When Stars Collide (Light in the Dark #2)

by Micalea Smeltzer

  I don’t know why I feel nervous, but I’m suddenly sweating bullets.

  We repeat our vows one after the other and I manage not to stumble over my own name, so score.

  Then I hear the words, “You may kiss your bride.”

  Xander mutters, “It’s about damn time.”

  I laugh as he takes my face between his large hands and kisses me. His hands descend to my back and he dips me down, deepening the kiss, as our family and friends whistle and catcall.

  I smile against his lips as he pulls away. “We did it for real.”

  “It was always real,” he says with a smile, touching his fingers tenderly to my cheek. He pulls me against him so my body is flush with his despite my poofy dress. He lowers his head, pressing his forehead to mine. “Ready?” he asks.

  “Ready,” I concur.

  Life can throw whatever it wants at us, but we’ll be ready, and we’ll handle it together, because we’re more than husband and wife, we’re best friends, and that’s everything.

  Coming Soon in the series

  Dark Hearts—Jace and Nova’s book

  Upcoming Release

  A Love Like Ours—Coming Fall 2016

  Ollie and Talia have always lived by two rules.

  1. Live life to the fullest

  2. Love each other with everything they have.

  When the unthinkable happens Talia is left heartbroken and Ollie doesn't know how to fix it. Suddenly this fun-loving couple finds themselves struggling to find the good in life that used to come so readily to the both of them.

  A gift from a friend presents them with the chance to travel the world. Something they were both once eager to do.

  Hopping on a plane.

  Unknown destinations.

  Anything can happen…but can they find their way back to themselves?

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Lucia Franco’s Balance. Now available.

  Wow, I honestly can’t believe I’m writing acknowledgements for When Stars Collide. There was a time when I thought I would never write this book, but you guys, my readers, never gave up hope that Xander and Thea would get their story. This book completely took over my life and I fell completely in love with these two. This story has quickly become one of my favorites and I hope you love it as much as I do.

  Wendi. Editor. Formatter. Swirl lover. And ninja. I love you to pieces and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’m also sorry you’ve had to hear me say, “I love them!” five hundred thousand times. I hope you’re prepared to hear me do it again, because I don’t think I’m done.

  Regina Bartley, no book would ever be complete without you. You encourage me every step of the way and you’re always there when I need to talk something out. I don’t know what I’d do without you. (Probably throw my laptop, haha)

  My fammmmily. You guys deserve all the hugs in the world for dealing with me. Mom, I’m sorry for all those texts I didn’t answer until a week later. But seriously, you all have been so supportive and that means everything.

  Regina Wamba, you deserve a gold medal for dealing with me on this cover. I know I didn’t make it easy for you but this has turned out to be one of my favorites and I can’t stop looking at it. It’s so perfect for Xander and Thea.

  Anthony and Hannah, thank you so much for bringing these characters to life. You guys went above and beyond and I couldn’t be happier. Let’s do it again. ;)

  My beta readers! (You know who you are) Thank you for helping to shape this book into what is. I value your opinions so much, and it means so much that you love my characters as much as I do.

  And of course, I have to end this by thanking YOU. Without you, my readers, I couldn’t live my dream. I can’t imagine myself doing anything but writing, and thanks to you I can do that, and that will never stop blowing my mind.

  LUCIA FRANCO’S BALANCE

  Chapter 1

  "Absolutely not!" My father's harsh voice boomed around his home office.

  "You haven't even heard what I have to say," I argued my point, not settling for anything less than his full attention.

  "I don't care what you have to say. You can talk until you're blue in the face. You are not moving to New Hampshire. End of discussion."

  "Dad, just listen. Gymnastics¬¬—"

  "I've made my decision and it's not changing." He picked up his pen and focused on the papers in front of him. "Now, please, I have work to do."

