Star of Wonder (The Kinky Truth)

by Angel Payne

  It was better this way.

  It had to be better this way.

  She’d forget about how good it all felt…soon. She’d be back to normal…eventually. She’d stop looking at her phone every five minutes…tomorrow.

  She told herself all those things as Sunday night turned into Monday morning, then was on the verge of merging into Monday afternoon. But by now, she was beyond “telling” it all. As she stood in the bathroom at work staring at herself in the mirror, she promoted her inner mantra guru into a seething drill sergeant.

  “Get your act together, Celina. He’s stepped away, and you’re fine with that. He’s given you the choice, and you’ve made it. And it’s the right one. It’s the right one.”

  She just needed to ignore the pretzel twist of her gut and the frozen slush of her heart that said otherwise.

  With her stomach aching from that metaphysical junk-food fest, she splashed water on her face then, prepared to jam her phone into her purse for the rest of the day.

  Just before she let go, her screen flashed with a text.

  It was from Eve, which was a surprise. Things hadn’t been hearts and flowers with her friend since the night of the big party, and they’d gotten more strained after she’d rejoined her friends at Trev’s birthday party, only to park herself against a wall as she’d tried to sort out the events from Dark Escape. Eve had taken one look at Celina’s tangled hair and wrinkled sweater, jumped to the naughtiest conclusion possible, and assumed herself forgiven for the secret scheming with Dante. When that didn’t earn her a full disclosure of what had happened, the previous frost on her demeanor had turned into an ice front, especially during the case review meeting this morning.

  Her friend’s text seemed a small attempt at a truce, not so much for its brevity as its punctuation.

  PFG needs to see you. #

  She blinked at the screen and wondered why their commander was hunting for her. Case review had ended just an hour ago; all her files were in order. Nerves spurring her pace, she made her way to the office marked Commander George Threshan. Eve, Reiley, and she privately called him PFG for short, because “George” just didn’t cut it when matched to the man’s six-and-a-half-foot frame, piercing blue eyes, and sinfully thick blond hair, even tamed in its military cut. Three days after he’d transferred here, “Prince Fucking Gorgeous” had been conceived over a giggly lunch hour. “PFG” had come soon after.

  Celina gave a polite knock to the door frame. “Commander? I heard you were looking for me.”

  The man looked up from the mountain of files on his desk. His eyebrows jumped. “Commander? What the hell, Cel?” He lifted a disarming grin. “Do you think you’re in trouble or something?”

  She let out a breath. “Actually, that’s exactly what I thought.”

  “Knock it off. Right now. And get your ass in here, counselor.” He rose and crossed to a small round conference table, pulling out a chair for her too. Celina again indulged a musing common to all the women in the office. Why wasn’t this guy, who could be David Beckham’s older brother, out raking in a small fortune on a bunch of fashion runways and film sets?

  She only had a few seconds to indulge the thought before Threshan scooted the door closed with one foot. “Okay,” she ventured, “are you sure I’m not in trouble?”

  He balanced on the back two legs of his own chair, steepling his fingers. “It’s about Zell and Zach Braden.”

  Her heartbeat spiked. Not trouble. Something worse. “What about them? Are they okay?” Just as fast, the somber look on PFG’s face hit her. “Crap. What’s Cassandra pulled now?” She almost expected him to chuckle, but when he didn’t, her pulse sprinted again. “Damn it! It is that bitch! What’s she done?”

  Threshan gave her half a minute to get calm before scooting a thick file toward her. “Braden’s civilian team obtained this yesterday. It’s the contract for her reality show. TruBlu Productions hasn’t signed yet. That’s because there’s a little contingency clause to their go-ahead on the deal.”

  Her throat went tight with fury. “Zach,” she spat. “She has to have full custody of Zach, or they won’t do the show.”

  “B-I-N-G-O.”

  She fought the urge to rip the folder in half. “Over my dead and rotting body.”

