13. Chapter 13
Chapter 13
Stella
I t hurt. God, it hurt so bad.
Just because Noah was an asshole who destroyed my life didn't mean I'd fallen out of love with him. It should have, but these things took time. I still missed him, still craved him—despite the pain he inflicted, despite the agony I felt now , seeing another woman lay claim to him.
He was my man . My body revolted when she placed her well-manicured fingers on his thigh. Compared to her soft and elegant hands, mine were rough and calloused. I was usually lucky if I didn't have soil under my nails. At least I used to compensate for that with how I dressed and wore makeup, but I'd given up on even that now.
Luna, Aurora, and Nova had come to my condo, and dragged me out for dinner. It was Friday night, they told me, and this was an intervention. But for the fact that I'd seen my therapist, Dr. Ryan twice now, I probably would've thrown them out of the condo, and gone back to bed. The prescription of Lexapro was also starting to have some impact, though it would take a few weeks before I'd feel its full affects, according to my doctor.
Dr. Ryan saw nothing wrong with how I was dressing. "You've been through some major trauma. You do whatever you want. People can go fuck themselves."
That's what I liked about my therapist; she gave it to me straight, and talked to me the way I wanted to be talked to. She used to be Luna's therapist, and Luna had recommended her to me when I was dealing with my stepmother's nonsense.
"Stella and I have become fast friends," Eden told Noah. "I've been showing her the museum property. We're so excited about seeing your proposal in a week, Stella."
Yeah, it was going to be a full house of people I didn't want there. Noah and his new girlfriend. Maybe my stepmother and father would like to attend as well, and rip me a new one.
Universe, this shit isn't even funny anymore!
"I'm looking forward to sharing it with y'all." I looked at the glass of wine I'd ordered. I was avoiding alcohol like the plague. Depression and alcohol were a bad mix. I knew from experience. But I didn't want the whole " why aren't you drinking," followed by " are you pregnant, " or some such bullshit line of questioning. What the hell kind of society were we living in when someone needed to defend their choice to not consume alcohol?
God, I was snarky. My inner monologue was becoming bitchier by the day. The truth was it was coming so naturally to me that I wondered if all that Sweet Stella bullshit was me hiding who I was to be accepted by my family.
Noah was saying something to the server when Eden all but spilled her tits on his arm, leaning over him to speak with me.
"Is everything okay?" she asked the same question a lot of people were asking me these days.
"Why would you ask?" I didn't mean to be churlish, but I was hitting my limit.
"Don't get me wrong, but you look…well, hon, you don't have your face on."
I touched my cheek. "Still seems to be there," I remarked.
And here we go again, questioning someone's personal choices. Why aren't you wearing any makeup? What's wrong with you? Are you okay?
Eden chuckled uncomfortably, and Noah turned his attention to me.
"What's going on?" he asked Eden, wanting to know, probably, why she was giggling like a teenager.
"Oh nothing, just wanted to make sure Stella was okay ." She dropped her voice as if to whisper, though I could hear her loud and clear, which I assumed was her intent. "She doesn't have her face on."
Noah raised an eyebrow and turned to look at me. "Her face looks on to me."
Eden made a sound. "I just meant she has no makeup on, Noah."
"I know what you meant, Eden," he spoke deliberately. "I was tryin' to point out to you that it's rude to comment on a woman's face and how much or how little makeup she's wearing."
Okay, the heavens must be getting ready to open up and swallow me whole because, nu-uh , had Noah Carter just defended me? Maybe now he wants me on my knees in gratitude, sucking him off.
There was that snarky bitch again! Maybe now he'd start to call me Snarky Stella instead of Sweet Stella.
"Your pussy is like you, baby. My Sweet Stella."
I needed to stop thinking about sex with Noah because every time I did, two things happened: first , I got wet, second , I felt nauseous. And nausea, alas, always won.
Sex with Noah was tainted by recorded sex with Noah, a recording that my father had seen. How did one overcome a humiliation like that? How would I ever be able to trust someone enough to actually have sex with them? And I could kiss goodbye the uninhibited way in which I had sex with Noah, because that shit was never happening again.
"I'm not being rude, just concerned," Eden retorted. "Isn't that right, Stella, darlin'?"
I gave her a plastic smile but didn't reply. I didn't want her rudeness or her concern or her curiosity. I wanted her to fuck off.
Nova and Aurora were busy talking to Silas, and Luna was engrossed in a conversation with Royal. They'd dragged me here, and abandoned me. They didn't think of it that way. After all, Noah and his girlfriend were keeping me company.
