When Stars Die (The Stars Trilogy) (16 page)

Oliver cups my lower back, starts rocking, and pushes me onto my back, my legs now on his shoulders, our lips and tongues still intertwined with one another. His hardness starts pulsing against me. I wrap my legs around the middle of his back, locking my ankles together so that I’m pressed up against him. I feel like he’ll fall inside me any moment. Oliver pulls away, sighing in a way that sends shivers through me. He kisses the sensitive part beneath my ear as his hands wander to my breasts. They cup them, his thumbs running circles beneath them. My nerves vibrate more.

I let out a sigh, my head falling back. “Oh, Olly…” My legs squeeze him, expressing my want. “It’s all right. I’m ready.”

Oliver pulls away, reaches down, and thrusts himself inside me.

I awake with a start, my eyes wide. Contractions pulsate throughout my groin. I bury my face in one of my pillows to stifle the moan that wants to escape. Once the contractions stop, I pull the pillow away from me and run over to my vanity with the cracked, wooden frame. My face is flushed, a sheen of sweat dampening my skin. My nightgown sticks to me, and there is a lost look in my eyes. Sighing, I fall against the wall, putting my arms at my sides, too ashamed to touch any part of myself.

What was that feeling? It was so wonderful, but so…so shameful, unseemly. And with Oliver, no less. I go back to the mirror, and look at my face again. Nothing in my eyes suggests I didn’t want what Oliver gave to me in that dream. It plays in my head on an endless film reel: the kiss, his touch, the way he felt inside me in that split second before I woke up. A girl who desires to be professed should feel dirty and ashamed. But I don’t anymore. What’s frightening is that if Oliver were here and wanted to do that with me, I wouldn’t say no. I wouldn’t hesitate. What kind of girl does that make me?

A girl who doesn’t belong in any convent. A girl who has impure dreams she wants to come true. I close my eyes against my reflection, slowly move my hand downward and feel that spot. It’s wet, sensitive, as raw as it was in that dream. There is still a small ache there. I want that feeling back, but I don’t know how to get it back.

I open my eyes. They’re still glazed with want.  Oh, Deus, I am too far gone to accept a life of chastity.

“I don’t deserve to be a nun,” I say, if only to finally confirm what must have been true all along.

#

When afternoon comes, my small family takes a trip downtown by way of an omnibus drawn by a team of thoroughbreds. Norbury is unlike Malva, whose Gothic buildings are daunting. Downtown is charming with its brick townhouses and wooden shops that glow from within, their hearths lit with blazing fires. People in rich finery stroll the streets with looks of contentment, the light snowfall and gray sky not dampening their spirits. Whereas Malva lies on a grid to hide the intense poverty, Norbury is all out in the open, with wide, winding streets; alleys that contain perfume shops and boutiques; a park in the center, with paths that branch out like the points on a star; and a cozy chapel on every street. I like to think of Norbury with roads twisting like the legs of an octopus.

The omnibus draws up to an opera house with a tea shop beside it and toy shop across the road. Gathering coats, hats, scarves, and parasols, we make our way off the bus. We’re not here for the opera house though. We’re here for the tea and toy shops. I grab Nathaniel’s hand and direct his head in the direction of the toy shop.

“Why don’t you go over there and see what you can find?” I produce a few pieces of gold for him, enough to buy him at least one or two toys. “Take all the time you want!”

He takes the gold with a toothy smile that brings a gentle smile to my face. “I’ll get you a big teddy bear!” He spreads his arms wide.  Then he bolts across the street, nearly slipping on an ice patch that almost prompts me to go over there. But then he gets up, waves to me, and disappears into the store.

Father and I settle ourselves down on an iron wrought table with matching chairs. We’re underneath a yellow awning. Father looks less tired, less aged. Nathaniel must be doing wonders for him. I only hope I can do the same. I have concluded I am too selfish for even a convent, so I need to temper my spirits by giving in to what Father originally wanted. It might not be what I want, but it’s what I need.

