by Ana Simons
WHERE
THE STARS FALL
_________
ANA SIMONS
Where the Stars Fall
Copyright © 2020 by Ana Simons
www.anasimons.com
Cover design by Perrin Brunson, The Author Buddy
Proofread by Steph Warren, Bookshine and Readbows
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For Leonor – the strongest, bravest girl I have ever met.
♥
DECEMBER 24, 2004
1 Regrets
2 Glimpses
3 Business or pleasure?
4 Comforting lies
5 Surprises
6 Here comes the bride
7 Deep green depths
8 Beyond repair
9 Thunder within
10 Unfinished business
11 Moving mountains
12 Honesty
13 One of a kind
14 Frozen
15 Unwanted memories
16 Waiting for love
17 Wild guesses
18 The truth
19 Reason
20 Shards
21 Armours
22 Tearing scars
23 Free falling
24 Falling home
25 Glimpses
26 Can I kiss you?
27 Challenges ahead
28 When bubbles burst
29 TGIF
30 Every piece of myself
31 No, you don’t…
32 The hurt inside
33 Leap of faith
34 Infinity
35 You’re beautiful
36 A tiny flicker of a smile
37 Meant-to-be stories
38 Proposals
39 Thin lines
40 Treasured memories
41 Trust
42 Turning tables
43 What I do know
Epilogue
Dear reader,
Acknowledgements
While I’m Gone: A Novel
The author
DECEMBER 24, 2004
‘Dear Liv,
Let me just say it for one last time: I still love you. In a way, I didn’t know existed. I still miss you. In a way that hurts so badly sometimes I think I’ll go insane.
But I’m letting you go now – secretly hoping it’s true what they say: if you ever return to me, it’s because you’ve always been mine.
Have a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
Love, Brian’
11 YEARS LATER...
1 REGRETS
London,
National Institute of British Architects Gala
SOME SAY BETRAYAL always comes from the ones you least expect. They’re damn right. Trust is a luxury not everyone can afford, that’s one of the life lessons I had to learn the hard way. One I needn’t be reminded of, not today.
Then there are those who believe that truly sociable people hate social events. Frankly, right now I’m inclined to think they, too, are right. Yet, here I am, in my black-tie attire, walking up these stairs, the sound of hurried steps mingling with those of distant piano notes and excited chatter.
I knew I’d regret it anyway, if I hadn’t come to tonight’s award ceremony. After all, there’s a lot at stake here. Besides, regrets are always about bad choices – and I obviously already had enough poor choices for one day.
As I push through the large door and close it behind me, the vast open space immediately becomes claustrophobic, almost suffocating.
Though there is a dining table with my name on it somewhere, I stride across the crowded room and head to the bar instead. “I’ll have a whisky. Straight.”
With a nod, the bartender grabs the bottle.
“Make it a double, please.” I clench my jaw to control the wave of remorse sweeping over me.
A burst of cheering and applause fills the hall, vibrating within me like the rumble of approaching thunder. I turn and scan the room until my gaze rests on her, chatting with a woman I’ve never seen before.
Utterly elegant, with a touch of sophistication. The off-the-shoulder champagne dress against fair skin. The perfectly etched features. The long blond hair cascading down her back. The sapphire eyes. The slightly parted red lips. An almost ethereal beauty.
Too bad she’s a cheating liar, the voice of reason screams inside my head.
I observe them for a moment. Mary, the woman who once meant so much, and Peter Rogers, the man who’d always been like a second father to me. Their intimate glances and knowing smiles. His hand running up and down her back in slow, gentle strokes, tracing the shape of her. The confident expression on his face as he proudly displays her, his latest accomplishment.
Shaking my head in disgust, I tighten my hand around the glass, my throat aching from suppressing the emotions. I stare at the amber liquid in front of me before I gulp it down in one swallow. It’s a futile attempt to wash away the anger inside.
Here’s the bare truth about deception: it’s happened to us all, one time or another. You’ve put your trust in someone only to find out later they were lying to your face, and you were being played in accordance with their own twisted agenda. It may knock you down and consume you until you crawl onto your feet again. And even when you do, your mind may still occasionally wander back and let it eat at you.
That’s exactly what’s happening today.
Since Mary came to my doorstep uninvited, wanting to talk.
I should have told her to leave immediately when she showed up with that nonsense, saying she missed me, that she was sorry and wanted me back. But I didn’t. I just sat and listened numbly, not knowing what to say.
The next thing I know, she’s kissing me. I didn’t react for a second, but then I kissed her back. Hard. Furiously. Hands roaming her body like they had so many times before.
Out of longing? Out of raw lust? Out of pure anger?
I’ve no idea. My mind was a blur, flooded with frustration and confused thoughts. With the need to punish her. To take revenge on both of them. Some kind of wild justice to make them pay for what they’d done to me.
