The Stars Will Shine Read Online Free

face, in the small shake of his head, and in the way it’s so difficult for him to look directly at me—because he doesn’t want to see just how much of a failure I have become.
    “I’m sorry,” I whisper. But those two little words carry so many unsaid ones. I’m sorry I’m not the daughter you want. I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you. But you’ve disappointed me too, Dad. I wish you’d have been there for me when I needed you most, instead of putting all your time into your job. Why couldn’t you have ever listened to me all those times I tried to talk to you instead of waving me off like the problems of a thirteen-year-old were inconsequential? Why couldn’t you have looked at me then and realized that your little girl was lost and hurt and confused. Maybe if you had, you could’ve put me on the right track, and then maybe now, you wouldn’t feel like you have to send me away.
    “I’ll call Miranda tonight,” Dad says. When he removes his hands from my shoulders, I somehow feel heavier. I want to fall to my knees and let the earth take me under, but instead I stand there for two long minutes, staring at nothing.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Two
     
    Dad forgot to mention that Aunt Miranda and Uncle Jim are some sort of millionaires.
    I stare up at the house standing grandly before me, and I feel like I’m on my way to meet with some hoity-toity governess who’s been propositioned to reform me. The house really isn’t all that large, but it looks expensive, complete with an iron-gated entrance, walls of hedge trees ten feet tall, and a tiered stone fountain in the center of the courtyard.
    Dad sets my duffel bag down at my feet, and I let my suitcase rest straight up on its wheels. He leans toward my ear.
    “Aunt Miranda and Uncle Jim own a vineyard and winery.”
    No kidding? And in freakin’ Sonoma Valley, nonetheless. Can you say California wine, anyone? I’m sure Aunt Miranda and Uncle Jim have plenty of bottles just waiting for a tasting. I feel a devious smile curl my lips before I can stop myself.
    “You’re only allowed wine if Miranda says you’re allowed,” Dad informs me, reading my expression and knowing full well that the odds of Aunt Miranda allowing me anything of the sort are slim, given my track record.
    I scowl. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
    I nearly pull my arm out of its socket when I jerk my suitcase forward and lug it up the steps to the front door. Just as I raise my fist for a pissed-off knock, the door swings open and four people—relatives, if they must so be called—stand before me just a step across the threshold, posed like a flawless family. Uncle Jim is dressed in a navy blue suit and has the fakest smile plastered on his face…It almost looks like he’s wearing one of those Halloween masks of a politician’s face. Aunt Miranda stands in a dignified manner, in a red, knee-length dress that accentuates her body in a classy way but that nonetheless has me staring at her chest, wondering why the hell I didn’t inherit the genes for those .
    My gaze sweeps to Dylan, who has shot up about a foot and half since I last saw him, but maintains a youthful look about his face. He’s wearing dark taupe dress pants, an off-white button-up shirt, and a red tie that hangs just a little too loosely, which has me wondering if it’s his way of defying his parents. What a rebel.
    He doesn’t look at me; rather, he stares out over the top of my head, his own head bobbing ever so slightly and his lips subtly moving, pressing and un-pressing together like he’s concentrating on some song in his head. His eyes are darker than I remember, and they’re looking at another place, some other world, right now. I don’t blame him; I don’t want to be here either.
    Next to Dylan, and almost two feet shorter, stands his sister Leah. Now eleven, she was only five years old the last time I saw her. Unlike her brother, she’s staring straight at me with bright blue eyes that