  Devastation sucker punched me in the gut. I was surprised by how unreasonable he was being in not letting me speak. The East Coast was home to one of the best gymnastics facilities in the country and I'd prove it to him. My weeks of research wouldn't be wasted. I would not give up, I just had to try harder.

  "It's renowned for its coaching and athletes," I pressed on.

  "No." He gave me his infamous look, the one capable of making a grown man flinch.

  My future was at stake and I had to fight for it. As much as I would miss my current gym, it was no longer useful to me. There were only so many extra hours of conditioning and private classes I could take. Advancement in this sport required the proper training, and I couldn't get it at Palm Beach Gymnastics.

  "Transferring to another gym isn't unheard of. A lot of families send their gymnasts to train at better facilities." I stood my ground.

  "Adrianna Francesca Rossi!" His tone and anger bled into my frustration, but it didn't stop me.

  "Just hear me out! Please," I pleaded, on the verge of tears. My mother would no doubt sniff them in the air and be on me like a blood hound within seconds. Tears showed weakness, and a Rossi was never weak—at least according to her.

  Dad didn't respond. Instead, he stared right through me.

  Blowing out a loud, aggravated breath, I stood up and peered through the large window in his office, which overlooked the expansive, lush lawn in our back yard. Over to the right, the late afternoon sun reflected off the pool. Our home was located on the prestigious Palm Beach Island. We had everything money could buy. Everything except a great one-of-a-kind gymnastics coach that could help push me closer to achieving my dream.

  Turning back to my dad, I took in the flare of his nostrils and stiff jaw. He had become eerily still. The room grew cold and goose bumps broke out on my skin. I knew this side of him, and it wasn't pretty. This was a side nobody dared to test.

  I had pushed too far.

  "Go," he said. "Now." His voice quiet and calm before dismissing me to return to his work.

  I fled his office and retreated to my bedroom, slamming the door just as the tears started to fall.

  Gymnastics was everything to me—it was my heart and soul, the air I breathed. It was the one thing that allowed me to be me. To express myself creatively in the way I chose, not how someone else decided for me. I'd rotated between eating, sleeping, and flipping for as long as I could remember. The competiveness, the challenge of mastering a new skill. The way I defied gravity—my heart soaring, the sound of applause, the gasp from the audience—made the sacrifice worth every bit of pain and manipulation my body went through. Nothing could take that feeling away.

  It was the one place I could be free from the restraints my family's name had on me.

  My name is Adrianna Rossi. I'm fifteen, and a competitive gymnast. Elite gymnast, to be exact. Or I would be, as soon as I had the right coach.

  I had competed in all ten levels required to qualify for the title of elite in different meets around the country last year and won numerous awards. It was only a matter of time before I'd hold the coveted rank. I trained day in and day out for this. My days consisted of four-hour training sessions in the gym, a tutor to homeschool me, and a private chef to prepare my calculated caloric meals.

  As I fell onto my bed, devastation hit me hard. The rejection crushed my heart and it felt like my dreams were slowly being ripped away.

  Like most hungry gymnasts, my ultimate goal was the Olympics.

  If I graphed the training along with my age, I could possibly c
ompete in my first Olympic Games by twenty. Possibly, being the key word. While twenty was still considered youthful by normal standards, it was ancient in the gymnastics world. Though, it wasn't unheard of to compete in The Games at that age. One of my favorites, Svetlana Khorkina, competed until she was twenty-five years old and in three Olympics, the first being when she was seventeen. Oksana Chusovitina, competed in six Olympic Games, also starting at seventeen. So my goal wasn't completely farfetched, I just needed the proper training. I was good, but I wanted to be great. And the only way to be great was to train with the best.

  Though I was young, I wasn't naive. I knew what kind of mental and physical abuse my body would go through in order to reach the professional level. I needed a drill sergeant with a sharp eye.

  Needed it, and wanted it.

