A Thousand Starry Nights

by Addison Moore

  “Only if you take back what you said.”

  “What I said was wonderful. There’s no way I’m taking it back.”

  “What you said just roused the attention of the entire universe. We’ll be lucky if the stars don’t fall on us tonight.”

  “Nothing will fall on us.” Before I can finish, an icy wave slaps down over our heads, and we let out a roar in tandem. I scoop her up and race us to the blankets, rolling us up in a tight cocoon. I whip out the champagne and pour us each a full glass.

  “We survived that wave. I think it’s safe to say we’re unbreakable.” I lift my glass. “To my beautiful fiancé—my wife—who is a precious treasure that will remain safe in my arms until the final breath draws from my body.”

  Aspen settles those electric eyes over mine and holds me there with the strength of a lioness.

  “Amen,” she whispers.

  “Would you like to add anything to the toast?” My voice rubs raw in a whisper as I take her in like this. Her hair slicked back, the speckles of sand dotting her porcelain skin.

  Aspen shakes her head while biting down on her lip. “I want to toast you with my body.”

  “By all means, salud.” I lower my glass to her neck and slowly pour the amber liquid over her skin. It funnels to the hollow of her neck before flowing like a river down her cleavage.

  “Salud.” Aspen takes off her top, and her skin glows against the dark navy night. There isn’t a soul around, no one to watch us, save for a sky full of stars.

  We work off one another’s clothes, shaking out of them with expert ease. Aspen and I have turned making love into a fine art these past few days. We are a well-choreographed team, perfecting our routine into a solid gold performance. Aspen and I are creating art with our bodies. Every move, every kiss renders a new masterpiece to add to our fornicating collection.

  Aspen opens for me like a carefree rose, delicate and exquisite. My body presses into hers with an urgency, a heated rush that begs for the relief only she can give.

  Our panting grows wild, searing against the night wind before dissipating into the briny air.

  “Shit,” I groan into her ear as we hit our zenith. I grip her shoulders hard as my body trembles into hers, and I’m half afraid I’m going to break her. My neck arches back as a primal groan pulls from my gut. I reach down and touch my thumb to the most tender part of her and bring her right there with me.

  Her nails dig into my back as she releases with a bionic force. Her legs hook over my ribs, tight.

  The cool slap of the ocean trickles up to our feet, and we tremble out a laugh together.

  “Lover’s Cove.” I press a kiss to her lips, raw and smothering. “Just between the two of us, that’s what this place will always be.”

  Aspen illuminates a light all her own. The moon is powerless against her beauty. Aspen defies the laws of physics, gravity. Her beauty baffles the natural forces of this universe as she makes them her own.

  “Lover’s Cove.” Aspen nods into the idea. “And we are the lovers.”

  “And we always will be—just like Romeo and Juliet.”

  Curse be damned.

  * * *

  Sunday night, Aspen heads to her sister’s place to gather the last of her things while I drive out to Calabasas to pick up Abby. The sun sets to my left as I head up the coast. I’ve never sweated a pick up since that first week, but here I am with a stomach full of angry bees. I don’t know why. There’s not a damn thing Cheryl can do to derail this train. We’re divorced. I have joint custody of my little girl. And that, my friend, is the end of the Cher and Carter story. Yes, she’s a witch, but that’s nothing more than a footnote. Not for a moment did I ever fool myself into believing I was in love with Cher. Her feelings, on the other hand, were raw, charged with the desire to control me through her words, her threats. I fell right into the mousetrap she set for me between her legs, and, now, here I am, almost five years later making an evening run to pick up our daughter.

  I pull into her cookie cutter McMansion with the lights all on inside. It looks cheery, stable, and I want that for Abby when she’s not with me. I get out and suck down a lungful of ocean air as I make my way up the walk. I’ve asked my brothers to keep an ear out to see if Cher is dating anyone. I want her to. I think the best medicine to cure her obsession with me is to move on with someone else, anyone else. Hell, I wouldn’t care she if leashed herself to an alligator as long as it was kind to Abby.

