no guarantees I’ll be coherent for our presentation tomorrow.”

  Warren offered his elbow, and Stella accepted, looping her arm through his as he led the way to the glass doors. Robby did the same, though it felt forced on my part. I could feel myself walking rigidly, and I rolled my shoulders, trying to ease the tension, but the stiff knot in my muscles refused to budge.

  Warren held the door for the rest of us, and one by one, we filed through. Robby and Stella continued to the street to the waiting car, but Warren snagged me by the arm, holding me there without explanation.

  There was something in his look that suggested he wanted to say something that was teetering on the tip of his tongue, but he was holding himself back.

  My eyebrows edged their way up my forehead and I asked, “Yes?”

  “Your dress,” he said as his glance darted down my figure then back up to my face. “If no one else made you believe it, you look really fantastic tonight, Eloise.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  When our car pulled up to the restaurant, it looked like the red carpet had been rolled out. Dozens of couples decked out in show-stopping dresses and smartly pressed suits mingled outside the building while photographers wove in and out getting photos as people willingly posed like they were at the Grammys.

  Leaning forward, I tapped Stella on the shoulder. “Is there something special going on tonight?”

  “Didn’t I tell you?” Stella said, shifting in her seat so she could see me. “I won tickets from the conference to this party. It’s dinner, swing dancing, a live band. Kind of a nod to the bustling clubs of the past. I thought it would be fun.”

  “Definitely better than a modern club,” I agreed. “I think mom would die if she knew we were twerking to techno music in L.A.”

  Stella put a hand across her stomach as she laughed. “I’m not sure Mom would know what twerking is anyway.”

  I could see a smile Warren tried to hide by rubbing his finger across his lips. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him that mental image.

  When our car made it to the curb, a man in a white suit coat and black pants, with slicked back hair and the shiniest shoes I’d ever seen opened the door, and immediately, I was hit by a wave of lively music and the smell of savory, spicy foods. My stomach grumbled, forgetting all about the half bag of potato chips that had settled heavily in my gut earlier that day.

  The four of us stuck close together as we slowly followed the crowd to the front doors. A set of security guards stood like sentinels behind a tiny Indian woman with thick black hair that waterfalled down her back. She held a master list, and everyone who wanted in had to have their name checked off. Old Eloise would’ve kept her head down and tried to squeeze inside as soon as possible without drawing any attention, but feeling pretty and confident, I let myself look around and absorb the liveliness of the party.

  “Miss Stauch! Over here!” I heard someone shout from behind.

  As I turned, I was met with a blinding light. While the first photographer assaulted me with a barrage of bright camera flashes, shouting at me to pay attention to him, the rest of the paparazzi realized who’d just shown up and rushed over to get their own shot of me. Overwhelmed, my face froze, and instead of a charming smile, they were probably getting dozens of shots of me grimacing—the type that ended up on questionable magazines that sold the public horror stories about people’s favorite celebrity personal crises.

  Trying in vain to maintain my smile, I looked around for moral support but couldn’t find my group anywhere. Either they were also being photographed to death somewhere else or had been dismissed as nobodies and pushed out of the way by the hounding photographers. Surrounded and alone, all I wanted to do was crawl back into the car and go back to the hotel to escape the unanticipated attention.

  An arm draped around my neck, and I looked up to see Warren had come to my rescue. Pulling me in close against his chest, a smile naturally resulted. With him next to me, it felt safe, and once again, I was in control. A few more moments of beaming and posing and Warren announced we needed to go. Taking my hand, he intertwined his fingers between mine and towed me behind him to where Robby and Stella were standing by the entrance, looking slightly worried. The club’s security stopped the cameras from following, and I breathed a sigh of relief once I knew I was out of their grasp.

  “Is that what it’s like being famous?” Stella asked, her eyes widened with apprehension.

  “Yeah. To say it’s overwhelming is an understatement. It feels like being in the middle of a shark feeding frenzy,” I said, brushing a strand of hair off my forehead and pulling the rest around the front of my right shoulder.

 
Robby took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I don’t think I could handle that kind of attention every time I went out in public.”

