Where Our Stars Align

Chapter 10 #2

She gives me a once-over, the way women do when they judge a threat, and too bad for her—she caught me on the day when I look my age, when my hips are lethal.

"Nice to meet you," she says with obvious reservation.

"Nice to meet you too," I say back, stiff as granite.

She gives me a tight-lipped smile. "What a coincidence, we ended up in the same building."

I give her an even thinner one. "Tell me about it."

"Must be nice to run into an old friend like that. How did you two meet?"

So, Ben's practically told her nothing.

He's equally quiet now, eyes stuck on me, whatever's going on in his mind.

"It's a long story, but let's just say through Mara," I say and watch her mouth sour before she fakes another smile and says, "Oh. Nice."

The history there is obviously not friendly. Which says everything because who doesn't like Mara? Mara who'd die for her family, and Lisa's lucky enough to make the cut.

I purse my lips at her. We're definitely not off to a roaring start, Lisa.

"Well, we'll see you around then." She tips her chin at Ben with a quiet signal he should pick up.

But Ben is stuck on me.

His eyes are slowly dragging, as if he's trying to remember what he already shouldn't have seen, or stripping every inch of my dress he can't touch.

He shouldn't be watching me that way—not here, not with her beside him.

I bite my lip, pretending his gaze isn't crawling down my skin, and focus on Lisa instead who raises her brow at him, catching up to it.

And then, I don't know if she pinched his ass or something, Ben snaps back into conversation, all too fast.

"Right. We're going to a movie. Some documentary about melting icebergs." His hand goes back on Lisa's shoulder and he even presses a kiss to her cheek, smiling, obviously compensating.

She flicks him a quick, indignant look before smiling at me, trying not to lose face. I know that game well. "Global warming is getting way out of hand, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Terrible." I nod reflexively. Couldn't care less. I know he couldn't either, but at least I can get away. "Well. You two have fun. I'm also in a hurry. See you."

I don't look at them again, my body already halfway turned when—

"Em? Wait."

I spin too fast and a thousand needles ignite under my skin. Pulled muscle, no doubt. Shit.

My hand flies to the spot, clutching it as I whip toward Richard, who saunters over with his flawless posture, a finger hooked at his suit button.

"Richard," I hiss his name under my breath like a curse. I'm still pissed at him, now two-fold, and he shouldn't be here.

Ben assesses him quickly, a sharp crease in his brow saying he already doesn't like him before Richard even says anything, but my stagger is all it takes for him to rush over.

His hand closes over mine just as the pain turns into a buzzsaw. His thumb presses my fingers down against the tendon.

"Here. Hold it firm, it'll go away soon," he says, gentle but firm.

Our eyes lock and suddenly I forget Richard, Lisa, and even breath—until I hear Richard clear his throat.

"Thanks," I tell Ben and yank my gaze away.

My brain needs to start cooperating with me when Ben is around, or this is going to end tragically.

Richard halts mid-strike, eyes narrowed like he's trying to do the math on what the hell he walked in on.

Then they drop to Ben's hand that is still curved around my neck and darken the way they do when another man gets too close to me.

Ben should pull it away. So why doesn't he?

"Richard." I meet his eyes, throat tight. "This is Ben. Ben's a doctor."

"Okay?" His face stays edged, waiting for more explanations.

Is that sweat running down my knees? Yeah, pretty sure it is. That was fast.

I notice André is silently watching us from the reception desk like he just stumbled into a live episode of some drama, and I wonder if he knows where I've been today?

I clear my throat and add, "He's an old friend," my foot sliding back on its own.

Ben finally catches the shift and slowly retreats to Lisa, who lifts a brow at him, questioning.

"And that's Lisa, his wife," I tack on, hating to say it. "They just moved in."

"Oh." Richard's posture loosens a bit, and his PR smile comes on. PR because I can tell it's not genuine. "That's nice. What a coincidence."

"Yeah." I let out a strangled laugh. "Coincidence."

"It's always nice to see an actual person moving in. This building is mostly corporate," Richard tells them, a little measured.

Lisa's eyes sweep over his suit. "We noticed."

He just nods. "The building is great. The gym is top-notch. Emma's been waiting for them to fix the rooftop, but once it's done, it will be luxurious. Nineties urban minimalism, infinity pool, everything glass, all that."

"We don't really swim," Lisa says.

Ben and I flick our eyes to each other. Because it hasn’t been that long since he dove into the ocean for me—his personal hell. I can still feel the bruises blooming over my ribs from his hands, and some twisted part of me actually likes it.