We order tea, and once it arrives, I wrap my hands around the cup, relishing in the warmth that gently ebbs through my gloves. Father takes one sip, almost as if he is unsure whether or not he should be enjoying the tea without Mother here. He hasn’t been downtown since her death. This will do him some good, though, to get out of that stuffy mansion.

“You told me you wanted to talk to me when we arrived here,” Father says, looking into his cup. He swirls the liquid around. I wonder what his future looks like in the bits of tea leaves that float on the surface. “What is it that you want to say?”

I stir one lump of sugar into my tea. I haven’t had sweet tea since leaving three years ago. Cathedral Reims only allowed bitter tea. Sugar is a sinful delicacy.

“Father, do you remember what you wanted for me before I left? Well, I want to finish my tutoring or go to a boarding school. Going to school might be better for me. There is competition there. That will encourage me to do better. Then we can have my season here, then maybe hold a ball for me with eligible suitors, and you can marry me off, just like you wanted.” I stop stirring, surprised over how easily the words came. I rehearsed them over and over in my head last night, but never did I think I’d be able to say them.

Father’s eyes turn thoughtful. He puts the cup to his lips, but doesn’t sip. He puts the cup down, then pushes it away. “Tea isn’t the same without your Mother. Amelia, I don’t want to make any mistakes with you. You and Nate are all that I have left. I don’t want you to grow to hate me. I want you to do what makes you happy.”

Father is right. Marriage won’t make me happy, but I feel like I need it. I wanted so much to prove that I could be independent, that I didn’t need a man to tame my wild spirit. That is no longer the case. “Father, I’m older now. I was fifteen then. I’m eighteen now. It’s time I pull myself together and do what needs to be done. I don’t want it, but if I have learned anything at Cathedral Reims, it’s that you will do things you don’t want to do, but they ultimately benefit you in the end. This is what I need, and that is more important than what I want.”

Father slides his hands toward me and grabs my own. “Oh, Amelia.” I swear I see a tear in his eye. “You make me so proud, but are you absolutely certain?”

“I am, Father. You aren’t getting any younger. There will come a time when you can no longer care for yourself. Nathaniel will be off at university, I hope, doing whatever it is he wants to do. Someone will need to care for you.”

All I can think about is the unbearable dust in the parlor. Even my room was dusty, and I had to spend my first night cleaning it. I also suspect Father’s only means of money are his savings, his inheritance. He was an accountant before I left, but I haven’t seen him doing anything with money as of late, and I didn’t want to bring up any mention of his possible unemployment.

“There will come a time when you can no longer depend on yourself, Father.”

He squeezes my hands. “I think I can manage for another year just fine. But I think with you and Nate home, I might just have what it takes to go back to work. I might not be making the same money though.”

He straightens himself and loses the sentimental edge to his tone. He becomes business-like now, a demeanor I prefer over the soft-hearted man who I fear will have a stroke. “I can’t afford Mr. Lordes for you, but I am certain I will be able to pay a year’s tuition for a nice finishing school. I can take on your brother’s studies. Teaching him will be a distraction for me. I’ll look for work eventually. There is a lovely finishing school here in Norbury, in fact. We can take a gander at it in a few days, if you wish. I will even let the headmistress there know you were a sister at a convent for three years. That will certainly put you in a favorable light for admission starting this spring.”

Father starts prattling away about my future, and this fervent talk makes me smile. He talks about the ball he wants to throw me after my season, and even asks me about what type of men I prefer, as though that should matter to me. All I can think about is Oliver, that dream, and a heat starts between my legs that I staunch by clamping my knees together. There can be no more thoughts of Oliver. He is a priest, meant to be chaste. He also made it clear at the grotto that he desired no further contact. He, too, knows that to continue to associate with me will only lead to his downfall. There can be no friendship where unspoken feelings are concerned.

I grip my tea cup at this thought.

“Amelia?”

I look up at Father. “Y-yes?”

“Where would you like to hold your ball when your season is over? I would say we could use our ballroom, but it’s been unused these past few years. I’m certain there is too much dust and cobwebs for me to expect any maid to want to clean it without being paid a considerable amount I can’t afford.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Just some place lovely is all.”