  “Me, neither,” Stella agreed. “I was surprised people didn’t start cutting off pieces of your hair for mementos. Good thing Warren was there.”

  Looking back over my shoulder, Warren winked. “Guess you’re stuck with me.”

  “Thanks for watching my back,” I said softly.

  “Anytime.”

  My heart skipped a beat in my chest as I realized I was staring a breath too long at Warren—who was also staring back at me.

  Clearing his throat, Robby asked, “Shall we?”

  We passed the bouncers, and as we walked into the bustling restaurant, Stella grabbed my arm and asked in a low voice, “You’re sure you’re alright? I mean, growing up, if you’d ever had that much attention, you would’ve passed out and slipped into a coma.”

  I laughed and wrapped my sister in a quick hug. “You know me too well.”

  “I know I’m considered the outgoing one between the two of us, and that was too much even for me.”

  “It can be, but I’m getting more used to it. Kind of part of the role I have to play, I guess.” Glancing at Warren’s back, who gawked at the magnificently painted ceiling as we wove our way to our table, I nudged Stella. “Get used to it if you keep Warren around.”

  A stab of sadness interrupted the boisterous atmosphere, and I swallowed the painful knot in my throat that saying the words out loud had created. Verbalizing that Warren and Stella were an item was accepting that Warren and I were not. If anything came of their relationship, it’d be Stella’s shoulders that Warren had his arm around while they were hounded by photographers, not mine.

  Looking at my sister, her eyebrows dipped low. “Huh?”

  “You know. Dating Warren, you’ll be subject to that kind of attention. He’s in the same boat as me.”

  “Right,” Stella said.

  I noticed the same hesitant look on her face that Warren had in the hotel lobby, and I wanted to squeeze whatever she was holding back out of her, but she hurried ahead of me while I was cut off by a string of waiters hurrying back to the kitchen.

  Our table was on the second floor, overlooking the area that’d been cleared out for dancing. At the head of the restaurant, between the kitchen entrance and exit, a band of drums, various instruments, and a salt-and-pepper haired singer blared music that made it hard to sit still. Robby pulled out my chair, and I settled into it, my fingers snapping and my shoulders bouncing up and down with the beat. Across the table, Warren laughed.

  “What?” I asked, immediately dropping my hands into my lap.

  “You,” he said, shaking his head, his shoulders continuing to shake with laughter.

  “Me, what?”

  “You and music. You can’t help it, can you?” Warren teased.

  “No, she can’t,” Stella chimed in. “She’s always danced like that when there’s any kind of music playing, and half the time, if there isn’t any music, she’s off in her own world, making up her own. It’s kind of weird. Almost like she’s possessed.”

  “Thank you for divulging that tidbit of information,” I said, giving my sister the stink-eye.

  Warren sat back in his chair and folded his arms across his stomach, watching me as he slowly shook his head. “No, I totally get it. It’s hard not to move when music makes your entire soul feel like it’s vibrating.”

  Stella giggled at Warren’s wording, but I just gazed at him and smiled. That’s exactly what music made me feel.

  “I guess I find my big sister one big contradiction. She’s got a voice that could knock the socks off anyone within a mile radius, but at the same time, she’s been so painfully shy for so long that the only other creature she’d sing to was her cat.” I cringed and smiled sheepishly, knowing how entirely weird that sounded. “How can a person have an affinity for something that made them bounce in their seat, while have an underlying personality trait that practically immobilizes them?”

  “How indeed?” Warren asked. “It seems Eloise here is the definition of a walking contradiction.”

  “You make it sound like an incurable disease,” I said, taking a sip of my ice water. “Besides, I’m not that bad. Robby, tell them. I wasn’t a total stiff when we were dating.”

  Robby rubbed the back of his neck and blew a breath out. His hesitation didn’t bode well for me. “I wouldn’t say you were a stiff, no. Just very reserved, although that was something I appreciated about you. I can’t say I’m all that outgoing myself.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being reserved,” I said with a huff. “It wasn’t like I was missing out on anything just because I preferred to be the observer rather than the center of attention.”

  Stella chuckled. “You certainly did a one-eighty. If being on a televised singing competition and touring with one of the hottest record labels doesn’t make you the center of attention, I don’t know what would.”

