thirty-six
I sing, I write, I record. I go on stage, I come back down and crash. Rinse, repeat. October turns to November. My phone stays quiet.
The Christmas break is looming over me like this huge dark void that will swallow me whole, but at least, between the tour and recording my new album, I have very little time to think about it. Skye and my publicist want to set up a meeting with the label about releasing the new album in the beginning of the new year. February, at the latest.
They want to ‘strike while the iron is hot’, whatever that means.
“The iron has been hot for years,” Jude tells Skye cheekily, “as far as Isaiah is concerned. I don’t think it’s going to cool down anytime soon.”
Skye agrees, and yet. These people are pushing him, I know. I am, after all, nothing more than a product to them, aren’t I? A fist clenches around my heart, tighter and tighter.
On the first day of December, I have trouble getting out of bed in the morning. As if to save me, my phone rings. I answer without looking at the number, which I wouldn’t normally do. But today, I am sinking into my private pit of despair—to put it mildly—and nothing matters to me.
“Hello, Isaiah.”
I sit up. It’s Eden’s dad.
“I know you probably have better things to do than to come to Chicago during the holidays,” he says, talking fast, the way people do when they are scared of wasting my time. Of course, where Walter is concerned, nothing could be further from the truth. “But I would like to invite you to my home for Christmas, if you don’t have—”
“I’d be honored, sir,” I interrupt him.
He chuckles. “Faith said you would say yes right away. That girl is underrated, as you young folks say. And my name is Walter, not ‘sir’.”
“Yes, sir,” I say stupidly .
He sighs. “Once more, my Faith was right.”
She probably told him I’m an idiot. She is, indeed, right.
“A little heads up, son,” Walter says. He always calls me that, and always my throat clogs up. I haven’t been called ‘son’ in years. I haven’t heard that word from my dad or my grandpa in so long, it’s almost unbearable. I love it. “We are inviting all of Hollywood’s elite to this house. Apparently, Eden has two girlfriends: one is your little singer friend,” he means Lou, “and the other is dating the biggest actor on the planet. Do you know who I’m taking about?”
“I think it’s Ariadne Demos,” I say. Of course it’s Ari. Which means Wes will be there.
I smile so widely my cheeks hurt. It looks like they have invited everyone apart from Asteria’s new queen to their house. Well, one can only hope they haven’t.
“That’s the one,” Walter agrees. “Manuela gave me very strict lessons about everyone’s names, but I have forgotten them already, I’m afraid. Don’t tell her—that girl scares me.”
“Me too,” I almost add ‘sir’, but change it to ‘Walter’ at the last minute. “I know who they are, yes. Is Weston Spencer coming too?”
“Is that Mr. Darcy you’re talking about?” Walter asks and I groan inwardly. The man is an English Lit professor; of course he’d know this about Wes. Freaking Wes.
“The very same,” I reply.
“Then yes. And that billionaire boy with the sad eyes who keeps getting photographed with his underwear.”
“Theo?” I ask, nearly falling off my chair. “Theodore Vanderau is coming to your house for Christmas?”
I can’t believe this. The dude never answers his phone, never mind accepting social invitations to house parties. Where there will be people . It’s unheard of.
“He is, God help us all,” Walter replies, sounding freaked out, but not as freaked out as I am, I bet. He doesn’t know any better. “He is one of Eden’s closest friends, as far as I can tell. I met him in New York a few years ago. He kept looking at my girl as if she were a lifebuoy. I just wanted to hug him.”
“If anyone needs saving, it’s him,” I say. “I’m glad he’ll be there. If he ends up coming, after all.” Theo has a reputation for saying yes to things and then dipping or pulling a no-show.
Walter is silent for a beat on the other end of the line. Finally, he just says:
“Don’t we all need saving?”
And I’m robbed of speech.
…
I have not written any Christmas songs, and I’ve said to Jude I never will. Now I understand why.
How could I, when I had never been to this house for Christmas?
How could I, when I had never experienced this ?
The road in front of Walter’s house is white; a light snowfall has already started. My security vehicles trudge black lines as they circle the block. All three of the Elliot apartments are a few blocks apart, and I have assigned teams to each of them, just to be on the safe side.
As we approach them, I compare the different decoration styles.
Walter’s house is pure class. It looks beautiful and festive, decked with lights lining the windows and a simple bow on the front door. But a block over, outside the building with Manuela and Faith’s apartments, it looks like Christmas has exploded. The lawn is an extravaganza of golden, blue, and green inflatable decorations and light installations. I smile, imagining Faith, Justin, and their tiny son, Noah, running around decorating this place as if it’s Times freaking Square, and Manuela shaking her head at them. I’m pretty sure she gave her men free rein, and that’s what resulted in this monstrosity; I’m pretty sure she won’t want to talk about it.
So I’m definitely going to want to talk about it—in detail.
A rush of emotion washes over me as I realize that these people were complete strangers to me only a few months ago, and now I can picture their facial expressions just by driving up to their houses. It’s making me lightheaded.
My car stops and assistants flutter around me, carrying my massive luggage. I am bringing at least three guitars, my violin and about a thousand presents—most of which are books for Eden. I don’t care if I’ve gone over the top.
I haven’t had Christmas with my family—or any family—in over six years, and I can’t help myself: I’m so excited I can barely stand it. The snow keeps falling, a thin layer of ice already coating my car’s window. The Elliots’ mailbox is piled with snow, which tells me it’s been snowing all week. The tree branches overhead are painted white, and the grates are billowing with smoke on the pavement. I look up at Eden’s window, and my eyes mist .
