Starr Valentine

by Abigail Drake

“We all have it, but if you are away from Vega too long, you lose it.”

  “Which explains what happened to me, I guess,” I said sadly. “Because I don’t have it.”

  “I think you do. Have people begun to look different to you since you came back to Earth?”

  I started to shake my head but remembered how evil Brittany now seemed, how greedy Mandy acted, how cruel Krista had become, and how stupid Chad was. I also thought about Bessie, and how she looked so much prettier than I remembered.

  “Wait, maybe I do see some people differently, but you look the same, all…” I was going to say Julian looked all hot and sexy but stopped myself in time.

  “How do I look to thee?” He stared at me intensely, but I’d never tell him the truth. He didn’t find me pretty. At all. I annoyed him, and he was only kind to me because of my parents.

  “You look like yourself. Julian, the Duke of Celesta.” I folded my arms over my chest, leaned back again, and stared up at the stars. “And I’m Starr Valentine, the ugly princess.”

  Julian sat up in surprise. “Thou art not ugly, Starr.” I tried to decide if he was sincere or just kind, and he seemed to understand what I was thinking. “I speak the truth. Thou art not ugly, thou art unfinished.”

  “Unfinished? What the heck do you mean?”

  “Thou art a work in progress. How you end up is still to be decided. It is up to you.”

  “So, if I were a nicer person, I’d be prettier on Vega?”

  “You already possess the potential for great beauty. It is up to you to bring it out.”

  I stared at him in shock. “Wait, was that a compliment? I suspect you may have been complimenting me, Your Grace.”

  He grinned, his teeth white in the darkness. “I suspect I was,” he said, and I smiled at him. “There is something else I wish to discuss with you.”

  “What?” I’d already heard so much tonight. I still needed to wrap my mind around it all. Any more and my head might explode.

  Julian dug into the pocket of his uniform and pulled out an envelope. I opened it but couldn’t see what was inside.

  “What is it?” I asked squinting.

  “Airplane tickets,” he said. “To Paris.”

  I stopped rocking. “Paris…France?”

  “Is there another Paris?” he asked, his brow wrinkling. “I hope I bought tickets to the right place. These are for Paris in the country called France.”

  I screamed and threw my arms around his neck. I then proceeded to kiss him, on his cheeks, on his forehead, on his nose, and on his mouth.

  As soon as I hit his mouth, I had a shock. First of all, it felt good. Secondly, Julian kissed me back. I knew he didn’t like me, but his mouth, warm and delicious, made a reaction go through my body from my head to my toes. It was unlike anything I’d experienced before, and I was not exactly a novice to kissing. I had, after all, been in charge of the kissing booth at the football fundraiser for the last three years. Of course, those kisses weren’t real kisses, but even the kisses I’d shared with Adrian couldn’t compare to this.

  The thought of Adrian propelled me off the swing and away from Julian’s lips. I landed in an ungraceful heap on the ground, and we stared at each other for a long minute before I stood in front of him, brushing the grass and dirt off my bottom. I was glad I had navy spankies on underneath my short skirt; otherwise, Julian might have caught a glimpse of grass-stained underwear. As it was, the worst I had done might have been to show him grass skid marks on the backs of my thighs.

  Julian leapt to his feet. “I am sorry, Princess. I should not have done such a thing,” he said, standing up next to me. “Please forgive me.”

  “Uh, there is nothing to forgive. I’m the one who kissed you. I should be the one apologizing.” He opened his mouth to say something else, but I raised a hand to stop him. “Look, I sort of already have a boyfriend. I’m going back to Vega, whether I like it or not, and I don’t want to think about anyone else until we sort things out.”

  Julian backed away. “I am sorry. I did not know. Perhaps he is one of the reasons you so desired to return to Earth?”

  “No, he’s on Vega,” I said, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I met him on the way there,” I explained. “Anyway, it would be wrong of me—” I began, but this time it was Julian who stopped me.

  “There is no need to explain. I understand the ways of love.”

  I swallowed hard. “But thank you for the tickets. I’m so excited about Paris. When will we leave?”

