Page 45 of A Star is Scorned

Livvy ruffled a towel through her damp hair, trying to soak up the excess moisture.

She looked at herself in the mirror of Flynn’s impeccably tiled bathroom.

Her lips were cherry-red, bee-stung from his kisses, and they contrasted with the pale white of her skin, made even paler by the cold of the water.

Her hair was a mess, a curly, black mop zigzagging about her head.

The soft press she had so perfectly coiffed with Judy’s help had shrunk back to her natural springy curls.

She looked around the bathroom, but there wasn’t a hairbrush in sight. Just an enormous mermaid mosaic spanning the entire back wall of the shower, no doubt made from the same tile that decorated the rest of the house.

The mermaid was sitting on top of a rock, her back to the viewer, and Livvy marveled at how much longing she could see in merely the angle of the mermaid’s head. This entire house was a work of art curated meticulously by Flynn.

“Need any help up there?” Flynn called from downstairs.

“No, coming!” She gave herself one last glance in the mirror and sighed.

Her hair was going to be messy, that was all there was to it.

She double knotted the tie on the white terry-cloth robe Flynn had lent her.

It was so oversized that it dragged along the floor, and she had to pull and drape it over her arm like a train.

She emerged to find Flynn waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. He was wearing a pair of striped pajama pants, no shirt, and an apron. It made her giggle.

He took one look at her getup and swung himself into a deep bow. “My liege,” he said with mock seriousness.

She played along, lifting her chin high and descending the tiled steps slowly, holding on to the wrought-iron railing. She came to the bottom step, and he reached out and grabbed her, swirling her around before he set her down and proffered his arm. “My lady, your banquet awaits.”

He led her through the kitchen and back out to the deck that was now swathed in darkness.

He’d lit the candle on the table, and the little flame flickered like a miniature lighthouse guiding them along the shore to their romantic rendezvous.

He pulled out her chair and let her sit.

Then, he poured her a glass of red wine before filling his.

It was not, she noted, the one she had brought.

The label was written entirely in French.

She took a sip, letting its rich, oaky flavor coat the inside of her mouth. It was heady and rich, with an aftertaste of something peppery. It was the best wine she’d ever tasted. “Flynn, this is…poetry in a bottle.”

“It’s a 1928 Chateaux Haut-Brion Bordeaux,” he announced as he took a seat across from her.

She almost spit back into her glass in shock. She didn’t know anything about wine, but she knew that name. And that anything under that label was expensive. She cringed. “Please don’t open my bottle of wine.”

He chuckled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

He grabbed her hand and raised it to his mouth, grazing her knuckles with a kiss. “You were being thoughtful; that means more than an expensive bottle of wine ever could.”

She smiled and leaned back in her chair so she could take in the scene before her.

She sipped another mouthful of wine, savoring the velvety sensation of it against the inside of her mouth.

While she had been drying off, the sky had turned from a dusky purple to a deep royal blue, the stars just beginning to wink out.

It was still quite warm, but a chill was in the air, and she drew the robe a bit tighter around her, curling her legs beneath her to sit cross-legged in the chair.

“God, how is that possible?” Flynn asked.

She cocked her head. “What?”

“That you look even more irresistible like that, sitting there with your feet tucked beneath you and your hair a mess.”

She self-consciously raised a hand to the mass of her black curls.

“Don’t you dare touch it. You should wear it like that more often. It’s the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever seen.”

She bit her lip, reaching for her fork, and took a bite while he watched her expectantly. “Good?”

Her eyes fluttered with pleasure. “Delicious.” Never had a plate of pasta tasted so wonderful.

It was warm and rich in flavor, bursting with the acid rush of fresh tomatoes, delectable fresh herbs, and a curious blend of spices.

She twisted her fork around a mound of spaghetti and shoved more into her mouth, hardly caring what she looked like.

Flynn chuckled. “You know, before tonight, I never knew you had such an enormous appetite.”

She blushed. “My parents taught me and Judy that a lady never admitted how much she wanted something. That an ascetic approach to life was the only moral option.”

Flynn wrinkled his nose. “They sound dreary.”

She laughed. “I suppose they were. But they loved us in their own detached way. They’re both gone now.

