Page 16 of Fallen Starboy
Chapter
Twelve
JUN
I didn’t see Arista at breakfast. According to Pujin, she’d already risen with the sun and gone off to who knew where.
Work, I assumed, but since she hadn’t taken me with her, it wasn’t anything I needed to worry about.
I settled down on the couch with a bowl of cereal after letting Yejin’s new tutor in: a younger man with amazing credentials named Graham something-or-other.
He’d come highly recommended, and with Pujin’s new men on the security detail, I was confident she was safe here in the house, learning from a veritable genius.
An hour later, I was starting to get antsy, though.
Here I was, nothing to do, up way too early for my liking, and Arista was nowhere in sight.
She never missed an opportunity to nag me, pester me, or just in general piss me off with whatever she could.
Ever since that interaction in the kitchen, though, we’d been like magnets with opposing poles—repulsed to either end of the house, as far away as we could possibly be, even though our rooms were feet apart.
I should be happy about it.
I wasn’t. In fact, I was the opposite.
I hated this feeling.
Working with the woman I hated was proving to be more confusing and complicated than I could have ever imagined. And the longer I avoided the issue, the worse the conflicting emotions in my head— and in my pants —got.
Around noon, Yejin emerged from her tutoring lesson with a smile on her face and a drawing in her hand. Graham followed behind her, giving me a curt nod before he launched into his overview on her progress.
“Her English skills are top-tier for her age. She must’ve been raised with it, I assume?
” At my nod, he continued. “She’s progressed far past the expectations for her age group, and quite honestly, she’ll soon be beyond needing my services to fill the gaps.
” He pulled a slip of paper out of his shoulder bag and handed it to me.
“I compiled a list of top Montessori schools in the area, as well as a few more traditional ones, as well, for you to consider. I strongly recommend the first two, and I’ve got students I tutor from schools in this list who are worlds apart from their peers in terms of education. ”
“Uh, thanks,” I mumbled, already on overload. “I’ll look into it. Appreciate the help.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” His hand fell on the doorknob just as it turned, and we both stepped back as a very frazzled-looking Arista strode through the opening, her tablet in hand, phone to her ear, voice tense as she argued with someone who clearly was giving her a run for her money.
“Listen, Ajax, it’s as simple as this. I pay you top dollar to make my clients look good in the press, and you know damn well you’re getting more than the market average.
So if I say I wanna reschedule an interview, your first words should be ‘yes, ma’am, what day works best for you,’ not two middle fingers up to me after all I’ve done for you. ”
I recognized the name Ajax. It was the interviewer for the daily rag they called a newspaper in this town.
He also ran one of the biggest entertainment blogs in the country, and was active in all the circles that mattered.
He was also the man I’d cancelled on the other day because I felt like making things difficult for Arista.
Shit.
As if she could tell I was thinking about her, those piercing eyes cut to me, then to Graham, softening almost instantly as she offered him a smile and her free hand.
He took it and fucking bent over it like some fancy lad in a period drama, kissing the edge of her knuckles like a fairytale prince, and damn it if some sort of jealous rage didn’t roll right through my body at the idea of another man kissing her?—
Woah. Full stop, man. You don’t own her. She’s not yours anymore. And you’ve made it perfectly clear you’re not interested in patching things up.
It was easy to tell myself that. It was immensely harder to make myself believe it.
“Ah, Miss Simmons, how lovely it is to be blessed by your beautiful face again.” His charisma dialed up to a twenty, and suddenly Arista was all fluttering lashes and coy smiles, pretending people didn’t flatter her every day.
If they didn’t, they fucking should.
“Oh, Graham, flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, taking her hand back before it became improper in his grip. “How are things?”
They walked off into the kitchen like this was her home and not mine, chatting like two old friends over his other famous clients and their progress.
Meanwhile, still clutching Yejin’s picture, I fumed in place, unaware my daughter had also left me for greener pastures.
