by Leisa Rayven
I run my fingers through his damp hair and sigh. "Do you know the best thing about what we just did?"
He looks down at me while trying to catch his breath. "What's that?"
"I know for damn sure Vanessa has never had an orgasm like that in her life, and what's more, she never will. Because the only man who can deliver that kind of expert sexage belongs to me."
His expression morphs into pure joy as he grazes his fingers over my face. "Damn straight, he does. Forever and always."
Seeing how he's looking at me now - how he's always looked at me - I can't believe I ever doubted him. He said his heart is too small to hold all of his love, but that's not right. His heart is so big, it also takes up space in my chest. In moments like this when he stares at me in wonder and his eyes sparkle and burn, I can feel his heart inside me, pressing against mine in perfect synchronicity.
He's right. First love. Last love. And every love in between. That's what we are to each other. Now and forever.
FIVE
Ethan
When Cassie and I can finally breathe again, we fix ourselves up and head back down to my family. Cassie had to do a quick repair job on her hair and makeup to cover most of the damage, but apart from a very faint hickey on my neck, you'd never know we'd just had hot animal sex on my twelve-year-old duvet.
Note to self: spill something on that duvet before you leave tonight, so Mom is forced to wash it.
Apart from the great sex, I'm relieved we finally resolved the Vanessa issue. Now Cassie knows exactly where she stands as far as my heart is concerned, and I aim to never let her forget it.
"Perfect timing," Dad says, as he lays out fresh plates for dessert. "Your mother was about to send out a search party."
"Did you find the pictures of you and Liam in Romeo and Juliet?" Josh asks, and I swear I see him exchange a look with Elissa.
"Uh, no, actually. I thought they were in my bottom drawer, but I must have moved them when I collected my journals."
"Oh, sure," Elissa says with a knowing smile. "That makes sense."
Josh winks at Cassie. "Oh, well. If you still want to check out pics from that production, Elissa has a whole set at our place. Quinn was shirtless for most of the show, so naturally she has several copies, all stashed in different locations in case she needs some 'alone time'."
Elissa elbows Josh. "If you want to live to see the New Year, Kane, I suggest you stop talking. Now."
We all take our seats again, and Mom appears with platters of decadent desserts. My mouth waters. Mom wasn't wrong when she said dessert was my favorite meal. If it has chocolate or cream or custard, my mouth is all over it.
Immediately my brain screams that I've never tried food play with Cassie. Jesus. Need to rectify that ASAP.
After twenty minutes of eating our own weight in sugar, Dad stands and holds up his glass. "To my darling Maggie, for always making Christmas special. I don't know what we'd do without you."
"To Maggie!" we all toast. I lean over and kiss Mom's cheek. "Great dinner, Mom. Thank you."
She touches my cheek and smiles. "Any time, sweetheart. You know that."
We all adjourn into the living room where Tribble is on her bed, snoring loudly after eating a mountain of leftover turkey. Beside her, taking pride of place in the room is the giant tree Dad searched half of New York to find. Clearly for him, size does matter. Mom has decorated it beautifully with hundreds of designer decorations and tiny blinking lights.
“Okay,” Dad says, rubbing his hands together. “Who’s going first?”
Every year the Holt family does this whole thing where we open each present, one at a time. In between are stories and jokes, and Dad clicks away with his camera so we have fifteen thousand photos to commemorate the event.
This year, Josh is part of the fun. Elissa gives him a new pair of Captain Kirk pajamas. He's so happy, I think I see a tear.
Dad presents Mom with what looks like an incredibly expensive set of chef’s knives. She cradles them to her chest as if they were a precious newborn baby.
I give Dad the usual, which is his favorite brand of single malt whiskey. He gives me a one-armed man-hug before presenting me with Sir Lawrence Olivier's biography. Yet another example of how far he's come. In past years, a subscription to a medical journal would have been common.
Cassie and I present Mom with a watch from Tiffany. It's the kind of luxury she'd never buy for herself but something she absolutely deserves. Mom cries as she hugs us.
When all the other presents are given out, only Cassie and I are left to exchange gifts.
I hand her a sparkly gift bag filled with tissue paper. It's my version of wrapping. Years ago I tried to wrap my beloved copy of The Outsiders after getting the author to personalize it for Cassie's 21st birthday. Although she adored the gift, Cassie mocked my pathetic wrapping skills for months afterward.
She takes the bag from me and hands me a neatly wrapped rectangle. I hold it up excitedly. "Wow, a pony? You shouldn't have."
She pushes me in the chest and smiles. "You're hilarious. Open it, wise guy."
I tear off the paper, and when I register what I'm holding, my chest tightens.
"Seriously?” I ask. “This is your gift? Have you been snooping? Or is this another joke?"
Cassie frowns. "No. Why would you think that?"
I point to her gift bag and smile. "Look inside."
She pushes through the layers of tissue paper until she pulls out the book I bought her. It's exactly the same one I'm holding.
"I bought it months ago," I say, as she stares at it in disbelief. "I couldn't think of a more perfect present for you."