Judy and I have been on our own the last four years.

” She stopped, her voice catching. The memory of all that they’d lost and the challenges they’d faced almost overwhelmed her.

But she had to go on. That had always been the only way to get through.

“She was only fourteen when they got into the car accident. She was with them that night they passed away. She broke her leg in six places and was told she’d never dance again.

That she’d probably have to use a cane to walk. But, well, you’ve met Judy.”

He gave her a wan smile. “I have. That kid’s braver than most men I know.”

Livvy choked back a knot of emotion in her throat and nodded.

“She is. She’s kept me going.” She steeled herself to tell Flynn the worst of it—the part that made guilt gnaw at her, day in and out, that made her feel like she had no right to mourn her parents.

Because it was her fault they were gone.

“It was supposed to be me in the car. My parents had three tickets for the opera that night. But I was being a brat. I wanted to see your new movie, Seas the Day. It was opening at the local theater that night. My mother told me I was being selfish like I always was. But Judy wouldn’t hear it.

She volunteered to go to the opera in my place.

She knew how much your films meant to me. ”

“I’m beginning to understand why you were so wary of me when we first met,” he said grimly.

“Flynn, no, it—” She struggled to find the words.

“I did blame you, I’ll admit. But not as much as I blamed myself.

My mother and father were upset. Judy told me later that Mother was screaming at Father the entire drive, telling him that he shouldn’t have allowed me to have my way.

He was distracted. He missed the stop sign.

Never even saw the truck coming.” A single tear trailed down her face, and she swiped at it with the sleeve of her robe. “So, you see. It was my fault.”

“How old were you?”

“Eighteen. Old enough to know better.”

He scoffed. “Hardly. When I was eighteen, I was in my first year at Oxford, and the chaplain of my college tried to have me expelled for replacing all the holy water in the chapel with gin.” The story broke the pall that had settled over them.

Livvy laughed, gurgling and wet with the emotion that had overtaken her.

Flynn knew how to lighten the mood without minimizing her story. It was an underappreciated skill.

“Livvy,” he continued, more serious now. “It wasn’t your fault. It was an accident. We can’t control terrible things happening to us. There could’ve been a million reasons your father missed that stop sign.”

“Maybe, but if I hadn’t been so stubborn, my parents might still be alive. And I could’ve prevented Judy from getting hurt. At the very least, it would’ve been me with the broken leg.

When I learned what happened, I was flattened with grief and with guilt.

I threw myself into taking care of Judy.

It was the only thing keeping me going. I was supposed to go to college and study English that fall.

Prepare to be the author I’d always hoped to be.

But I used my college savings to send Judy to a rehabilitation clinic. ”

“Did she ask you to?”

“No, but—what else was I supposed to do? We’re all each other has in the world. Because of me.”

He took a bite of pasta, seeming to consider how to respond. “Far be it from me to tell you how to live your life, but did it ever occur to you that Judy never would have wanted you to sacrifice all that?”

“It wasn’t her choice to make.” Livvy struggled to keep a note of defensiveness out of her voice. “It was what I owed her. To give her back the life I nearly robbed her of.”

Flynn popped a tomato from the salad into his mouth and gave Livvy a stern look. “Does she know? What you gave up for her?”

Livvy shook her head. “No, but—”

“No buts. Unless we’re talking about your absolutely delectable one.” Her mouth fell open at his bawdy remark, and he laughed. “I’ve warned you plenty of times, my dear, I’m a rogue through and through.”

“I couldn’t tell her. She never would’ve allowed it.

I told her the funds all came from our parents’ inheritance.

When the fall came around and I didn’t go off to college, I told her I’d changed my mind and didn’t want to go, that I didn’t need to go to college to be an author.

I could write from home, the same as Jane Austen or Charlotte Bronte.

She accepted it. Though I’m sure she knew it was a lie.

But I had to make her better. I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.

And ever since, I’ve done everything I could to keep her safe.

To make sure she never gets hurt again. That’s all my parents wanted for either of us—to be well taken care of. ”

He poured himself a bit more wine and raised the bottle in question above her glass. She nodded, and he topped her off. “And where does Hollywood enter into this?”