  Threshan chuffed. “Sorta thought you’d say that. It’s why that file also contains the official clearance papers for you to follow this thing to Tokyo. Fill it all out. I’ll sign it and send it up the chain. Sure hope you like rice, Cel.”

  A confused frown hit her. “Wait. Zach is an American citizen. Why the hell is Zell fighting this on their turf?”

  “It’s where we have to start. Apparently, Cassandra got some kind of ‘special permission’ to do it in a ‘neutral court’ there, approved by both sides. But I need you there, Cel. This is going to be a delicate public-relations feat. This Cassandra is a real piece of loose-lipped work.”

  Celina snorted. “Gee, you think?”

  “Brace yourself. There’s more.”

  “What?”

  “She already got one of the major Japanese tabloids to run a story about her ‘soldier ex-husband with the insane temper,’ who’s now supposedly ripped her sweet little boy from her side and won’t let her see him at all.”

  “That…little…” The depth of her fury cut her short. She watched her skin go white against her knuckles as she coiled a fist against the table. “Does the woman have room to move in that mound of bullshit around her? Zell Braden has had nothing but patience with that woman. Or maybe all the henna in her hair has finally fried her brain.”

  “Which is why she’s so at home with the Japanese gossip press, I suppose.”

  The anger intensified. Celina almost welcomed it. For the first time in ten days, she was completely clear about her emotions for something. Rage wouldn’t have been her first choice for the feat, but it was, in many ways, a comfort. She thought of Zach Braden, a dark-haired cutie who shared his father’s love for laughter and cheeseburgers, and the concept of him as a prize for a TV deal made her flesh crawl.

  “When does this thing get going?” she demanded. “And how long should I plan to be there?”

  Threshan’s initial reply was an oddly quiet stare. He collapsed his finger steeple but kept his indexes pressed like a pistol. “That’s an interesting pair of questions.”

  She stared at him. “What do you mean?”

  The man’s gaze now held the intensity of a July sky. “In answer to part one, you can take your time packing, Lieutenant. You’re only there for support and advice for Braden, not as actual counsel. I know you won’t forget that, right?”

  “Of course not. But I appreciate you making it happen so I can be there. Zell’s going to need all the support he can get.”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “So when do I go?”

  “Easy there, Dirty Harry. Thanksgiving is in three days. The holidays are here. They’re not going to get into any of this until January. Cassandra can squeal all the way to our Commander-in-chief if she wants, but Zach will be stateside with Zell until after New Year’s, at least.”

  She whooshed out a breath. “Thank God.”

  “Now as for your question, part two…” He tilted his head, hitting her with tighter scrutiny. “That’s a more complicated issue.”

  Celina frowned again. “Complicated how?”

  “Late yesterday, I was on the line about the case with the commander for Japan Region Legal. He’s damn grateful for your work on this case so far, Cel.”

  She looked away, unsure of the intent she sensed in her commander’s voice, trying to dim the spidey sense with a deprecating laugh. “Well, he won’t be so impressed if Zach Braden ends up dating a Harajuku girl at the age of ten in the name of a ratings boost.”

  “He doesn’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “I’m going to make damn sure it doesn’t.”

  “I know.” He brought the chair back to four legs with a resigned thump. “An
d he does too. Which is why you’ve landed solid in the middle of his radar.”

  So much for squashing the spidey sense. It glowed like a tarantula’s web under black light. “His radar,” Celina said. “You mean his big radar? As in long-term-reassignment radar?”

  “He’s in shitty shape for good JAs, Celina.” He shook his head and winced. “I’d fucking hate to lose you, but it’s a hell of an opportunity to make a difference to the folks who are serving there, even if you only go for six months. Nobody’s had it easy in Japan since the tsunami. That all said, it’s a great place for an assignment. A truly beautiful land.”

  She managed to nod as her mind spun again. A beautiful land. Well, that much was certain. It was also an amazing chance to serve, a true adventure.