  “Tomorrow evening. I’m glad you are pleased. We will spend two days there, before preparing for our journey home.”

  “I’ll be ready…this time,” I said, and I meant it.

  Ten

  “Can one desire too much of a good thing?” William Shakespeare’s As You Like It

  The flight to Paris was my first international flight, but I’d carried a passport with me daily since I’d turned ten years old. I’d done it on the off chance someone might want to whisk me off to Paris someday, and, finally, someone did.

  Of course, as foreign, or rather alien, dignitaries, we didn’t require passports at all. The State Department had given us a small, and yet crucial little card allowing us to go wherever we wanted, but I carried my passport with me anyway. I desperately wanted it to be stamped “Paris, France” at least once so I could check it off my bucket list.

  I traveled with Julian and a small herd of Vegonian bodyguards. As soon as the customs guys saw them, and the magical little card, they got all flustered and almost started bowing. I’d been listed on the card too but wasn’t as large or impressive as the men accompanying me, so I didn’t attract as much attention.

  I rode with my nose pressed to the limousine’s window the entire trip between the airport and our hotel. Paris met all my expectations, and somehow even exceeded them. Julian booked accommodations for us at the Hôtel le Bristol, a hotel located in the most elegant shopping area in all of Paris. I couldn’t believe he’d researched to find out where I would enjoy staying the most.

  “Do you have a Fodor’s Guide to Earth or something?” I asked as we walked through the doors of the hotel and into the elegant lobby.

  Julian smiled at me, his eyes sparkling. “I used this thing called the internet,” he said. “Perhaps thou hast heard of it?”

  I bit my cheek to keep from laughing. “Yes, I have.”

  The suite at our hotel was larger than our entire house in Middleton, and it was decorated in creamy whites, pale pinks, and the softest greens. It included a lovely sitting area with glass-paned French doors leading to a large bedroom. I’d stepped into the Parisian version of heaven.

  “I wonder if they call these French doors in France.”

  He seemed unconcerned. “There are two attached rooms for the bodyguards,” he said, showing me their doors. “They will do their best not to disturb you.”

  “Where will you stay?”

  He pointed to the white couch in my sitting room. It had gold fringe along the bottom and two pale, floral pillows on top. Not a Julian-sized piece of furniture and he wouldn’t be comfortable there at all. He did this for a reason.

  “I promised you I wouldn’t try to run away again, but I guess this means you still don’t trust me,”

  “No, I don’t trust others,” he said, standing so close I could feel the warmth from his body.

  I swallowed hard. I’d been up half the night remembering our kiss, and the other half feeling guilty about it. Exhausted, I’d fallen fast asleep as soon as we’d boarded the plane and didn’t wake up until after we’d arrived in Paris. When I opened my eyes, I realized at some point over the Atlantic; I’d thrown my arm across Julian’s body and rested my head on his broad shoulder. The poor guy likely hadn’t been able to eat or move the entire flight, but I couldn’t help it. I seemed drawn to him, even in my sleep, but I would not let it happen again. Unfortunately, each time Julian got close to me, I thought about touching him and kissing him. I forced myse
lf to back away, for his safety as well as my own.

  “You won’t fit.” I examined him from head to toe and tried not to ogle him. Extremely tall and well-muscled, he looked adorable in the jeans and sweater I’d found for him at the mall. I almost wanted to fan myself. “Take my bed. I can sleep here.”

  “Unnecessary,” he said, watching me. “Although thou art kind to be concerned. The hotel manager assured me this opens up into a most comfortable bed.”

  “But the actual bed would be more comfortable.” I glanced at the enormous bed in the room behind me.

  “Trust me, I have slept on far worse than a foldaway bed in a luxury hotel,” he said, as he walked around the suite, peeking into the bathroom and making sure the place was secure. “There were many times I did not have a bed at all.”

  He wasn’t asking for pity, but the thought of him without anywhere warm and safe to sleep upset me. I had to turn away so he wouldn’t notice my distress. I pretended to be abnormally interested in the view from the window, and Julian came to stand next to me.