A delighted smile spreads across her face before she glances over at the book's twin in my hands. "Great minds think alike."
If I ever wanted concrete proof we're soul mates, I just got it. I've never been one for religion, or even spirituality, but with Cassie I have no doubt we've known each other before this life. I'm also certain we'll know each other after it. In a hundred different lifetimes, I'll always find her. She's my other half. My better half.
How the hell did I get so lucky?
"There's an inscription," she says shyly, like she's embarrassed for me to read it in front of everyone.
I open the book to the title page and silently read the message in her familiar handwriting:
To my darling Ethan,
I wanted to get you something special for our first Christmas together, so here it is. The reason I chose this book was because no matter what life throws at us, you'll always be my Romeo. Despite your distaste for the character, if it wasn't for this play, and yes, your despised namesake, we might not be where we are now.
After all, he facilitated our first kiss, my first O (in front of Erika, of all people. I still can't believe we did that!), as well as countless Shakespearean declarations of love that allowed us both to uncover our true feelings.
Back then, Romeo held me tenderly when you pushed me away, and he showed me the heart of the man you were beneath all your high walls and prickly armor.
You always thought you were a bad Romeo, but in my mind, you were perfect. I fell in love with you so many times during that show, and these days I fall in love with you more every day. So if that's your version of a bad Romeo, I'll take it. Even with everything we've been through, I'd do it all over again just to be where we are now.
I know a lot of people spend their whole lives looking for their 'happily ever after', but not me. Having a happy ending would imply our tale is over, and I know that's not true. Our epic love story will fill volumes before it's done. It will spill from bookshelves, take over rooms, and burst from more libraries than we can count. And every book, every page, and every word will tell of my boundless love for you.
Thank you for being my (bad) Romeo.
With all my love,
Your grateful (if slightly broken) Juliet
I swallow hard. She's never written anything like that for me before. Her word
s make my heart do that thing where it grows so full, it presses painfully against my ribs and beats double time. I look up to find her staring at me.
"Do you like it?"
I wrap my arm around her waist and kiss her. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
She strokes my cheek. "I'm really not, but I'm glad you think so."
"I love you, Cassie."
"Not as much as I love you."
Despite Josh and Elissa making gagging noises in the background, and my mother sniffling quietly as Dad pats her shoulder, I kiss Cassie again, softly and slowly, like she's a dream from which I never want to wake.
In reality, that's what it's like to be in love with Cassie Taylor. I'm living out all of my fantasies with the woman of my dreams.
I couldn't ask for anything more.
When we get home, I spend a couple of hours showing Cassie exactly what she means to me, and then we lie in bed, naked and weary as we flick through one of our new books.
Cassie looks up at me and sighs. "Do you think that if we hadn't been cast as Romeo and Juliet, we never would have gotten together?"
Her head is on my shoulder, her body pressed against the length of mine. As we speak, she absently traces the outline of the love heart on the book's cover.
I stroke her arm. "I don't know. I'd like to think fate would have forced us together some other way, but I guess we'll never know. One of the reasons I was so pissed about being Romeo was because I knew that as soon as I played a love scene with you, I'd be a goner. Up until that point, I'd fooled myself into thinking I could deny my feelings indefinitely. But after that first kiss backstage in the theater?" I shake my head. "Done. Ruined. Completely blind to every other woman on the planet, forever."
Cassie smiles. "Did it ever occur to you that Erika knew exactly what she was doing when she cast us together?"
I let out a short laugh. "All the time. That woman constantly manipulated us into being intimate, so we'd have to face our connection. Which reminds me, I'm due to send her my annual ‘thank you’ gift basket. It's the least I can do."
Cassie traces my lips with her forefinger. "If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this: My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss."
As she recites Romeo’s lines, she gazes at me like I have the power to make the world turn. I'll never get tired of her looking at me like that. Ever.
I lean down and taste her lips. She kisses me back, warm and eager, and it's not long before I pull back, dizzy and intoxicated. As much as I'd like to make love to her again, it's almost sunrise, and we silently agree that a few hours of sleep are preferable to no sleep at all.
When she snuggles into my chest, I put my arm around her and stroke her side. After a few minutes, her breathing evens out and her body goes limp.
I look down at her sleeping like an angel in my arms and smile.
"My bounty," I whisper, "is as boundless as the sea. My love as deep. The more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite."
And with that, I kiss her forehead and drift off to sleep. As usual, I dream only of my sweet, astonishing Juliet.
Part Two: The Naughty List
ONE
You'd Better Watch Out
November 26th, Present Day
Kodak Theater
Los Angeles, California
If there were an award for dealing with gross incompetence without murdering someone, I should be winning it right now. I'm not usually a violent person, but the epic fuck-uppery with which I'm currently dealing isn't normal.
"Miss Holt!" I turn to see Ainsly, our harried production assistant, scurrying toward me. "There's a car blocking the loading dock, and the florist is trying to deliver a whole truckload of arrangements for the red carpet."
"Put a call over the loud speaker. If the car isn't gone in five minutes, have it towed."
"Got it."
"And why isn't this stage cleared? We have to start rehearsals in an hour."