  I give three brisk knocks and wait. That’s my signature knock. I don’t know why, but I noticed a pattern last summer.

  The door swings wide as Abby gives me a running hug.

  “Daddy!” she sings as she leaps into my arms.

  “Baby girl.” I press a hard kiss into her cheek. It always feels like the end to some barbarically long vacation when we’re finally reunited.

  Cher stands behind her with a rolling carry on bag that has a picture of Olaf on it. Abby has her own wardrobe with me. She has everything she needs, but there are some things she prefers to cart back and forth. Can’t say I blame her.

  “Why don’t you run inside a moment? I want to talk to your mommy for a second. Maybe you can steal a few cookies from the kitchen, and we can give them to Harley.”

  “Harkey girl!” She jumps out of my arms and makes a mad scramble for the kitchen.

  Cher leans her head back, her eyes narrowing to slits. “I was going to mention something about her birthday party, but I can send you the details via email. I’m having her class over in two weeks. The party is on my day, but her actual birthday is on yours.”

  I give a dull nod. Last year it fell on Cher’s day. I surprised Abby after school with flowers, and Cher followed us to the ice cream shop across the street while I let her open my present.

  “I was thinking I’d pick her up after school, maybe we could do dinner and a movie?”

  A grimace comes and goes on my face. I examine Cher in this anemic light, her strawberry blonde hair is perfectly coiffed, her lips outlined and colored in a bright shade of berry. She looks unnatural like she just stepped out of a magazine wearing something you might classify as an evening gown. Cher worships at the beauty counter at Macy’s. She sacrifices her time at the spa, the nail, and tanning salon. Everything about her is rigid and over processed—always has been always will be. But it’s a false allure, a purchased beauty, manufactured charm. Cher has forked over a small fortune to become a hand-polished stone whereas Aspen is a jewel hand hewn from God. Cher is about as far from Aspen as one could get.

  “Her birthday? Yeah, let me think about it. We’ll figure something out.” I slap the back of my neck like I were swatting a mosquito.

  Abby scuttles back, and I tell her to get some more treats.

  Cher scoffs. “Me thinks Daddy is nervous. So what’s your big announcement?” She folds her arms over her chest—that look of hellfire brewing in her eyes. She already knows.

  “Aspen and I are getting married.” I’m not sure why I started with that, but I go with it. “She’s already moved in.” Not entirely true but mostly.

  Cheryl lets out a loud, booming laugh that ricochets into the hollow air like gunfire. “Knew it. The little voluntease has struck again.” That was Cheryl’s nickname for her. Aspen volunteered to be on the school committee with me when we met, and thus Cher coined the wicked nickname. Cher had a rude nickname for everyone she hated. Her hatred for Aspen was born from a vengeful jealousy—the most dangerous kind of emotion. “But I’m guessing she doesn’t tease anymore, she puts out.” She huffs while averting her gaze. “The thought sickens me. She’s conniving. She’s never stopped conniving. She’s always wanted what I have, and now she’s going for the twofer.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I keep it low as Abby’s feet prattle in this direction.

  “She gets both you and Abby. One day, Carter, you’re going to see that she’s nothing but trailer trash. She doesn’t have a dollar to call her own. Her father wants
nothing to do with her. She’s using you now like she was using you then.”

  “Nobody’s using me,” I whisper as Abby runs past me to the car. I reach in and snatch her suitcase before making my way down the stairs.

  “This will never last. This is just a revenge thing with her. She’s maniacal. You can’t see past your penis!”

  “Shit,” I hiss as I hustle Abby into her car seat and shut the door buffering her from her mother’s acrid tongue.

  “She can’t be trusted.” Cher screeches her words into the wind like a witch casting a spell. “I forbid you to leave her alone with my child. For all I know, she’s a pervert!”

  I slam the driver’s side door and make Abby wave to her lunatic of a mother as we speed the fuck out of Dodge.

  A horrible sinking feeling settles in my chest.

  God. What if Cheryl comes up with some scheme to take Abby from me? My maniacal ex is the only one capable of revenge in this scenario. Her jealousy of Aspen knows no bounds; I have living proof in the backseat.

