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He leans forward, his voice ardent, his eyes beseeching me to understand.

“I had to do this to save her. I had to let her go. Before she left, I offered her some funds to help raise you, but she didn’t want it.

She said she didn’t want my guilt to be assuaged by giving her money.

I came back from a business trip one day and found both of you gone and a note from her asking me to leave you two be.

But I never, ever forgot about you or her.

And there was no other woman for me afterward. ”

My eyes burn. Now that I have Steven by my side, knowing how intoxicating and wonderful love is with the right man, how it devastated me and him when we almost lost each other, how I couldn’t fathom a world without him, my heart aches for Mom.

Suddenly, her love sickness made sense, and why she always believed in true love.

How could you not if you’ve actually experienced its soul wakening warmth?

And Mom was always a positive person, even during the challenges we went through, whether it be men or finances, and for the first time, I truly understand why she wanted that hole in her heart filled.

And she thought she did to some degree with Uncle Bobby, only for that to end in tragedy as well.

How I wish she were still here and I could tell her I finally understand her and the man she gave her heart to still very much loves her to this day.

“But I’ve always thought about you and wondered how you’re faring.

And now, I learn I have another daughter, someone else I also failed over the years.

” His tone is morose and regretful and he swallows as if the next words out of his mouth are too difficult for him.

He reaches over and takes my hand in his cold, trembling ones.

“Grace, would you object to us getting to know each other better? And your sister as well?” He lets out a ragged sigh, a muscle twitching in his bristled cheeks. “I’d very much love that if you both are open to it. You’re…family.”

There were so many nights in my childhood when I was angry at him.

When I laid in bed when the winds beat outside, haunted by the night in the rain with Uncle Bobby, and I wanted to throw things at my father, whoever he was, wherever he was.

How could he leave us? Leave mom? Why couldn’t I be the happy kid at school sitting atop my father’s shoulders as he stopped by an ice cream parlor for a treat of my favorite vanilla ice cream before we head home?

Why was it every Father’s Day, when the teachers taught us to write letters or to draw cards or we’d make little crafts of paper ties for our fathers, I’d be sobbing in the back, knowing whatever I made wouldn’t go to anyone?

But now, looking at the heartbroken man in front of me, who from outward appearances is dressed in the finest clothing, living in the most beautiful home, I can see the void inside him, the loneliness and sadness in his eyes.

The pain of the past haunting him still.

And I can’t find it in myself to hate him anymore.

Instead, I pity him. While Mom, Taylor, and I didn’t have much in the past, our lives were filled with happiness, and our hearts were full.

I’m not sure if I believe in this curse, but it’s obviously very real to him.

It clearly took a piece of him when Mom left with me in tow. A precious piece of him.

He’s family. Other than Taylor, he, and by extension, the rest of the Andersons, are my only family of flesh and blood left in this world.

Do I want the regrets of the past to follow us into the future?

After everything I’ve experienced this past year—the internship, meeting and falling in love with Steven, losing Mom, almost losing the love of my life—I’m tired. Weary. My heart only wants to hold love and warmth, not bitterness and hate.

And so, I take a deep breath and murmur, “I’d love that, sir. I’m sure Taylor would feel the same way.”

I chatted with my father for two hours, where he asked me about my upbringing, his face falling when he learned of our financial troubles, his jaw clenching when he deduced the assholes Mom dated in the past, including Carl, the shock registering when I told him about my brief stint at The Orchid.

It was inevitable our paths would eventually cross, even if I didn’t search for him.

It’s like he’s standing at the center of concentric circles and I’m slowly removing the larger circles one by one, whether it be my relationship with Steven, who would’ve brought me closer to the Andersons, or my friendship with Belle or Millie, who both have families and connections to The Orchid.

It was inevitable. Fated.

While our conversation was heavy, and the old ache resurfaces, something that was temporarily forgotten when I’m basking in Steven’s love, it was also freeing. Cathartic. It’s the final shackles around my heart breaking open.

And now, as I step on the street after I leave my father sitting in his garden, heartbreak shining in his slate-colored eyes, I glance back at the towering mansion, the tall spires and impressive silhouette blocking off most of the sunlight, casting a dark shadow on the front lawns.

A chill sweeps through me from a sudden breeze, and I think of the lonely man in his garden, surrounded by his abundant wealth and yet seemingly bereft, and I let out a wistful sigh.

My heart lightens when I walk away, thinking of Steven, feeling thankful for the twist in fate letting us have our happy ending.

I take a deep inhale as I stroll on the grounds of Central Park, smelling the sweet scent of wildflowers, something I tended not to notice when I was here in the past, hurrying from one location to another, and I let out a ragged, restorative sigh.

A smile appears on my lips as I stroll toward the bench where Steven and I ate the infamous street dog, where he also asked me to meet him tonight.

The skies are clear tonight; the sunset washing the canvas in a swath of reds, golds, and oranges, with a deep, mesmerizing blue slowly creeping in.

The prima donna of the evening sky. I can see the faint stars, the backup dancers to the setting sun, twinkling in the backdrop, eager to make an appearance once the starlet disappears, hoping for their place and time to shine.

I hum a melody under my breath, “You’re My Stars,” thinking how much my life has changed since I heard Steven sing this song all those months ago, and I twirl on the path, swaying past the street musician setting up his saxophone under the ornate stone bridge, past the small crowds of pedestrians strolling to their next destination .