  It was also nearly six thousand miles from home.

  She huffed at that attack of mush. Since when had she, Dad, and the guys ever gotten stupid about that stuff? They were the Kouris clan. Four generations of military service and counting. “Home” could be a tent on a godforsaken cliff somewhere, as long as they were all together.

  But it’s also six thousand miles away from Dante Tieri.

  It was a blessing and a curse in one sentence. She struggled to embrace the former and ignore the latter. Hell. What part of “perfect gift from destiny” wasn’t she getting about this? Wasn’t this the space she desperately needed from him? The challenge of a new position, and the wonder of a new land…they were the ideal eraser for all the tumult of the last ten days. This was exactly the push she needed for closing the door in her life with his name on it…for good. Dylan and Sami could help Dad mind her house for six months. Eve and Rei would not complain about an excuse to come to Japan and see her. She’d even be a little closer to Nik, not that her workaholic bomb-defusing brother ever took significant time off. There were at least a dozen other items that quickly wrote themselves into her mental plusses column.

  All she had to do was give Threshan one word of an answer.

  All she had to do now was unstick it from her throat.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Dante? Dante? Lei ascolta, regazzo?”

  “Yes, Mamma. I’m listening.” He looked out over the city lights, becoming increasingly fuzzy through the thickening clouds outside the window, from his massive velour couch. Why had he let his designer talk him into cream for a color? Why had he let her get something so huge?

  No, not huge.

  The cushions felt empty.

  Like his days and nights had felt since Sunday.

  He took another swig of scotch and scowled. On the stereo, his “morosity music mix” restarted itself. Johnny Cash started singing about needles and broken thoughts. After him, the Eagles, Bob Dylan, Radiohead, and Billie Holiday would have their turns at the hit parade of depression.

  Get the fuck over it. She’s not going to call. You tried to open her baggage; she threw the locks on and tossed the key. Congratulations, man. You found the one woman on the globe who thinks your money is filthy, your touch is tainted, your experience is a liability, and even your jokes are half-good at best. Add the whole revelation about your Dominance to the mix, and no wonder she’s moved the hell on.

  Suck it up. It’s time for you to move on too.

  Why the hell was that so much easier said than done?

  “So you will come tomorrow for dinner, sì? Dante?”

  “Yeah, Mom. Of course. I’m doing the meatballs again too. Tell Marzi I’m doing an extra-spicy batch for her.”

  A cluck came over the line. “Merda. That sister of yours. The bambino make her stomach a soccer ball for the spicy food, sì?”

  He chuckled. “She’s only four months along, Mamma. Give the kid a chance to grow legs before she starts to kick her.”

  “He. Before he starts to kick,” she corrected. “A beautiful baby boy for me to love, since my two are now gone…”

  He pinched his nose between two fingers and begged at least three saints for patience. She got this way at holidays. The wine came out for cooking, and his thoroughly Italian mother didn’t know how to stop. “Raff and I aren’t gone, Mamma.”

  “No? When was the last time you heard from Raffaele, eh?”

  He grimaced from the invisible corner into which he’d just shoved himself. The shitty thing was, the question was valid. Since Arianne’s self-inspired dive off a Paris balcony two years ago, his brother had decided sanity could hit the pavement too. Raff had elevated the game of globe-trotting-do-nothing lady snack to a thoroughly smutty art form now, and it was breaking their mother’s heart.

  “I’ll be there, Mamma,” he emphasized. “And we’ll all have a nice time, okay?”

  He got a heavy sniff in reply. “Fine, fine. But you no fool me, Dante. Your heart is far away now too.”

  He got to his feet. Like doing that was going to help him escape the woman’s laser-accurate insight, even from across town. How the hell did she do that? “I’m fine, Mamma. Don’t focus on me.” Please don’t.

  “It is this Celina, sì? I like her when I talk to her. You bring her tomorrow, agori mou?”