She sat at the island in the kitchen next to Arista, her pretty curls bouncing around her head as she animatedly told the woman who’d given birth to her about her lessons with Graham and how much fun they were.
Suddenly, it was like I was the outsider. Hell, she looked so much like her, you could almost mistake the three of them for a family, if it weren’t for the telltale parts of me woven in between Arista’s genetics.
We made beautiful fucking kids, at least.
I stormed into the kitchen, snarly and a total asshole as I slipped Yejin’s photo on the fridge without even looking at it. Had I spotted it, I might’ve thought twice about displaying it so prominently. I also might’ve avoided the interaction that came immediately after.
“Look, Miss Arista, Daddy’s hanging my picture! Mister Graham says I’m a natural with watercolors.”
As if on cue, all the eyes in the room turned to the painting I’d just released, and a collective gasp slipped from mine and Arista’s lips simultaneously.
Yejin had painted the lake just down the road from the house, but instead of two figures in the painting, there were three. A telltale streak of red hair on the third figure told me exactly what I was looking at, and my heart sank.
She’d drawn herself and I at the lake, and added in Arista.
Unknowingly, she was getting attached, and it’d barely been a few weeks since we moved here and she became entrenched in our lives again.
“It’s the three of us at the lake,” she said proudly, slipping off the stool she sat on.
“Maybe sometime we can take Miss Arista to see the ducks, Daddy. I think she’d like that.
She works so much.” As an afterthought, she cocked her head and smiled.
“You do, too. Uncle Minseo always said time off is important. But you don’t listen to him much. ”
Arista’s unladylike snort broke the sudden silence, and soon enough, I was cracking up with her, both of us doubled over at the very well-known fact that, despite Minseo’s unending efforts, I had never been much for taking time off.
He hated the workaholic in me, and never missed an opportunity to admonish me for it.
“Oh my god, remember the time he changed the locks on the studio to keep you from recording over the holidays instead of going home with him?” Her hair slipped slowly from the loose bun at the base of her skull as she giggled at the image I remembered all too well.
“You insisted I help you learn to pick locks so you could sneak in and hide from him.”
“You refused to teach me, if I remember correctly,” I mused, remembering the way I’d bent over her shoulder at the computer and practically whined that it was imperative to learn lockpicking to sneak into the damn recording booth.
As if two extra days was going to make that much of a difference. “So mean.”
My eyes shot to her tongue as she stuck it out at me, and all the blood rushed from my brain to .
. . other areas. I remembered what it felt like to have that tongue against mine, and suddenly the air was too thick for me to breathe.
Nostalgia held my tongue, arousal captured my body, and I was powerless to escape either as she sat there and worked her magic on me unwittingly.
Graham looked from her to me, then back again, and sighed, picking up his bag from the counter. “I’ll be going, then. I have an appointment with another client I shouldn’t be late for.” He turned his attention to me with a curt bow. “I’ll see you and Yejin again on Friday, Mr. Kim.”
“See you Friday, Graham,” I shot out, completely stuck on the woman in front of me.
Yejin had abandoned us for the fun she could find in the mini movie theatre, already no doubt queueing up her favorite shows on a screen that was disgustingly oversized.
And now it was just the two of us in here, alone with memories of the past, and unresolved emotional damage that threatened to tip the scales in either direction at the slightest provocation.
I didn’t speak, but my eyes were drawn back to the picture on the fridge as Arista cleared her throat and rose from her seat.
I wasn’t ready to let go of the only polite, friendly, not-forced interaction with her in half a week.
“I’m sorry I was so difficult this week,” I shot out, grabbing her wrist as she moved to leave the room. “You shouldn’t have to work extra hard to fix my mistakes.”
Her eyes searched for anything to look at that wasn’t me, and failed as they lifted to trap mine in an intimate gaze. “I’m used to fixing things. It’s what I’m good at.” Tears formed in the corner of her eyes, and she blinked furiously, trying desperately to hide this weakness. “Most of the time.”