  I glance into the rearview mirror and offer a dull smile to my daughter.

  Why would she even suggest Aspen was a pervert? Then it hits me like a brick to the face. That’s the set up. All she needs is to coerce Abby into admitting Aspen touched her inappropriately, and it’s done.

  “Crap,” I whisper under my breath.

  Maybe I should talk to my lawyer one more time.

  * * *

  Night one runs smoothly with Abby beyond elated that she now has another mommy. Not exactly where I wanted that conversation to go, but the deductive reasoning skills of my almost four-year-old daughter are beyond her years. Also, she wants a sister for Christmas.

  Aspen and I hit Jinx and the real world once again. I walked Aspen to her office an hour ago before burying myself in emails that I’ve ignored for the last solid week.

  A knock vibrates over my door.

  “Come in,” I say, frowning at my phone. Usually the secretary gives me a heads up with a text, but we like to keep things casual around here. The open door policy was Carson’s granola-crunching altruistic idea. He’s the humanitarian of the bunch, not me.

  Lincoln Lionheart stains my vision as he shuts the door behind him.

  I lean back in my seat, amused because I know where this is going. He’s here to pull his big brother duties, ruffle my feathers, threaten my balls. He doesn’t like where I’ve been parking my penis lately, and he’s going to make sure I understand how furious this makes him.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “To my sister.” He doesn’t miss a beat as he falls into the seat across from me. His stoic features don’t bother to crack a smile. “Isn’t she the one you’re doing?”

  I don’t bother qualifying that with a response. I’ve always known Lincoln is an ass—an ass who lives with one of his sisters, and somehow this demotes his manhood in my eyes. Although on the other side of the coin, I’m glad he’s got Aspen’s back.

  He leans in, relaxing his elbows onto his knees. “So are you done sowing your oats? You ready to finally settle down with my sister?”

  “Sowing my oats.” I repeat for no other reason than to parrot how absurd it sounds. Sowing my oats is exactly what I wasn’t doing with Cher, much to her chagrin. I was putting in my time after committing one boneheaded move after the other.

  “All done.” I hold out my hands a moment. The sooner I play his game, the sooner he’s out of my face. “You don’t need to protect her anymore.”

  “Good.” His lips glide over his cheeks before snapping back to their expressionless stance. “But I’m not here to protect Aspen. I’m here to protect you.”

  Tempest in the Night

  Aspen

  Henry VIII was a mastermind at making his wives look guilty when it was convenient. In truth, his ego ruled far more than his heart ever could. Henry was far too powerful, greedy, and rich not to have a favorable resolution in each and every situation. The headless wives of the bunch could attest to that.

  “Why on God’s green earth would you tell him that?” I ask Lincoln over a shared plate of a combo number 53, our favorite, a slice of lasagna the size of a summer squash and stuffed manicotti. “He’s going to think I’m batshit.”

  “You are batshit.” He glances to Pepper. “You knew that, right?” He gives her a playful wink.

  I invited Pepper to join us for lunch since she mentioned she was starved—for company in particular. Pepper is sweet and beautiful. I’m confused over the fact she hasn’t had a decent man in her life in years. Or so she tells me. In truth, I was trying to play matchmaker, and now I can see that all Lincoln wants is a hole in which to insert his penis. He’s a player, and Pepper deserves better.

  Kins and Stevie aren’t too interested in this psychotic development as they continue to nosh on their meals unmoved by our brother’s antics.

  Stevie finishes wolfing down her food in record time. She had the same thing but all to herself—well, her and the baby. Stevie’s voracious appetite is almost admirable. All of these years I’ve seen her all but nibble, and now that she’s with child, she can’t shovel in the food fast enough.

  “Never mind your sanity.” Stevie twists her wedding band. “Rumor has it you had a honeymoon of your own last week.” She bites down on her red velvet lip—naturally red. Stevie’s pregnancy has only made her that much more stunning. “I’m glad my plan worked out perfectly.”