"Where did you move from?" Richard asks them.

"Manhattan," Lisa answers, sounding like that stamped her with some prestige.

Richard plays along. "Oh. Nice. New York."

She nods and grins widely, pleased he gets it. "We thought about Nob Hill, but our agent messed up." She rolls her eyes. "Then we saw this and thought it would be better for us. We love it, right?" Her gaze flicks to Ben.

Hands in his pockets, he nods at her, but his mind seems far away. Unreadable though. "Yeah."

Meanwhile, Richard is covertly assessing Ben from head to toe, but I know him enough to catch it. I swallow hard.

"The area is great. So many restaurants. And it's close to my office. That was the real reason we moved." Lisa turns to me, wanting me to hear this, and gives me her best smile yet, all teeth and rosy cheeks.

I'm not going to describe what I'd do to her now, I'm not, but you can imagine—every woman has her breaking point, and mine just happens to come with a good aim.

Somehow, I manage a smile back. Won't give her the satisfaction, and say warmly, "Nice."

Instead, I glance at Ben, wanting him to see the hollow in my eyes now that I know I was pathetic because, of course, he moved for his wife and not for me.

Ben's busy dissecting Richard apart, though. His eyes cut through his shoulders, cuffs, his wedding ring, before they snag on me, measuring me against Richard, seeing if we even make sense.

Then his jaw grinds like it could chew the marble wall behind him, and something dark passes over his face—it's a clear no.

I almost laugh because this is where we ended up? No way. I'm not made for this.

I open my mouth, ready to say something like I don't want to be here, but Richard cuts me off with, "We're always looking for nice couples to hang out with. Stop by for a coffee and something sweet. Emma bakes the best desserts."

I give him a quick side-eye—the king of polite questions and invitations. I hate when he does this—doesn't ask me.

Richard smiles and slides his hand over my back, pulling me closer as his eyes land on Ben.

Ben's eyes narrow on it instantly and he mirrors the motion with Lisa, tucking her even closer against him.

My eyes narrow. Are we playing on symmetry, or what the hell is this?

"We'd love to accept the invitation," Lisa says, her grin widening. "Now we're just trying to figure out where everything goes, and how to start our lives here, but once we're settled, we can't wait to host you. Ben is a great chef too."

Then her eyes swing to me, colder. "Ben told me you're a writer, Emma. Apparently, a known one?"

Apparently. "Yeah, I write complicated romance stories," I say flatly.

"Oh, so basically about life," she says, her tone annoying the crap out of me.

"Basically."

"We're not big readers, but I'm sure you're wonderful at it."

We. We. We. Every time she says it, my molars grind.

Before I bother replying, she pivots to Richard like I'm already a closed book. "And you?"

"Investment banker," Richard says, adjusting his cuff on cue. "This building was co-financed by one of my side projects, actually."

"Oh." Her pupils practically turn into dollar signs. "Do you work with beauty brands?"

"Sometimes. We just financed another project nearby. The top has an incredible spa, all Blue Bahia marble."

"Oh." She gives him a shy smile. "Maybe you know my business partner, Philip Kowalski? We run a hair-product company."

"Yes. I know him. Vaguely." Richard nods, tone giving away he's not that fond of him and uninterested in continuing wherever Lisa is angling.

Lisa stays undeterred, though, digging into her bag to pull out a white brochure.

She's already halfway to Richard's hand when Ben's voice cuts through the bullshit, eyes on me: "Is your neck better?" His voice is concern threaded with irritation.

Richard and Lisa both stop, attention swiveling. I realize my hand is still pressed against my neck, so I pull it away. "Yeah. The pain is gone." At least the physical one.

Richard gives me a brief smile before his gaze flicks to the newspaper.

"Oh yeah. You're a doctor," he says, voice friendly enough to pass, but his eyes don't match it and he looks at Ben.

Lisa lifts the newspaper high, nodding. "That's him. Front page in one week. I'm proud of him."

Good. She should be.

"It's admirable," I say, finally tossing in my two cents. "Ben's always been very generous with the less fortunate. Even before the press cared."

Ben meets my eyes with the faintest smile, but it's there, and I smile back at him for the tiniest beat.

"I always told him he'd change the world," Lisa says, her hand drifting to his cheek like she owns the deed to him. Then she giggles. "Only if he listened to me."

My lashes drop. Heavy. Murderous. What?