  I took another gulp of water and stared at the lively commotion down on the dance floor, wishing the subject would change to something other than what a dud I was growing up. Talking about it made even Robby sound like he was a bonafide daredevil.

  Warren leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, running one hand down the sexy five o’clock shadow he was sporting. “Answer me this: did Eloise ever dance with you when you went to any of your high school dances? Prom or homecoming?”

  “Well…” Robby stalled again, clearly answering Warren’s question without saying it aloud. I threw a nasty glare at Warren, and my teeth ground together when I saw the cocky smirk on his face.

  “How about we make up for lost time?” I said, scooting my chair back and hitching my thumb down at the dance floor. “Wanna dance, Robby?”

  “Now?” he asked, pushing his glasses back onto his nose. “We haven’t even eaten yet.”

  “C’mon,” I insisted, standing and weaseling my way out into the aisle. Grabbing his hand, I tugged him out of his chair. “I’ll show you I’m the definition of fun.”

  Towing Robby along with me, I glanced over my shoulder and grinned haughtily to myself as I left Warren speechless at our table. I may have been lame growing up, but Stella was right—I was different now. It wasn’t like it was a secret anymore either.

  We descended the stairs, and I pulled him to the center of the dance floor with single-minded determination. Taking the lead, I pulled Robby toward me and put one hand in his and the other on his shoulder.

  “Have you ever done swing dancing before?” I asked.

  Shaking his head, Robby answered, “Never. You?”

  “Nope. I think we can learn. Really, how hard could it be?”

  We both watched people around us until we got the basic pattern down, then started moving our feet along with the tempo of the music. We danced awkwardly at best—Robby didn’t have the sense of rhythm I innately had, and he bobbed irregularly, making it nearly impossible for me to mirror him. He tried spinning me but caught my forehead on his arm when I didn’t duck far enough to go under, and when I tried doing a lighthearted kick, my shoe rammed right into his shin.

  He groaned and hobbled on one leg while I pressed my hands over my mouth, horrified I’d possibly crippled my old boyfriend.

  “Are you alright?” I squeaked.

  Straightening himself up, he tugged the bottom of his suit coat and tried to smile like I hadn’t just tried to break his leg with my pointy shoe. With watering eyes, he cleared his throat. “Perfect. Shall we?”

  Again, we tried…and failed miserably. Robby flung me into a nearby couple so hard they about toppled into the brass section of the band. Sure I was going to have a concussion, I kept a cheery smile on my face and apologized, faking that I was having the time of my life.

  I glanced up at our table, expecting to see Warren and Stella staring down at us, hoping I was proving I wasn’t a dud, but it was vacant, like most of the second floor.
Everybody seemed to be cramming in to take their turn dancing. Doing a quick scan of the area, I spotted Stella, squealing with delight as Warren spun her expertly around. A twinge of jealousy settled in my gut, but I forced it to the back of my mind by focusing on Robby.

  “How’s your conference going?” I asked as we bounced uncoordinatedly. “Learning anything?”

  “Boatloads,” Robby said, panting slightly as he focused on trying to move his feet along with the music. “I think the panel with the insurance actuaries was my favorite part so far. Not that it has to do with my type of accounting, per say, but it might be something I’m interested in looking into sometime in my career.”

  I snickered at how Robby had to be one of the few people in the world who’d find enjoyment listening to insurance actuaries drone about the statistical probability that doing something might result in a person being maimed or dead.

  Robby looked like he was going to say something, but hesitated. I encouraged him to let it out. “What is it?”

  “The best part has been getting to know your sister better though.”

  I smiled, glad he and Stella were getting along so well. They’d always been polite to each other while Robby and I were dating, but we ran in different circles at school. How ironic that as Robby and I had grown apart, he’d come full circle and now saw my sister every day.

  “Yeah, she really is great, isn’t she?” I said.

  “Yeah,” Robby said with a funny little smile.

  Behind Robby, I could see Warren say something to Stella, making her tip her head back and laugh, all while Warren never missed a beat. I could tell from his stage presence on tour that he had some moves, but other than a few loosely choreographed steps, I hadn’t suspected he was a master swing dancer.