But mostly, for hurting everyone I care about.
‘This is insane, you should go now. And don’t come back here again,’ I told her when I finally came to my senses. Then I grabbed my jacket and left, slamming the door behind me.
“Goddamn fool,” I mutter under my breath, clunking the empty glass on the counter, cursing myself for allowing it to happen. The consciousness of regret is an all-consuming beast and, worse still, I’m old enough to have known better.
Raising my hand, I ask for a refill and check my phone, which is buzzing for the hundredth time this evening.
It’s Sue, my sister, sitting across the room, certainly dying to tell me off and ask where the hell I’ve been. It’s nine-thirty already. I not only missed dinner but also half of the ceremony.
A deep and enthusiastic voice cuts through my thoughts, “These are the six outstanding projects that made it to this year’s shortlist, all of them brilliant examples of excellence and significant contribution to both architecture and regional development...”
My eyes travel to the event host and then to the images projected on the screen. Photographs of the projects selected by the jury, the Harrow Community Centre I worked so hard on being one of them.
I try to focus on the ma
n’s introduction but fail miserably at it. In my head, his cheerful words are drowned out by her soft voice begging me to give us another chance.
Draining my second glass, I find myself secretly wishing it won’t be my name they announce in a few seconds, ultimately acknowledging I must be a bloody fool indeed.
“Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I’m proud to announce that, due to its inspiring clarity and vision, originality, innovation, and sustainability, this year’s Wren Prize goes to... John Anderson Architects, represented here by the young and talented Brian Anderson. Congratulations!”
It feels like a tidal wave hitting when the thunder of applause invades the room, the loud sound thudding in my ears and jolting through my body. I need to take a deep, steadying breath to keep my nerves under control.
Winning an award as prestigious as this one is quite shocking in itself; it’s one of the most coveted prizes, one every professional in their right mind dreams of. Winning it today, however, after this afternoon, when I’d already buried our story, feels particularly overwhelming.
Several heads turn to the vacant seat at my table, raising a slight commotion that quickly turns into another ovation as I traverse the hall towards the beaming host and the representative of the sponsoring organisation.
After receiving a handshake and a hearty slap on the back as a token of congratulation, I accept my trophy with a serious countenance and turn to the audience, my sister the first person I thank wordlessly, with a subtle nod.
Sue frowns and shoots me a reproachful glance first, but then her face breaks into a warm smile, one that is full of pride and joy.
Our eyes meet for a moment. Mary’s and mine. She’s sitting only two tables away, but the chair next to her is empty. Inadvertently, my eyes dart around the room and find him walking towards the bar, probably a strategic manoeuvre to avoid me.
Better so. Had he kept his hands off her, he’d be one of the first people I’d thank and dedicate this award to tonight.
But no, he had to betray me.
Betray us all.
It’s been over a year, but I still feel guilty somehow. The thought that my father deserved more respect from the man he supported his whole life still makes my gut clench.
Despite the anger simmering below the surface, I lean one hand against the podium to steady myself and let my eyes fall to the beautiful crystal piece I’m holding, taking an instant to read the inscription.
But then our eyes lock again, the events of this past year flashing through my mind, the turmoil inside making it almost impossible to think and summon the words.
“Congratulations,” Mary mouths, a trace of a nervous smile appearing on her lips. I keep my face impassive, and she turns her gaze away, my cold and distant demeanour obviously affecting her.
Glancing up at the audience, I stare at them blankly for a moment. Eventually, I clear my throat and force the words out, “On behalf of everyone involved in this project, I’d like to thank you for this recognition. I’m honoured to be here tonight, and very grateful to be the recipient of this award... Thank you, again, and good night to you all.”
My brief and dispassionate thank you speech is met with momentary silence. They were probably expecting me to say some heartfelt words or something to keep the mood light. After all, this is a festive event. But I’m in no mood for pleasantries, let alone for anecdotes or funny lines.
After a short pause, another roar of applause breaks out. A subtle bow and I leave the podium, never looking down and ignoring the light touch of her hand when I pass by, determined to get out of this damn place and far away from her.
Hell no, I won’t allow it. Neither this woman nor anyone else will ever be given the chance to make a fool out of me again.
2 GLIMPSES
LEANING AGAINST THE handrail, I glance at my reflected image in the mirror. Open shirt and loosened tie. Jacket hung over the shoulder and crystal trophy in hand. Large brown envelope tucked under the arm and an overall grand-bloody-mess impression I refuse to look at any longer.
Tipping my head back against the wall, I close my eyes and take a steadying breath, listening to the lift humming softly as it ascends to the third floor.
Upon entering my flat, I toss the envelope onto the console table and throw myself on the sofa, the headache pounding inside my skull making it almost impossible to think.
“Hello, Brian.” A soft voice cuts through the haze in my mind.