My eyes close as I let my hands fly. I can feel the warm air against my face as I spin, spin, and spin, the night feeling as magical as the one on the High Line, which feels so long ago.

Magic is in the air. I can feel it.

I smile.

“It looks like the conversation with Linus went well,” my favorite, sardonic voice speaks from behind me.

Steven.

My heart leaps and flutters as my feet slide in the dirt, which is still soft from the rain a few days ago. His hand reaches out, his arm curling me tight against him, as if he anticipated my wobble.

“You know, if you don’t balance well, you probably shouldn’t twirl in public.” He unleashes a sexy grin, his eyes twinkling with laughter as he tilts me back and stares down at me, looking exactly like a hero from my newest regency romance novel I began last night.

Dark hair. Piercing eyes. Strong jaw. Dashing attire.

“You surprised me, that’s all. As you know, I can be an accomplished dancer when I put my mind to it.” I wink.

He laughs, the smile transforming his entire face, rendering him to a level of handsome I can’t begin to describe.

My lungs seize and I gnaw on my bottom lip, the swarm of butterflies flapping their wings harder inside me, threatening to break free.

I think I’ll never stop reacting to him this way. It’s like—

“Every time we’re apart, our hearts are seeking its other half, and when we’re together, we’re made whole again,” he completes my thought, his gaze darkening, his voice gentle. I hadn’t realized I spoke my sentiments aloud.

“And our bodies know.” I breathe out, my hands clutching the lapels of his sleek, gray suit, the very one I saw him wearing on stage at Lunasia.

Sultry strains of music echo under the bridge, traveling to where we’re standing, his arm still curling around me in a half dip. The soulful sounds of the saxophone fill the air.

A familiar melody, one that’ll make me smile and cry at the same time.

“You’re My Stars.”

Steven laughs, his voice husky, and pulls me upright. He steps back before bowing, one hand extended toward me. “My darling, may I have this dance?”

My eyes flutter to his, finding a twinkle gleaming in his eyes.

He remembered. He noticed my wistful staring at the couples dancing with their partners the last time we were here, and now, he’s gifting me that same experience.

A heat forms at the base of my spine and spreads to my chest and I smile, placing my hand in his. He tugs me flush against him, cradling my head against his muscular chest. I can hear the strong beats of his heart.

My heart.

Because his will beat alongside mine for all eternity. It may be whimsical, it may be too soon, but I have a feeling. A sixth sense.

We sway to the music, his familiar scent of the sea and leather, something I finally understand why it’s so addictive, the tinge of leather being a scent his father wore, something my subconscious remembered—safety—if it has an actual smell.

“When I look at you,” he sings, his voice deep and raspy, his lips touching the outer shell of my ear, “I see my future in your eyes…”

My eyes mist from the deep timbre of his voice as he serenades me under brilliant skies.

Because the voice, the language of our soul, reveals the truth in every husky rasp, every ragged edge, and every smooth vibration. And it’s the voice that inevitably reveals part of your hidden soul, breathing life and meaning into the musical piece.

A year ago, at Lunasia, when he was singing this very song, I heard the strains of emptiness and longing inside him.

He croons, the vibrations caressing my ear, “You’re my stars in the skies, my everlasting high…our souls intertwined…”

I press a kiss on his jaw, over his fluttering pulse, moisture welling in my eyes.

Now, I hear love and happiness radiating from those husky tones. The once cold King of Wall Street, who ruled his kingdom with a broken heart and haunted eyes, is now happy. Truly happy from deep inside. I can feel it in every rasp, every breath, every twirl under the night.

“Do you know?” he whispers as we sway to the music, my soul filled to the brim with happiness.

“In Chinese mythology, the lunar matchmaker, Yue Lao , ties a red string between two soulmates before they even meet. The two people connected by the thread are destined to be together, regardless of time, place, or obstacles. The string may tangle, stretch, or shrink, but will never break.” His voice is thick, and he tips my chin up to face him.

His soulful eyes are dark, the tiger stones waxing and waning like the phases of the moon, and he smiles softly down at me.

“You and I are connected by that red string, long before a heartbroken little boy witnessed a sad little girl in the pouring rain. We are soulmates and everything is destiny, the fates slowly wrenching the string in, pulling me across the country, leading me back to you, where I belong. You are the only person who makes my heart ignite.”

My lips part as I marvel at his beautiful words, a sentiment I feel deep inside me. I still remember when I first met him at Pietra, when his soul called out to me as if we had known each other for a long time, despite us being strangers.

An immediate tugging, a calling, a ship coming home after being lost at sea.

Fated.

I return his smile with a wobbly one of my own and I whisper, “I love you, Steven Kingsley.”

He clutches my hands against his chest and presses his forehead against mine. “Not as much as I love you, Grace Peyton.”

Just then, I see a bright light streaking across the purple sky and I shriek, grasping onto his arm and pointing toward the heavens.

“Steven! A wishing star! Hurry!” I tug him harder when he doesn’t respond .

“Bossy,” he murmurs.

He chuckles under his breath and slows our pace until we’re standing, before closing his eyes, his strong profile angled toward the sky.

My heart skips and flies into my rib cage as I bring my hands to my chest, my eyes fluttering shut, and I make a wish to the gods peering down from the gap between the cosmic spheres.

I wish for happiness and for our souls to fly.

Together. Always.