  “You can see the dome of the Winter Salon,” he said, pointing below. I could feel his breath on my ear, and it sent a shiver across my skin.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  I shook my head, trapped. He stood so close behind me; I couldn’t get away without touching him. I stared out the window as I tried to compose myself. “It’s beautiful.” I looked around at the buildings and the architecture and the people bustling about below.

  “Do you want to go shopping?” he asked, glancing at his watch. I’d forced him to buy a watch at the mall even though he said it would be useless on Vega. Each day had twenty-six hours there. “The shops will be opening soon.”

  I grinned at him. “Let me wash up,” I said, pushing him out of the way. “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  It took me closer to twenty minutes to get ready, but Julian didn’t complain. The bathroom turned out to be a floral and porcelain paradise complete with the most decadent soaps and lotions I’d ever seen. I pulled my hair up into a French twist, appropriate for France, and slipped into a silvery gray A-line sleeveless dress and low-heeled pumps. I threw a delicate pink sweater over my shoulders. It had shimmering threads woven into it and was soft and warm against my skin. After I propped a pair of silver cat’s eye sunglasses onto my head, I looked like a blonde Audrey Hepburn and was ready to go.

  Julian hadn’t changed, but he still fit in perfectly. With his size and looks, passersby could easily mistake him as a male model wandering the streets of Paris. Our Vegonian team of bodyguards ended up being a little harder to disguise. The four of them wore black Vegonian military-style uniforms and had grim expressions on their faces.

  “How did you end up with bodyguards for me? This wasn’t exactly a planned excursion.” I bit my lip and blushed, remembering my escape from Vega. It seemed like so long ago.

  Julian glanced back at the bodyguards. “They were brought as a precaution for when the refugees board the transport ship. We wouldn’t want to have any additional stowaways,” he said with a wink.

  “I guess not.” I pulled my glasses over my eyes. He had a remarkable way of embarrassing me, subtle and yet effective.

  “Tell me about this street,” he said.

  I sighed. “Everything is here. Chanel, Dior, Valentino, Givenchy, Hermès, Ferragamo’s, Lanvin….”

  Julian didn’t seem impressed by the designer names, but he enjoyed the window displays. Each one glowed like a miniature art gallery.

  The morning air was cool but comfortable, and the light sweater over my shoulders kept me warm. Julian took off his sweater and tied it around his hips. He wore a plain, white t-shirt underneath accentuating his coloring and muscles. I tried not to stare.

  We munched on warm croissants and sipped hot chocolate at a small open-air café until the shops opened for business. Afterwards, we strolled and shopped and people-watched all morning. The bodyguards came in handy because, after only a few hours of shopping, I needed them to carry packages. I didn’t go crazy, but bought a few quality things for myself, a silk Hermès scarf for my mother (to replace the one I tried to use as a bed for the marmesou), a beautiful shawl for my sister, and a sweater for my father. I insisted Julian buy some things as well, including a suit from Valentino.

  “I won’t be able to wear it on Vega,” he said, but I forced him to try one on.

  “You’ll need something to wear when you take me out to dinner. The jeans will not cut it.”

  He scowled but grudgingly agreed. When he came out of the dressing room, I gasped.

  “Julian.” I couldn’t formulate a sentence.

  “What?” he asked, turning back and forth in front of the mirror. He was perfect from all angles.

  “Thou art not ugly,” I said, and he gave me a cheeky grin.

  “High praise indeed.”

  The last stop we made on the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré was at No. 56, the French office of Vogue Magazine. I stood in front, enjoying the view and the elegant people strolling in and out.

  “What is this?” asked Julian curiously.

  “I was going to work here someday,” I said and looked at him apologetically. “Until the whole princess thing came up, I mean.”

  A well-dressed woman in a crimson blouse with fire engine red lipstick and black hair approached us. The bodyguards moved into alert mode, but they looked ridiculous doing it with their arms full of shopping bags.

  “Excuse me,” the woman said. “I am Marie Thibault, one of the senior editors at Vogue. Am I mistaken, or are you Princess Starr Valentine from Vega?”