  It was definitely time for more scotch.

  “Uhhh…no. Sorry, she—”

  A series of chimes interrupted his words as well as his walk to the wet bar. It was the call line from the Elysian’s security desk. He frowned in curiosity as he switched direction and headed to the flat panel that would connect him to the lobby, forty-five floors below. As he did, he plunked down his glass in the kitchen.

  When he punched on the screen, he was glad he didn’t have the glass anymore. He was sure he would’ve dropped it.

  “Mamma, I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before he disconnected the phone, he jammed on the intercom to Gilles at the security desk. “Let her up.”

  On the video screen, he watched Celina’s huddled form hurry off to the elevator.

  At the foyer of his floor, he cursed the thing three times for not moving fast enough.

  That was a good thing, perhaps. Yeah, best to remember that his tongue could actually function—right before he swallowed it.

  The big bomber jacket and thick scarf she’d had on in the lobby were now wrapped across her arms. What he expected to see beneath them… Fuck. It just wasn’t this. He thanked the fashion gods for conceiving the wraparound dress concept, because it was perfect for this woman. Her slender curves were enfolded in sleeveless dark crimson velvet that was held together by a Byzantine-influenced brooch at her waist. The pattern was repeated in a bracelet thing she’d scooted around a bicep, as well as a necklace that fell perfectly into her cleavage. The dress fell to the tops of the boots she’d worn on Saturday night.

  He had to be dreaming. He was still back in her house on the couch, and this was all a teasing fantasy, about to poof when he snored and woke himself up. That was why he couldn’t talk. Yeah, that was it. He’d been born babbling, damn it. Words just didn’t beat feet from his brain like this.

  He stopped stressing about conversation when he looked deeper at her face. Her eyes were in enchanted-forest mode tonight, full of mossy shadows and deep thoughts, enhanced by a little makeup at their corners and on their lashes. She tried, unsuccessfully, not to chew at her lightly glossed lips. She pressed them together as she swallowed hard and tried to smile.

  “Hi.” Her greeting, while soft, bounced back from the white marble floor and walls. “I found your address on one of your old texts.”

  He smiled as warmth surged his chest again. “Then I’m glad I sent it so many times.”

  “I—I’m intruding.” Her gaze did a nervous sweep around the foyer. She looked at the modern stone art busts like they were gargoyles about to come to life. “I should have called first. But I would’ve lost my nerve.”

  “It’s okay.” He issued it fast and got his hand around her back even faster. He hated that his world made her so skittish, but her confession was a good sign. She’d gotten dressed up for him. Gotten nervous about him. “Come on.” He cupped
his hand around her shoulder. Along with the hope, every protective instinct roared to life in him again too. “It’s cold out here. Let me get you something.” Let me get you anything.

  She took a few visible breaths as he led her into his place, took her jacket and laid it on the football field couch. Through all the motions, he didn’t let her go. Though he was increasingly convinced she wasn’t a hallucination, it was still best not to leave anything to chance. He let his hand drop into hers, and pulled her toward the bar. The deeper he got her into the room, the better.

  “You’re freezing,” he said. “It’s going to snow tonight, I think.” He splashed some scotch into a fresh glass. “Sip this carefully. It’ll warm you up.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face as she complied then grimaced from the strong liquor. Despite the wet air outside, her hair looked glorious. He fought the temptation to bury his hands in the shiny sable mane.

  An awkward pause took over the air between them. This time, he didn’t know how to interpret it.

  “Dante, I came to see you…” She bit her lip again and turned to sit on the couch. That was before she stopped and gasped at the expansive view. “I—I had to see you—”

  “It’s okay. Go slow. I’m not going anywhere.” He forced himself to stay next to the bar. Whatever she was trying to get out, she clearly needed some space to do so. He took another sip of scotch himself, hoping it loosened the Gordian knot now calling itself his gut.