  Carter. I miss him. How ridiculous is that? I just landed my lips over his less than twenty minutes ago. And now that I have him in my life again, I told Stevie our weekly dinners needed to go on ice for a while, so she motioned for an emergency Lionheart lunch to work out the details.

  “Are you saying you got married just to pull Carter and me that much closer together?”

  “I’m saying I got married so that you could look like your supermodel self, get drunk, and get yourself laid by the right person, so if that’s an alternate translation of what you just said, then, yes, you are correct. Trust me, it was a very small sacrifice on my part. Ford and I have had the wedding on our to-do list for a while. Do me a favor, and don’t make Carter wait so long.”

  “You’re funny.” I cut a quick glance to Pepper, who I’m sure regrets the fact she accepted my invite. “See what I have to put up with?”

  Pepper cuts a nervous glance to my brother. Maybe she is interested after all? Bad boys do know how to net the girls. If Lincoln is anything, he’s a bad boy. He’s beyond that. He’s a transgression when it comes to women.

  Kinsley stretches her arms over her head with boredom. “So I’m out of work and out of a man. Anyone have a suggestion?”

  Pepper examines her for a moment. Now that Kinsley has officially been outed as the other woman in every grocery store rag in the country, she’s garnered a little dark fame for herself.

  “There are two available Cannon brothers.” Pepper says it with a laugh. “You want to draw straws?”

  Kinsley sags and rolls her eyes like a put-off thirteen-year-old. “No, you go ahead and pick one. I’ll just sleep with him on the side. According to the press, my only talent is stealing a man.”

  We all share a laugh at that one, partially because it’s true.

  Kinsley stirs her pretty neon drink with her straw. “Enough. I’m tired of being the butt of the joke. I’m tired of hearing what a whore I am. It’s not like I was whoring around with an army of married men. I was only sleeping with the one. Some girls sleep with tons of people. I read about this woman—she holds the world record for sleeping with the most guys, and that was just in one afternoon! She’s not dicking around. Well, actually, I guess she is.”

  I don’t bother telling Kinsley that, yes, you can in fact qualify as a whore for sleeping with just one married man. It’s clear that bastard broke her heart in addition to carving a scarlet letter over her chest.

  Pepper and Stevie engage her in small talk regarding the latest Jinx 2 app.

  “So what was
the big warning for?” I crush my shoulder into Linc’s. Carter told me about his strange conversation with my brother. “Is that some new reverse psychology?”

  “Not really.” He knocks back the rest of his beer. “It was my way of telling him you were a danger.”

  “In what way?” My cheeks catch fire with anger. I’m so sick of other people trying to navigate my relationship with Carter. This is the exact bullshit that caused the roof to collapse over our love the last time.

  “In the way that we’re a package deal.” Lincoln grazes Stevie and Kinsley with that serious-as-death look. Sometimes I feel as if the darkest part of our father was hardwired into my brother. “I’m here to protect you. If you get hurt, he gets hurt. It’s simple math.”

  “I don’t think threatening Carter is a good start for the two of you.” I hold his heavy gaze with a warning of my own.

  “I didn’t ask your opinion.” He takes a huge whack off our plate and shovels his fork into his mouth.

  I look to my sisters for a word, a disproving glance regarding our brother’s asinine actions, but they don’t even blink at his ridiculousness. In their own way, they’re agreeing with him. I tilt my head to Stevie, and she shakes her head at the ludicrousness of it all, but she’s quiet. Stevie is never quiet. Maybe she’s worried I’m the one who might rattle the cage?

  “Carter isn’t going to hurt me,” I say, folding up my napkin and setting it back on the table. And, for darn sure, I’m not going to hurt Carter.

  Why do I get the feeling I have to prove this to the world?

  * * *

  The afternoon whittles by, and eventually I make it back to my office. I flick on the lights and close the door, making it halfway to my desk before my chair spins around with a body defiantly set in it.

  “Henry?” A high-pitched squeal expels from my throat. “Get out!” I shriek so loud, I half expect security to storm through the door.