It stunned me that she felt comfortable enough around me still, after all the bullshit I put her through, to show emotion of any sort. The sudden urge to chase away her tears overtook me, but laced within it was the thread of resentment still that I couldn’t quite let go of.
I stood, dragging her around to face me fully as I caged her in against the counter. “You can fix everything but your own problems, huh?” My left hand settled on the counter at her side, and she cringed away from it like touching me might burn her alive.
Her hackles rose at my sudden intrusion. “I don’t have problems that need fixed,” she said defensively, trying to edge away from me. “But you do. So if you’ll excuse me?—”
I pressed in against her, letting her feel just what problems I was dealing with right then and there. “The only problem I have right now is the fact that I want to fight with you and fuck you at the same time, and I can’t decide which option is more appealing.”
It was like I was possessed, but I couldn’t stop.
I didn’t want to see her cry, but I was incapable of offering her support like a decent human would.
All I could do was goad her into more flammable territory, hoping like hell we didn’t burst into flames when I lit the match between us to distract her.
She held her breath as I leaned in, our noses practically touching, but she didn’t speak.
It was like words had failed her as surely as they were about to fail me.
But the second my nose grazed her cheek, the second my breath fanned across her throat, I felt her body finally react to mine—and when her hand trailed up my chest, I didn’t care if it was to stop me from going further or something else.
I trapped that hand there between my pecs with my right hand, and my lips grazed her ear as I admitted what I’d deny to the end of my life if asked.
“You’re the only woman I’ve ever wanted this bad.” And I hated myself for that weakness. “You’re in my head and I can’t shake you.” Some days, I still touch myself to the memory of the last time we made love. “I hate it.”
“If you hate me so much, why are you forcing yourself on me?”
I reared back like I’d been shot. “Forcing?” I glanced down at her hand on my chest, and dragged it lower, slipping it under my shirt with a little groan. “Ari, babe, I’ve never had to force you a day in your life.”
I crushed my lips against hers, hungry to prove to her that she was as weak to resisting this as I was.
I wanted her to drown in this hatred with me, proving to her that she couldn’t forget, either.
I wanted to relish her defeat as she admitted to herself she still wanted me, still regretted leaving.
But victory wasn’t as sweet when you had to hurt someone to win.
Especially when you still cared about that someone.
I could taste it as her salty tears finally fell, mingling on our lips as we devoured each other, her hands creeping up the inside of my shirt, teasing the skin there like I’d imagined so many times over the years.
I heard a giggle from down the hall and was suddenly very aware that our daughter could walk in on us at any moment.
“Hold on tight, Ari,” I whispered against her throat as I lifted her by the hips and guided her legs to wind around my waist. Carrying her up the stairs was easy—she weighed next to nothing, and I’d been spending more time in the gym lately to kill time.
In seconds, we were in my room, the door locked behind us, and I had her against the wall, pinned there with my hips as we groaned into each others’ mouths, savoring the taste of a flavor we’d denied each other for far too long.
“Fuck,” she muttered, her hands tearing at my shirt buttons with a little unsteadiness. “Jun, we?—”
“I don’t want to hear about what we shouldn’t be doing,” I snarled, my hands yanking the shirt apart, buttons falling to the ground around me. “When have you ever known me to do what I’m supposed to?”
“A tiger can’t change its stripes,” she muttered, her nails raking lightly over my shoulders.
“You’d know better than anyone, I suppose,” I snapped back, turning us around so I could toss her on her back in the center of my bed. Exactly where she belonged. “And I’m about to prove to you there’s no point in denying it.”
With a growl, I yanked her to the edge of the bed by her ankles, and stared down at her as those tears dried up and a mixture of arousal and anger filled the depths of those gorgeous blue orbs.
Perfect. Hate me all you want. But I bet you’ll hate yourself more when you look in the mirror later.
The sentiment that had excited me not that long ago tasted like ash on my tongue.