Page 22

Steven and I saunter down the winding paths, the occasional sound of cars passing below interrupting us.

Even though we aren’t speaking or touching, I can feel every inch of his presence next to me, and my heart pounds in response, clamoring to get out, to get closer to the warmth radiating from his body .

I look at the ground and see our shoes side by side on the pavement, his dress shoes shiny and probably an expensive handcrafted work of art, and my worn-down leather flats, scuffed at the edges.

Our outsides don’t appear to match, just like dancing and the pouring rain, the colors black and white, the patterns polka dots and stripes.

But when I glance farther down the road and see our shadows cast on the pavement—mere man and woman strolling side by side, our hands swaying and almost touching—everything just seems… right.

Then I remember how fun it was when Mom threw on our raincoats and dragged Taylor and me to the sidewalk to twirl and dance in the first rain of spring.

Our hair would be plastered to our faces, our dresses soaking wet, but there was something wild and freeing about giving the middle finger to common sense and going with instinct, flirting with the whimsical.

And black and white are often paired together, as are different overlapping patterns in fashion, the contrast elevating each element into something better.

So maybe…just maybe, a friendship between a king with an empty heart and a poor girl with more heart to spare makes sense.

Even if it only makes sense to the two of us.

Our breaths mingle, and our steps are in sync, with Steven slowing his long strides to match my short ones, the simple gesture warming my chest and making me smile.

I peek into the windows of the multi-million-dollar apartments on both sides of the pathway, noting how some folks have their homes proudly displayed, with the curtains wide open, like a work of heart to be admired by the masses.

A startling contrast to the closed blinds in our humble abode, completed with metal safety bars.

“What are you looking at?” Steven asks, his voice hushed, as if talking loudly will disrupt this quiet tranquility surrounding us.

I stride to the right and lean over the railing separating us and the luxury apartments .

“It’s like a work of art. These homes. I’m just admiring the way they have proudly displayed their interiors to the world.

Look at this one.” I motion to the floor-to-ceiling windows in front of me, which showcase a large living room with empty white walls except for a long abstract painting of brilliant reds and blacks splashed over the canvas, and clean lines, what looks to be Scandinavian-inspired furniture artfully arranged around the room.

A strategic spotlight shines on the wall art and the unique glass coffee table in the center, where instead of regular wooden or metal legs, the base is a metal sculpture of a man lifting the tabletop.

“Would you want that for yourself?”

“A spacious apartment in a safe neighborhood in the middle of Manhattan? Sure.” I sneak a glance at him, finding him staring at the living room with an inscrutable expression. “But I don’t think I would open the blinds and invite the public into my private home.”

He chuckles, the raspy sound seeming forced. “Do you know why they opened those windows? Want to take a guess?”

I don’t reply, sensing his question is rhetorical.

At my silence, he continues, “What’s beauty if you don’t have anyone to share it with?

What’s a family if you don’t have people who love each other?

The rich and powerful have more money than they know what to do with, but oftentimes, they don’t have anyone worthwhile to share their trials and tribulations with. ”

He lets out a deep exhale. “When you’re at the top, plenty of people will pretend to celebrate with you while secretly plotting your demise.

People will go to great lengths to preserve their wealth and quickly, you’ll find you don’t have anyone who has your best interests at heart.

And so…” he motions to the window in front of him, “these people stay behind their locked doors and around-the-clock security team and safely invite others to admire their success, their wealth, the ultimate ‘look what I’ve got’ because if the public is envious of them, then perhaps all the loneliness and machinations are worth it. ”

His shoulders are tense, stretching the tuxedo to its limit as he leans forward on the railing, his eyes still staring into the dim living room. A lock of hair dislodges from his hairstyle and falls over his face. My fingers grip the railing and I take a breath.

My heart suddenly twitches and aches, a fissure forming in its seams, and I bite my lip, my body angling toward him but still not touching, but my heart desperately wants to wrap itself around his lonely silhouette, because somehow, I know he’s speaking from personal experience.

“But that’s not true happiness…is it?” I whisper.