  I didn't fully understand why my dad objected to me leaving. I knew he thought of gymnastics as a hobby, but he'd always done anything to placate me. He never told me no and usually threw money at whatever my heart desired. It wasn't as if he spent much time at home anyway. Frank Rossi was too occupied with expanding and maintaining his real estate empire. Rossi Enterprises was one of the top developers, with properties worldwide. He left my mom in charge of raising my brother and me, which was a joke.

  When I first began gymnastics at three years old, my mother used to sit at my practices and attend my meets. It was all about appearances back then, but I was young so she really didn't have much of a choice. However, the older I got, the less of an effort she made. I think the last meet she came to I was twelve years old. Mom was usually too busy with her charity work or trying to keep my older brother, Xavier, out of the media.

  At first their lack of interest bothered me. I wanted them to want to be there, to watch me tumble and flip and balance on the beam. To see me move up to another level or stick a dismount without wobbling. I craved my parents' attention like all children do, but after years of begging, I eventually gave up and learned to adapt to their indifference. Nowadays, Mom rarely came to practice, and neither of my parents attended many competitions. Except the ones worth being seen at.

  Their actions forced me to be independent, something I quickly learned to value. That being said, I refused to give up. I wouldn't let anything, or anyone, take my goal away from me.

  I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I heard a faint knock on my door. I cracked my eyes open and was surprised by the darkness surrounding me. Another louder knock sounded, and I prayed it wasn't my mom.

  "Yeah?"

  "Ana?" Relief coursed through me at the sound of my dad's voice. "Can I come in?"

  A fatigued sigh rolled off my lips as I sat up on the edge of my bed. "Come in."

  Dad opened the door, flipping on the light switch as he walked in. A quick glance at my reflection in the mirror on the adjacent wall had me pulling back in shock. My face was blotchy and swollen from crying. Hair lay stuck and matted to my face. I was a hot mess.

  I squinted at my dad, trying to adjust to the light, the sorrow in his heavy eyes shown. It was clear he was remorseful over his decision and the way he reacted. The last time I'd seen him, he was dressed in a clean, crisp shirt and tie. Now the tie was gone, a few buttons were undone and his sleeves were rolled up. He was disheveled and worn out, and I knew I was the reason. I'd acted like a spoiled brat and argued with him, something I always tried to refrain from. Usually it was my older brother who caused so much turmoil for my parents, not me.

  "Yes, Dad?" I tried to lighten the tension. A soft smile charmed his face. I was a daddy's girl through and through, and he knew it.

  "May I sit with you?" I nodded, and he sat next to me, the mattress dipping a little. He moved the tangled hair from my cheeks and eyed me carefully.

  "You look like you've been crying, which can only mean I'm at fault."

  I flattened my lips and cast my eyes down. "I may have been."

  "I apologize, sweetheart." He ran a tired hand down his face. "About the gymnastics..."

  "Yeah?"

  "Listen, it's not that I don't want you to do it, it's that I don't want you moving so far away on your own. You're still young and the world is a dangerous place. What if something happened to you? I wouldn't be able to get to you fast enough."

  My voice softened over his concern. "Dad, you're always traveling for work." My words caused him to wince, and I instantly felt terrible for stating the fact. But it was the truth, and I had to get my point across. "What would be the difference?"

  He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "You're right. I do travel a lot for work, and I'm sorry I'm not around enough, but the difference is I'm an experienced adult and you're not."

  I slouched in defeat. "I know. I was just hoping you'd give it some thought. It's not like I'd be completely alone. I'd live in a shared apartment with a den mom and other gymnasts."

  "Not your mom, though. I don't even know those women, Adrianna. You're my daughter, I can't trust them with you."

  I gave him a serious look. "Dad, we both know Mom isn't the kind of mother to do something like that for me." The kind of mother who gives and does anything for her children to see them thrive. Joy Rossi had more important things on her agenda.

  My dad sighed. "You've put up a good argument and I have thought about it." I perked up. "I might have a compromise. I have a business associate on the West Coast who happens to coach gymnastics. Let me give him a call and see what he says."

