Page 1 of The Lion in the Library

THE STAR FALLS TO EARTH

ESTRELLA

Irushed through the doors of the Los Angeles Public Library with Pedro on my hip and Luz trailing behind me, her small hand clutching her stuffed lion in one hand and the back of my dress in the other. We were late. Again.

“Mamá, are we going to miss the stories?” Luz asked, her voice trembling.

“No, mi corazón. We’re only a little late,” I reassured her, though I had no idea if we’d missed the beginning of the children’s program. Learning to navigate Los Angeles without a driver was proving more challenging than I had anticipated. But I refused to let it show. Estrella Flores never showed weakness, not even when my world was in chaos all around me.

Two months ago, I had been the queen of Mexican television, starring in the country’s most popular telenovela, Pasión y Venganza. Two months ago, I had discovered my second husband in bed with my makeup artist. Two months ago, I had made the impulsive decision to accept a minor role in an American film and move myself and my children to Los Angeles.

“The children’s room is downstairs,” a librarian with a kind smile directed us. I thanked her and hurried toward the stairs, my heels clicking against the marble floor.

“Mamá, slow down,” Luz pleaded, her little legs struggling to keep up.

I scooped her up with my free arm, now carrying both my children as I navigated the stairs. My arms ached, but I was used to it. Being a single mother of two meant developing muscles I never knew I had.

We arrived at the children’s section just as the storyteller was settling into a large armchair, surrounded by a semicircle of cross-legged children. I set Luz and Pedro down, nudging them toward the group.

“Go, mis amores. I’ll be right over there,” I whispered, pointing to a nearby table.

As they scurried to join the other children, I collapsed into a chair, exhaling the breath I’d been holding since we left our modest apartment. I pulled out the information packet about the library’s English conversation club. My agent had been blunt. My accent was too thick for major American roles. If I wanted to succeed in Hollywood, I needed to sound more... American.

The thought made me seethe. In Mexico, I was adored for my distinctive voice, my passionate delivery. Here, I was just another foreigner trying to fit in.

“Is this seat taken?”

I looked up to find a man gesturing to the chair across from me. He was tall, with thick-framed glasses that somehow enhanced rather than hid his striking features. His hair was a rich brown, curling slightly at the temples, and he wore a casual button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing tanned forearms. He had a very sexy tattoo of a lion on one arm. I thought it might be from one of the Mexican football clubs, but I didn’t really follow sports, much.

“No, please,” I said, gesturing for him to sit. I noticed the stack of books beside him, the notepad filled with scribbled words. A fellow creative soul, perhaps?

“Your children?” he asked, nodding toward Luz and Pedro, who were now completely engrossed in the story.

“Yes,” I replied, a smile warming my face despite my exhaustion. “My daughter, Luz, is six, and my son, Pedro, is four.”

“They’re beautiful,” he said, and something in his tone made me believe he meant it. “I’m Leo.”

“Estrella,” I responded, extending my hand.

He took it, his grip firm but gentle. “Estrella,” he repeated, pronouncing my name perfectly, with the rolled ‘r’ that most Americans butchered. “It suits you. A star.”

I felt heat rise to my cheeks, a sensation I hadn’t experienced in years. Ridiculous. I was Estrella Flores, who had performed passionate love scenes with Mexico’s most desirable men. I did not blush at simple compliments from strangers in libraries.

“Are you a writer?” I asked, nodding toward his notebooks.

He smiled, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. “Trying to be. I’ve been working on this one for... well, longer than I care to admit.”

“What is it about?” I found myself genuinely curious.

“A man searching for meaning beyond his public persona,” he said, then laughed self-consciously. “Sorry, that sounds pretentious.”

“No, it sounds interesting,” I assured him. “I understand something about public personas.”

He studied me for a moment, his eyes, a warm hazel, curious.

“You’re an actress,” he said, not a question but a realization.

I nodded, waiting for the usual response, the widened eyes, the request for an autograph, the inevitable disappointment when they realized I wasn’t as famous in America as I was in Mexico.