“I’ll think of something then.”

The crowds in the streets thicken, a blur of coats, jackets, hats, and parasols strolling by us in thick waves. More omnibuses pack the roads, people piling on, and even more coming out to view the latest showing at the opera house. A ballet is going on there, the beautiful Belle Marinsky, famous for doing an arabesque on pointe without toe shoes. I should like to see that, but I don’t have the money on me, and I don’t expect Father to spend any money on frivolities. The marquis claims she is doing shows all through winter. I can’t imagine how sore her feet are going to be by the time the season ends.

I order more tea as Father gets lost in a newspaper he picked up from a passing vendor. I watch the crowd speed by and add lumps of sugar to my tea. In the corner of my eye, I spy a familiar face. The face is brief, but the eyes on the face are eyes I have thought about all too much lately. I drop my spoon, the tea splashing over the sides of the cup. My lips part, and I grab my chest, my heart thumping against my palm. I can’t believe it. It is him.

I shouldn’t follow. I shouldn’t lead him into temptation. But he is here, and I am here, and I will not be at Cathedral Reims anymore and never will be, and if there is a chance for an us, even for a small, quiet moment, I will follow.

I have to talk to Oliver, in spite of what we have between us anymore--or don’t. I at least have to let him know what I plan to do in order for us to find some type of closure between us.

Oliver’s face disappears among the crowd, but I keep an eye on the blue scarf around his neck. I turn toward Father. “I’m going to check on Nat at the toy store. He’s been gone for a bit.”

Father nods, lost in the news of the day. I take off and hasten through the crowd, never losing sight of the scarf that floats like an autumn leaf on the breeze. I hope that is Oliver and not someone who looks like him. Otherwise, I’ll feel like a complete fool.

The crowd thins, but I am no closer to Oliver. Taking a deep breath, I elbow my way through the crowd until I come upon a clearing. Oliver turns around, looks at me, and takes off running. I suck in a sharp hiss of air this time, hitch my skirts, and chase him. Heat rises in me as I run, not the heat of being warm with running, not the heat I had in my dream, but the heat of anger. Why is Oliver avoiding me?

Oliver veers into an alley filled with the sickening scents of perfume. I don’t know where he is going, but it has now become obvious he wants me to chase him. He wants to take me somewhere away from the crowds. So I accept the challenge, even through splintered legs and iced lungs. We run the gamut of Norbury, its spiraling streets that feel like a vortex, until we come across the small, quiet park.

Oliver eventually stops beneath a pine tree sitting by a fountain whose flowing waters are frozen. Scarce light from the sun gleams on the ice.

I catch up with Oliver, and at first I have no idea what to do. Then I think about the dream, and instinct compels me into his arms. I’m panting while tightening my hold on Oliver, who is strangely less tired than I am. At first he seems speechless, but his arms soon enfold me, pushing heat throughout me that melts the ice that has coated my heart for the past few days. Never did I imagine a hug such as this could be so consuming, could feel so protective. Our soft hugs have never felt this way. I could squeeze him right into my rib cage so that he’d be forever trapped, and I’d never have to wonder what it’s like to be with him.

I inhale his wintry scent, soak in every part of him like I never have before, then push away from him. Looking deeply in eyes that look all too silver, I take my hand and slap him, a resounding smack echoing in the small park. A red print mars his cheek, standing out in stark contrast to his snowy skin. His mouth hangs open as he touches the welt. Without saying anything further, I pull his hand off his face, cup it with my hands, and plant my lips on his, that desperation of wanting to know what it’s like to kiss him, and that curiosity to know if those feelings I had in my dream will come out in real life.

They do, and they are the most delicious feelings I have ever felt.

Chapter Sixteen

I pull away from Oliver, his eyes wide and mouth agape. He brings up two fingers and lightly touches his bottom lip. I lick my bottom lip, his kiss lingering, cool and sweet. Oliver blushes at my action and mimics me, a smile pushing away his confused façade. The print on his cheek begins to fade to a small, purplish bruise.