  My jaw dropped. "The West Coast, Dad? You'll send me all the way to California, but not New Hampshire?"

  "Not California, the west coast of Florida. Cape Coral. You know, three hours from here? Not fifteen hundred miles."

  I paused, pursing my lips together. "You have a friend who's a coach? How did I not know this?"

  "You met him when you were younger, though you probably don't remember. He bought some real estate from me many years ago and we've always stayed in touch. Every so often we'll flip a house together, or he'll ask for advice on property. His name is Konstantin."

  The name didn't ring any bells. "What level does he coach?"

  "That I don't know. I only know he's a former Russian Olympian and is good at what he does."

  Hope sprouted inside of me to the point I couldn't contain my smile. Russians were crazy, their gymnastics training even crazier, which caused my stomach to flutter with anxiety. I wouldn't complain, I'd take what I could.

  Beggars couldn't be choosers.

  "I can't believe you didn't tell me this sooner."

  "His past doesn't come up in our real-estate transactions. I didn't know you weren't happy at your current gym," he countered. "If you'd told me your coaches weren't cutting it, Konstantin could've stepped in sooner."

  Touché.

  "When are you going to call him? Can you call now? Please?" Enthusiastically, I shook his arm and jumped, bobbing on my knees. "Dad!"

  He chuckled at my eagerness, the light in his eyes returning. My dad and I had the same exact shade of green eyes. I resembled him the most. From my dark hair, thin straight nose, and skin tone, we were very similar. And just like my dad, when I got excited about something, my eyes turned a brilliant jade color. Although, I wasn't sure where the deep crimson tones in my hair or freckles came from.

  He faked a sigh, restraining a smile. "Come into my office and I'll give him a call."

  "Really?" I shrieked. When he nodded, I threw my arms around his shoulders and hugged him tightly. "Oh, thank you, Dad! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

  He patted my back lovingly. I jumped from my bed and trailed closely behind. Once we were back in his office, I plopped down into a studded leather chair in front of his desk. I placed my hands under my thighs so I didn't fidget while my father got situated.

  And by situated, I mean pouring himself a glass of bourbon.

  "All right, remind me again what level you are. What’s the goal you want to achieve?"

  Sadness crept inside me. I wish he knew without me having to remind h
im. The man could spout off twenty different business transactions from the top of his head, but he couldn't retain a few facts about his daughter.

  "I'm a level ten, but I want to test for elite. Find out if he coaches elite first and if he has an elite program."

  He nodded and dialed a number, enabling the speakerphone. The phone rang a few times until a deep voice picked up.

  "Allo?"

  My brows creased together. A-low?

  "Konstantin, my friend, Frank Rossi here. How are you doing?"

  "Frank, it is good to hear your voice. You are just the man I wanted to speak with actually." Dad mentioned he was Russian, and his heavy accent confirmed it.

  "Is that so? Perfect timing, then. Did you happen to get my Christmas gift? I sent a bottle of my favorite vodka to you and that pretty girlfriend of yours."

  Konstantin paused, laughing lightly. "I will have to ask Katja when I get home. Her appetite for vodka is just as voracious as mine. I hope she did not drink it all without me." He chuckled, as did my dad. "Thank you in advance. That was very kind of you."

  "How is Katja doing? Have you guys decided to settle down yet?" Dad asked, swirling his glass tumbler of bourbon. As much as I liked hearing him catch up with his friend, I was anxious for him to get to the point.

  "Ah, not yet," he responded. "It is not for her lack of trying. All in good time."

  Dad chuckled and my heart started to beat faster over his next set of words. "I have a question for you. Are you still coaching gymnastics?"

  "Funny you should ask. I am, and I just happened to buy World Cup from the previous owners about a year ago. I was thinking about expanding it, but I wanted your expertise on whether it is worth it or not."