  I extended a hand to her, smiling. “Yes, I am. Nice to meet you.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  I gazed at building No. 56. “I always dreamed of working here,” I said with a little sigh. “I wanted to see it once before I went back to Vega.”

  Marie studied me closely. “I can do better. If I give you a tour, will you grant me the honor of an interview?”

  “Oh, yes.” I looked at Julian. “If that’s all right with you, I mean.”

  “That would be fine. I’ll send the bodyguards back to our hotel with our packages.”

  “And who are you?” Marie asked, looking Julian over from head to toe. It was a beautiful view. I’d been doing it myself all morning.

  “Julian, Duke of Celesta, at your service, Madame,” he said, with an elegant bow. It even looked elegant when he did it in jeans and a t-shirt. Amazing.

  Marie smiled, her eyes twinkling. “I need to get some photographs of the two of you together as well.”

  Finding a princess and a handsome duke on the sidewalk, obviously a massive coup for her, turned out to be great for me too. I couldn’t wait to see inside, and having my picture in Vogue was far, far better even than Teen Glamour.

  Marie gave us a tour, and I got to meet several of the editors, as well as journalists, photographers, and even the guy who served coffee. She took us for a delicious lunch at La Cantine du Faubourg and interviewed us while we ate. She also arranged a tour guide who would show us around Paris the next day. A photographer from Vogue would accompany him, but I didn’t mind. It would be like a free photo album of our trip done by a professional photographer.

  After we left the restaurant, she took me to Lancôme to have my makeup done, followed by a quick photo session back at Vogue. “Your clothes are perfect,” she said, looking at my outfit. “You have excellent taste. If you weren’t going back to Vega, I would be tempted to offer you an internship.”

  “Thank you.” I grinned from ear to ear. An editor from Vogue admired my taste in clothes, which meant another item could be checked off my bucket list.

  “You don’t need any touching up,” Marie said to Julian with a little smile, and my grin instantly faded. She looked at him as if she’d like to eat him for lunch, and I didn’t like it at all. Marie had been kind to me, but the Frenchwoman was far too chic and pretty, and her constant flirtation wi
th Julian made me uncomfortable. She acted like a French cougar.

  As we said goodbye, Marie promised to find a way, using interstellar channels, to get a monthly e-copy of the magazine to me. She arranged for a hard copy of our photos to be dropped at our hotel before we left.

  I appreciated all she’d done for me and thanked her profusely, but I would be happy to get away from her. Julian acted smitten, and it embarrassed me because she was far too old for him. She had to be at least twenty-six.

  I almost cringed as he gallantly kissed her hand before we left. Awful, especially because she seemed to like it so much. She whispered something in his ear, and they both laughed, leaving me out of the joke. The guidebooks were right, I decided, in spite of all of the evidence I’d seen to the contrary. French people were rude.

  Our bodyguards met up with us, and I was a little preoccupied as we walked back to the hotel. I’d had such a beautiful morning. I couldn’t understand why I felt so upset.

  “Art thou okay, Princess?” asked Julian softly.

  I nodded but wouldn’t look up. Julian grabbed my hand and pulled me in front of a shop. Lanvin, my favorite. Even Lanvin didn’t make me happy. I stared at the window with unseeing eyes.

  “She wanted to make you jealous,” he said quietly. He stood right behind me. I could see both of our reflections in the glass.

  “Who?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

  “Thou knowest who.” I could hear the laughter in his voice. He took me by the shoulders and turned me around to face him. “She did it as a favor. To me.”

  “Why? You don’t even like me.”

  Julian opened his mouth to speak, but I stopped him. His hands were still on my shoulders, large and warm.

  “It’s okay. I understand. Vegonian Vision.” I stared straight at his chest. “I’m unfinished. I know.”

  “And you already sort of have a boyfriend,” he said, his voice huskier than usual.

  I could barely remember Adrian’s face anymore. Whenever I tried to conjure it up, all I saw was Julian. Pathetic. “I do,” I said, clearing my throat.