“You? What are you doing here?”
It’s my sister, sitting on the swivel couch, holding a steaming cup in her hands.
“Please, grab a seat. Make yourself at home.” I gesture toward her, irony dripping from my tone.
“How are you?”
“Aside from a raging headache? Fine, thank you.”
“So, how was last night?” She keeps her voice even, her expression calm. It’s all fake, she’s about to combust.
“Pretty uneventful, I’d say. How was yours?”
She scowls at me defiantly. “Seriously, Brian. What the hell happened to you last night? I was worried.”
“You’re mad.”
“Very perceptive of you.” Her sharp, green stare pierces right through me. “It’s well past midday already. Where have you been?”
I sit upright immediately and check the time myself. “Shit, my flight to New York!” I mutter, the realisation that I only have a few hours to gather my stuff, say goodbye to the kids and get to Heathrow dawning hard on me.
“Do you know why I’m here?”
“To make sure I get my arse on that plane?” I hunch forward and take a minute to hold my head between my hands, the throb against my temples only getting worse.
Sue sweeps her long hair back over her shoulder and tilts her chin upwards, narrowing her eyes at me.
“What? That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it?” I ask.
“No.”
“Oh. In that case, my second guess is... you came to tell me personally how much of an idiot I am?”
“I think you need this.” She hands me her cup of coffee and I take a grateful sip, hoping the caffeine quickly enters my system. I’m in such sore need.
“Do you know what day it is?”
I give a half shrug. No bloody idea.
Sue allows me the time to think more about it, her silent rage making my stomach knot as the quiet settles in deeper between us.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe out after a while. For not knowing what day this is – a miserable one, that is for sure. For not showing up for dinner and leaving her all by herself last night. For ignoring her calls. For disappearing right after the ceremony. But mostly, for shutting myself away from everyone lately.
“You can’t just say you’re sorry, Brian. You have to pick yourself up! And stop letting people down!”
“That’s a bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?”
“So I’m just being over-dramatic?” Sue crosses her arms defiantly. “For crying out loud, look at yourself! You look like shit. I bet you spent the night with the first trashy whore who swayed her ass in front of you!”
Sue, please. I’m too exhausted to argue.
I lean my head against the back of the sofa, and close my eyes, wishing I could tell her more of what’s happening. But I can’t. She wouldn’t approve of any of this. She wouldn’t understand.
“Talk to me goddammit!”
I look up and hold her gaze intently. “Stop assuming you always know everything. Because you don’t.”
No, I didn’t spend the fucking night with a woman! That is the very last thing on my mind right now. I was driving all night long, following up on a tip to unmask the bastard that nearly killed our father. More specifically, paying a ‘commission’ to some guy – just another agent in a chain of intermediaries used to disguise just another corrupt transaction.
Hiding money in offshore accounts and tax evasion. Real estate corruption. Shell companies. Bribes disguised as political donations. Bribes disguis
ed as charitable donations. You name it. The list’s so fucking long, he’ll beg for mercy when I rub it in his face.
“How does it feel, huh?” Sue gives me another of her long scrutinising looks. “To wake up after a night of rebound sex only to find yourself as empty inside as you were before? Don’t you want to feel something more meaningful in your life? Don’t you crave something that inspires more than an orgasm?”
“Is that really what you think of me?!” A bitter snort escapes me. “Right. Because I’ve been such a fuck-boy all my life…” I shake my head, furious. And hurt. She should know me better than that.
“What the hell is going on then? Talk to me!”
“You think what you want, I don’t care.” I throw my hands up in the air as if in surrender. “Now, really, this isn’t the best time for this. Please leave. I’ll be sure to check one of your get-your-shit-together self-help books when I return, all right?”
“Listen to me, you arrogant arse.” Her eyes are like daggers, stabbing me deep. “Everyone falls on their asses from time to time, but then they pump up their legs and move on. And that’s what you’ll do too, you hear me? Because I don’t like this new version of you! You’ve been acting strange for months now. Always so mysterious, so distant. Like you haven’t been here. As though you keep forgetting you have a family who needs you!”
“You should go now,” I say as I get up from the sofa.
“Damn you, Brian, that’s not you! Don’t bottle it up inside, talk it out. Or join a gym and punch some shit. Shave your head and join a sect! Whatever. But, please, find a way to keep it together!”
“Please leave. I need to shower and get ready.”
“No, you need an attitude adjustment!”
“I guess you know where the door is...” I gesture to the entrance hall.
“You didn’t answer my question: do you even remember what day it is?”
“Bust-My-Balls-Day?” I growl, halfway down the corridor towards my room.
“Josh’s tournament was this morning. You signed him up for it. You promised him you’d be there, pulling for him the whole time – but guess what? You were too busy shagging some stranger, drinking to wash your shit away, only God only knows what else, and never showed up!”