The servers had delayed bringing in Noah and his party's dinner so they could take our order and serve us all together.
I ordered a beetroot salad because, honestly, I wasn't even hungry. But I didn't need questions about why I wasn't eating followed by an, “Are you okay, Stella?” Q&A session.
That order had led to Silas asking me if I was—kill me now— okay . How the hell would he know if I wasn't? Because I ordered a salad? Maybe I was a salad person. He didn't know me.
Gah! All these incendiary combative thoughts whenever I was with people were exhausting me. This was why I preferred my own company these days. It was quieter and far less aggravating.
I was getting tired and didn't have the energy to go another round with Eden, who was gearing up for one as she leaned over Noah toward me again.
Yeah, I was done. I stood up. "Excuse me." I walked brusquely to the restroom and wondered if I couldn't just find a side exit and leave. Which was what I did, and felt considerably better for escaping the restaurant and the stifling company.
I texted Nova: Have a migraine. Leaving. Make my excuses .
It was a beautiful summer evening. Muggy and warm, just the way I liked it. Most people found Savannah too hot and waited for fall—but I loved the Southern summers. They were sweaty and unrelenting—and just my kind of weather, as long as I had plenty of mosquito repellant on.
I walked up to the river and stood by the railing. My phone beeped.
Nova: Do you want me to come to you?
Me: I'm good. Thanks. Sorry for bailing.
Nova: No problem at all. Take care of yourself .
My phone beeped again, but I just put it on silent, and stuck it inside my purse.
I leaned against the cool, iron railing that bordered the lively Savannah Riverwalk. It was the end of August, and fall would be here soon but, until then, the heat clung to the air, heavy and thick, with the gentle breeze off the river, providing fleeting respite. The sky was a deepening shade of twilight, streaked with remnants of orange and pink from the sunset, giving way to the first hints of an indigo night.
The river was bustling with activity—a silent ballet of boats gliding by. Tour boats filled with eager visitors snapped pictures of the historic waterfront, their laughter and snippets of tour guides' stories drifting across the water on loudspeakers. Smaller private boats bobbed along, their lights twinkling like distant stars emerging in the dusky sky.
"Stella," I heard him say gently from behind me.
The smell of his cologne mingled with the scent of briny water and earthy dampness of late summer.
Throughout my life, I had taken many long walks alongside this river's banks to clear my head or escape the chaos of my father's home. But all the turmoil and confusion of my childhood didn't compare to how bereft and small I felt right now.
I ignored Noah until I felt his heat next to me.
"Nova said you have a migraine," he murmured.
Behind us, the muffled sounds of clinking glasses and subdued conversations drifted out from the various restaurants on the Riverwalk, reminding me of the world continuing on just steps away. Yet, here by the river, I felt a comforting solitude, well, until Noah invaded my space.
"When I was a child, I used to walk by the river. My father's house is on the Savannah."
"Do you need a ride home?" he asked.
I didn't respond. Didn't look at him. Home? I didn't have my home. It was gone. Sold. Belonged to someone else. My garden belonged to a stranger who probably wouldn't know how to care for my rhododendrons or the orchids I'd been experimenting with in the small greenhouse that was designed to cool, instead of traditional ones that heated.
"If Whitney had been particularly mean or difficult, I'd lay down on the grassy bank and look up at the vast, stretching sky, and for a moment, my worries would wash away in the rolling currents of the river."
"Is that what you're doing now? Letting the river take your troubles away."
"Yes, and you being here is interrupting my solitude, chasing away my peace, as fleeting as it may be."
"Look at me, Stella."
He turned me to face him. His hand was on my arm. Skin against skin for the first time since that night when we made love. Heat against heat. Pain against pleasure.
I let him see my eyes and didn't feel much when I saw him flinch, saw regret swim across his face.
"Are you in pain?"
"What do you think?" I challenged him.
"I'm sorry for your pain."
"It's my pain. Has nothing to do with you. Why are you here?"
"I just wanted to check on you."
"Did you? Why?"
He let go of my arm and sighed. "Basic human courtesy, Stella."
I laughed mockingly. "Now, now, Noah, we know you're not basic or human, and I know you have no courtesy whatsoever, especially for Baron Hunt’s daughter."
Noah glared at me, but before he could say anything, Eden's voice calling his name reached us.
"Go, your girlfriend is calling for you."
"She's not—"
"Just go the fuck away, Noah," I ground out. And without waiting to see what he did, I walked away from him.