"Oh, well ... I did tell the mechs they need to hurry."
"And?"
"They ... uh ... well, they laughed at me."
Of course they did. She's pretty, blonde, and polite. The macho pinheads who run the rigging clearly need a petite blonde bitch to sort them out.
"Okay, Ainsly. I'll handle it. Where's James?"
"Not sure. I saw him talking to the publicist about red carpet arrivals about an hour ago but haven't seen him since."
James is the new assistant stage manager I hired when my best friend abandoned me, and although he talks a good game, I've barely seen him all morning. I have no idea what he's doing, but I'm damn sure he's doing it half as efficiently as Josh would have.
"Fine," I say, as I make a mental note to add James to the list of people I want to assault. "Get those dressing rooms finished, okay? Can't have the biggest A-list celebrities in Hollywood dealing with dirt and grime like normal people."
"Yes, Miss Holt."
I sigh and rub my eyes as she disappears into the throng of people bustling around backstage.
Tonight is the inaugural celebrity benefit concert for Liam's dyslexia charity, The James Quinn Foundation, and not only is Liam overseas filming in Mongolia of all places, I'm having to cope with a super tight production schedule in an unfamiliar theater without my right-hand man. I haven't had to deal with this kind of pressure without Josh for so long, I'd forgotten how much I hate it.
I shoot off a quick text.
Then another.
After a few seconds, my phone vibrates with a response.
I roll my eyes. Sure. Like that's easy to do. I've spent my whole career in New York, building relationships and training crews. Here in L.A. I'm just some bossy blonde chick from Broadway.
I tap out another text.
My phone buzzes.
Even though Josh has been living with Angel in L.A. for a while now, he recently chose to go on location with her for a few months so they could pat koalas or whatever when Angel’s not filming. Talk about selfish. Just when I need him the most.
I stride across the stage, careful to avoid half-constructed set pieces and low-hanging lighting bars as I approach the group of burly men chatting and laughing near the fly ropes.
"Gentlemen, I need this stage cleared in five minutes."
The largest of the men gives me a cursory nod. "Yeah, yeah, sweetheart. Keep your panties on."
I stop dead. Oh, no he didn't.
"What did you just say to me?"
He turns and gives me a more thorough assessment, and this time his gaze lingers on my boobs long enough for me to imagine flaying him alive before burning his carcass.
"I said, we'll get to it when we get to it." He sneers. "Now run along and yap at someone else, short stuff."
I plaster on my sweetest smile to hide the hot anger crawling up my neck. "Oh, I see. Sorry to have bothered you. By the way, what's your name, big guy?"
His demeanor changes to one of outright lechery. "It's Tom, babe. As in Tom Cat." He links his thumbs through his belt loops in a way that screams, ME MAN. HAVE PENIS. WOMAN BE IMPRESSED NOW.
I laugh. "Well, that's just perfect." I beckon him closer and lower my voice. "So, let me tell you how this is going to go, Tom Cat. You're going to apologize to me for being a nauseating chauvinist douche, right before you get your crew to clear this stage. Then, you'll set those lighting bars in record time, because if you don't, not only are you going to be fired and blacklisted by every single theatrical pr
oducer I know, and believe me, I know a lot, I'm also going to tear off your puny, shriveled balls and use them as the centerpiece in the finale. Are you feeling me, sport?"
Tom's eyes glaze over in anger, and I have a strong feeling this guy has definite erectile issues. "Now, you listen here, missy—"
"No, Tom, you shut your Neanderthal mouth and listen to me. As far as you're concerned, this theater is the Sacred Church of the Kickass Bitch, and I am your Goddess, so you have three seconds to do exactly as you're told or face my unholy wrath. It's your choice."
He gives me a final glare before turning back to his men. "Fuck you, lady."
"Suit yourself."
I grab my walkie-talkie and give a quick order to security before walking over and addressing his men.
"Okay, gents, here's the deal. Tom is about to be thrown out of the theater in a most ungracious fashion for being a disgusting, disrespectful stain on society. So if you want to avoid joining him, here are my rules: you do what you're told, when I tell you to do it. If you don't, you're fired. If you call me anything other than 'Miss Holt', you're fired. If you behave like anything other than complete gentlemen from here on out, you're well and truly goddamn fired. Are we clear?"
Tom makes a scoffing sound and gives me a condescending look. "They're my guys, sweetcheeks. If you get rid of me, they'll follow. Have no doubt."
I look at the men calmly. "If that's the case, no problem. You're all welcome to join Tom in the unemployment line. I'll have a new crew here within the hour. The decision is yours."
Without another word, the men scurry away to do what's been asked of them.
I look at Tom in smug triumph. "Oh, wow, Tom Cat. Your men decided to work without you. It's a Christmas miracle! Thanks for playing. Better luck next time. Now, get the hell out of my theater."
He takes a threatening step toward me, and I immediately judge the distance from my closed fist to his crotch, while calculating how much force I'd need to drop him to his knees. Looks like all of those self-defense lessons Liam gave me before he left are finally going to pay off.