My face is turned toward his now, my eyes greedily absorbing every detail up close, noticing a faint shadow on his jawline where his beard is coming in, a small bump marring his otherwise perfect nose and yet adds character, the luscious black hair that looks so soft, my fingers ache for a touch to test the texture.

“No. It isn’t.”

Three simple words. Followed by a ragged exhale.

Enough for the seams of my heart to split wide open.

“Well, I hope being here with me, friend, makes you happy.” I breathe out, watching his eyes darken, his frame so still, almost blending into the surroundings.

His eyes remain on mine, unwavering. “Yes, friend. You make me happy.” Those amber pools sharpen and his nostrils flare as his lips part.

It’s almost as if he’s surprised he’s experiencing a moment of happiness.

My heart clenches and my fingers dig into the cold metal of the railing, so I don’t draw him into my arms.

At that moment, a streak of light appears across the sky, so fleeting and fast. I gasp, my hand reaching out to grab Steven’s arm before pointing toward the heavens. “Quick! A wishing star, make a wish.”

“It’s probably a plane or an asteroid,” he grunts. “There are no such things as wishing stars.”

I shove him hard at the side, reveling in the soft oomph uttered under his breath. “Be quiet. Make a wish. Listen to me. ”

“Bossy.” I can hear the smile in his voice .

Before I close my eyes, I squint at him, finding his eyes fluttering shut and my heart twitches and tumbles, the bleeding from minutes ago stemmed. I bring my hands to my lips and close my eyes and make a wish, my heart clamoring inside my throat, my pulse rolling with each beat inside my chest.

A righteous rhythm, one which tells me the wish I’m making is the right one.

Fated.

A minute passes by and I slowly open my eyes, my feet bouncing on the ground, and I look to my right, finding Steven staring at me, his lips parted, an arresting expression on his face.

My smile freezes and the moment is gone as quickly as the shooting star. Steven straightens up and steps away, putting some distance between us, even though we still haven’t touched except for when I grabbed his arm to draw his attention to the skies.

I clear my throat. “Do you know how wishing upon a shooting star came about?”

His lips quirk into a lopsided smile, making him look a few years younger. “No, but I guess you’ll tell me.”

I nod. “That’s right. Rumor has it, around the second century AD, the Greek astronomer, Ptolemy, said shooting stars traverse the gap between cosmic spheres where the gods would peek through the crack to spy on us mortals down on earth.

Supposedly, the gods are very amenable to wishes made during these brief periods. So, here we are.”

“That’s one hell of a rumor.”

I grin, enjoying his unflappable expression and his no-nonsense responses.

But I catch a faint glint of amusement in those ever-changing tiger stone eyes.

“Oh, I’m sure it is. It’s like playing a game of telephone lasting over two thousand years, I’m sure his original intent was probably something much more scientific and boring, like ‘shooting stars are shards falling off from the moon,’ but where’s the fun in that? ”

He laughs, the smile lighting up his entire face and my chest seizes, marveling at the rich, melodious sound, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, and that stray lock of hair grazes his forehead as his body quakes under his debonair attire.

Warmth spreads from inside me all the way to my hands and feet, a heady rush resembling pride because I made the cold king smile once more. I couldn’t help but grin at him—two vastly different people in opposite walks of life, united in the expressions on our faces.

“You do know whatever you said about moon shards isn’t scientific, right?” His laughter slowly fades into silence, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, as if to bite back another smile.

I wish he’d smile more often.

Perhaps his soul wouldn’t be radiating loneliness then.

And it’s in this moment I realize I could never be friends with this man. Despite my best intentions, he evokes all sorts of irrational ideas and emotions within me. He makes me daydream about whimsical thoughts of soulmates and happily-ever-afters, ideas which have no place in my life.

He makes me want to forget how unreliable men can be. Especially rich men. How they may charm you in the beginning until you give your heart away and then turn around and beat you to a pulp while stealing from you in more ways than one.

I should stay away. It’s the logical thing to do.

But somehow, I can’t.

I want to be the one to put the smiles on his face.

Expelling a heavy breath, I turn toward the pathway again, heading back into the light. Steven follows suit. Checking my phone for the time, I glance back at him and say, “It’s getting late and I don’t want to be wandering the streets of my neighborhood in the middle of the night.”