As if Ben wasn't already Ben Bellini before she got to script herself into his life, hold his hand... sleep in his bed.

God, I hate her. I usually love you or don't care, but I hate her. And I refuse to believe it's just jealousy.

"Ben's a doctor at Zuckerberg, trauma center. He's very good at his job. Top-tier, actually," I speak to Richard, but it's not for him, it's for her. So she knows that I know.

Her eyes flick to me—curious, maybe cautious—and I give her my nicest smile. The kind that says bless your heart and rot in hell at the same time.

"Nice," Richard says approvingly. "I heard their ortho department's strong."

Ben regards him with detached eyes, but nods. "Yeah. We do a lot of emergency ortho, too."

"Interesting. I've had a persistent issue with my elbow. It's been giving me nightmares, especially recently." He taps on his arm. "Could use a doctor to finally have it examined."

I frown at him. What is he up to? He knows hundreds of doctors, and could've checked it months ago.

Is this a filler or is he plotting something?

Ben recalibrates instantly, pulls out of the crossfire and nods his chin on it. "Want me to check it?"

Richard shrugs like that's not where he was angling. "Sure."

And then Richard's telling him about his billiard vice, and Ben is checking his arm, his touch clinical and brisk—nothing like the way he'd examined me, fingers mapping places that had nothing to do with it—and I'm bewildered because I didn't expect our first meeting to go like this.

But I also crack a little smile, because Ben has every reason not to help and still, he does.

Because that's who he is at the end of the day—he's a good guy.

"Feels like lateral epicondylitis," Ben says, gently flexing the joint. "Classic tennis elbow. It's just inflamed, not serious, but keep pushing and you'll be down a month with pain meds and PT."

Richard frowns, his face serious. "I can't afford that. It's where all the business happens."

Ben steps back and brushes his hand off, done with the whole exchange. He doesn't even care how it comes off, or that we all notice.

Then, striking the classic Ben move that makes you puzzled, he says, "I could get you a referral. Fast-track it for mid-September."

Richard lifts a brow, surprised. "Really?"

Ben nods. "Yeah. Emma and I are friends. Why not."

Richard smiles. "That'd be great."

I frown at Richard. Absolutely not. He's not having Ben as his doctor.

"Excuse me," I cut in, politely done. "I have an important appointment, and I'm already very late. Let's talk some other time. Have a nice day."

Ben frowns at me, but I'm already walking away, leaving them behind.

Am I overreacting? For sure. I wanted this. A double date.

But now that the universe handed it to me like a gift, I'm choking on the ribbon.

There's no way we could do that—too much history, too much whatever to be honest.

"Em." Richard catches up outside. I barely turn and he already holds my hand. "I'm sorry, darling. I came down to tell you that my reaction before was exaggerated."

I blink. It's rare he admits he's wrong.

"Let's not fight." He squeezes my fingers, face regretful. "I hate when we fight."

I exhale a long breath. "Me too."

"I should have known you didn't want my opinion," he adds, suddenly disappointed, and I wince.

"Really? That's your apology?" My hand goes dead in his. Richard gives his opinion on everything, and I follow it more than anyone with a working gut instinct would.

He shakes his head instantly. "That came out wrong. You're right. I'm sorry. I just—I love you. I hate seeing you exposed—figuratively, or literally. I want to protect you."

"It's just a dress," I say, my lips pursed.

He sighs, watching me, then pulls me into him. "You're right. What I said was more inappropriate than what you wore."

He kisses my forehead—the kind meant to reset everything, and I let it soften me a little, lean against him a bit, and breathe into his shoulder.

Citrus and amber cling to him, that familiar scent of my husband that usually comforts me, but not today.

He murmurs into my hair, "They're a nice couple."

I lift my eyes to him, unsure if he's with me or somewhere else.

"Lisa is nice," he says.

"I guess."

"Ben's helpful. Professional."

"Yeah."

"You met him in San Francisco?" His voice is casual, but weighted.

My heart starts doing its own percussion solo.

"Yeah. Not now. I mean, not during these months. He's an old friend from way, way back. Yeah."

His brows knit. "How far back?"

"Ehmmm. I don't even remember."

A lie. It was June 3rd, 2017. I'll never forget that day.

"Long time. When I was still a student."

"Did you know he was moving here?"

"No. How would I know? I was shocked too." There—not a lie—a point for me.

"Mm. Okay," he says, his eyes glued to my face.

And then the unavoidable comes: "Seems like a close friend. How come you never mentioned him?"