Page 49 of A Star is Scorned
Joan and Arlene had been so kind, hurrying her away to the kitchen and plying her with punch and toffee. But it had been hard to breathe in their company. All she could think was how they had three Oscars between them. They fretted over her, never prying or asking a single question about Flynn, trying to put her at ease. But when a dreadful man with hands that wandered more than Christopher Columbus had come in and tried to cajole her into bobbing for apples with him, she couldn’t take it anymore. She’d made an excuse about needing to find Flynn and scampered off.
She should have gone home. But while looking for Flynn, she’d happened upon the library at the end of the hall.
The thick door turned the music in the living room into a muffled din. She turned in a circle, marveling at the room before her. Every wall was covered with floor-to-ceiling shelves, books of all shapes and sizes spilling out of them. She inhaled, taking in the scent of the dusty tomes, the distinctive tang of the glue holding the pages together in each of the individual treasures. She was inclined to think they were for show, except that she could tell the difference between untouched books and a well-loved library. This was obviously the latter, with books haphazardly stuffed intocrannies where they clearly didn’t belong and busts of authors like Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde serving as makeshift bookends.
A lumpy armchair covered with burnt-orange velvet was stuck in the corner, and Livvy wandered toward it. Her eye caught on the book hanging over the arm of the chair, a well-worn copy ofTreasure Islandwhose spine had more cracks than an unlucky piece of pavement. Livvy admired the pair of slippers stuck under the chair and the tartan blanket tucked over its back. Everything about the space was cozy and comforting.
On one side of the chair was a globe. Livvy pressed a small wooden button hidden in the grain of the wooden stand, and the top of the globe snapped open, revealing a collection of liquor bottles, ice tongs, and crystal glasses. She picked up a crystal tumbler and sniffed it. It reminded her of Flynn’s favorite Scotch, which she hadn’t even realized she’d known until this moment. It was smoky and warm, a strange blend of cinnamon and pine. It smelled like him.
“Pilfering the good stuff?” The voice in the doorway startled Livvy so much that she bobbled the glass in her hands, struggling not to drop it. She could tell that it was expensive from its heft and clarity.
“No, I was just—” She turned and lost her train of thought at the sight of Flynn. He was leaning against the doorjamb, his blond hair messy from its time spent under his Captain Hook wig. He must have rubbed his mustache; it now looked like a smear of soot across his face. But the kohl around his eyes was still perfect, and her knees turned to jelly when he gave her a smolder.
“I was only teasing. What are you doing down here? I was worried you might’ve left.”
She set the glass down, suddenly awkward in the room that had been so comforting only moments before. “I was…lookingfor the bathroom.” She surprised herself with how quickly the lie came. “But I was leaving.”
“Oh.” His face fell. “But you can’t leave yet.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I want you to stay. Please.”
His plea made her warm and tingly, like she’d knocked back a glass of that whiskey in the globe. “I didn’t think you’d miss me. You have so many guests. And your friends. You’d hardly notice if I left.”
His eyes flared with something dangerous. “I assure you, I would notice. And I would feel the loss of your presence most keenly.”
Had someone turned a radiator on in this room? It was suddenly sweltering. A bead of sweat dripped down her back, and she resisted the urge to fan herself. “Well, I…got overwhelmed.”
“So you decided to find some reading material?” He grinned, something wicked and irresistible there, and she found herself taking a step toward him as if pulled in his direction by an invisible force.
“This library is incredible.”
“Being an aristocrat oughta be good for something.” He pushed off the doorway casually, stalking into the room, and she prayed he didn’t hear her gulp.
“You inherited all this?” she squeaked.
“Some of it. Other parts I bought myself. I know you think I’m a philistine—”
“I don’t!”
“But ‘the person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.’”
She had not expected this evening to involve Flynn Banks quoting Jane Austen to her. “You’ve readNorthanger Abbey?”
“AndPride and Prejudice. ThoughEmmais my favorite.” He started trawling the shelves, dropping leather-bound volumes gently to the floor as he hunted for something. He turned his head to her. “Always a fan of the cheeky ones, you know.”
He winked at her, sizing up her costume and the fuchsia blush that had suffused her neck and face. “You know green and pink is my favorite color combination.”
She barked out a laugh. “You’re making that up.”
“No, I’m not. I just decided right now that it’s my favorite. I’m allowed to do that. My library, my rules.” He returned to rummaging through his shelves. “You’re a fan of Austen, I take it?”
“Would you believe me if I said no?”
“No,” he murmured drily, twisting around to give her a withering glance. But the twinkle in his eyes made it obvious he was teasing.
“Good. Because she’s my favorite author. She’s why I wanted to be a writer.”