This is not a house; it’s a home. Through a flutter in the curtains I can see the fairy lights lining her bookshelves. Downstairs, it looks like there’s an orange glow in the fireplace and a small Christmas tree that looks like it’s been decorated by a two-year old. I bet it has been. The familiar ache in my heart knocks the wind out of me for a second. I want this . My gloved hand rests on the door bell before I press the button.
Eden opens the door.
“Hey,” she says breathlessly, her face lighting up with a huge smile. She’s wearing no shoes, only socks—again—and one of her huge sweaters that reaches mid-thigh. Black leggings. I don’t dare look down. Her hair is piled on top of her head, little tendrils falling over her ears and eyes. She has tinsel wrapped around her wrists, as if she’s in the middle of decorating. “Isaiah, you’re here!”
“Stop calling me Isaiah,” I murmur, and the bag I’m holding drops onto the icy steps with a thud. I don’t even notice.
I close the distance between us in two strides, and I lower my head to hers. The tinsel falls from her fingers as I pull her to me, my arms going around her waist and her neck. She freezes for a split second, but then her hands are up in my hair, pushing my head down to her lips frantically. Next thing I know, she is panting almost as hard as I am, opening her mouth to taste me. I explore her mouth hungrily, and then…
Sensation erupts inside me with so much force, my breath is knocked out. I moan. She is doing this thing with her tongue that makes my knees buckle.
I brace a hand on the wall behind her and press her into me until my chest becomes hollow, my body melted to hers. As I sink into her, a sigh escapes me, guttural and hoarse. The physical relief of being this close to her, of tasting her, of kissing her, is so great, that the sigh turns into a shuddering sob. Into her mouth.
I sway against her, and she catches me around the waist before I can fall.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, concern thick in her voice.
“Nothing, baby,” I murmur, in a daze, “it’s just… I’m starving.”
“Then you’ve come to the right place. We have been cooking all morning.”
“No,” I close my eyes, try to take a normal breath. Fail. “Not that kind of starving. Starving for you. I have been surviving on our old kisses for years, Eden, but they are only memories. They can’t compare to the real thing. ”
“I have been starving too,” she says. I tuck her hair behind her ears and run my hand down the smooth line of her cheek. I tip her head up to kiss her again.
“You have?” I murmur over her lips.
“Of course,” she replies. “But I thought you wouldn’t be. I mean, I thought you would have found someone… Or many girls…”
My hand drops abruptly.
“You thought wrong,” I say acidly.
“So many girls throw themselves at you daily,” she says, her voice quiet in disbelief.
“I want you,” I reply.
“You don’t.” I think I am slowly losing my mind. “Isaiah… It’s ugly, what’s going on with me.”
I pull her into my arm and press my lips to her temple, crushing her body against mine.
“I know, Eden. I know. But I know ugly too, remember? I have survived ugly. Don’t… Don’t talk to me about ugly as if I can’t handle it.”
“I just thought…”
“I can’t look at another girl when you exist in the world,” I tell her, my lips tight.
“I told you not to wait for me.”
“I know. I am not waiting for you.”
“Then why are you starving?”
“Because you are the only one that I want.”
Eden turns her head away, eyes damp with tears.
‘Her eyes luminous with sorrow’ , my mind thinks. A new lyric.
No, stop it.
My stupid brain, writing stupid songs about her without my permission. I can’t seem to stop it. Just then, Pooh comes barreling out, his little body a blur, and jumps on my knees. Thank goodness.
“Who’s a good boy?” I bend down to murmur into his ear and he licks me all over. He’s so small, he must be freezing already, so I pick him up and walk into the house.
Walter and Faith look so happy to see me, their genuine smiles stretching from ear to ear. It’s two days until Christmas. I am the first to arrive—as I should be. With all of us here, the whole neighborhood is a security nightmare. A single photo of any one of us, a single pin posted on Instagram, and our location could end up in the tabloids within a split second. And then the vultures would descend .
But that’s not going to happen, because my security team has been in contact with Spencer’s team, as well as Theo’s team—which is more massive than either Wes’ or mine—and everything is taken care of. This place might as well be the Pentagon.
Everything is going to be ok as long as you don’t freak out.
But I’m already freaking out. I might need to hold on to Pooh, because it’s easier to breathe when he is panting quietly on my lap, tongue sticking out as he gapes at the Christmas lights. He must sense that every time he tries to move away from me, panic overwhelms me, because he rushes back to lick my face with enthusiasm.
I absentmindedly scratch his ears. I came here with no expectations, and at the same time with all of the expectations; I can’t help myself.
‘I told you not to wait for me.’ Eden’s words slice me open like a knife.
My head is a little clearer now, and I can’t think of anything else but those words.
Breathe.
The bell rings and Eden squeals. I hear Ari’s voice greeting her, and Spencer’ deep baritone following close behind. They’re here.
“Is Zay in the house?” Wes shouts for my benefit—I texted him I was here an hour ago—and I plaster a fake smile on my face, standing up.
It’s starting. No expectations, my ass.
…
Manuela and her family come over a bit later, Justin carrying his overexcited son in his arms. Then Theo and Lou arrive within a couple of hours of each other. Pooh goes absolutely insane upon smelling Lou, and she, for once, showers him with affection. After she is done playing with him, he goes to curl against Eden’s stomach, and I see the relief in Eden’s eyes, as if she has missed him in the past five minutes.
If one good thing came out of Eden’s time on my tour, it’s that she and Pooh found each other. That little creature might be a menace, but he is the best medicine anyone could have ever prescribed her. Lou and I exchange a glance. I wink at her. Thank you.
Lou sticks out her tongue at me in reply .
I don’t expect us to make it out of the house, but somehow, we do. We spend most of the day outside, actually, and no one bothers us. We do all sorts of normal things, like skate in the ice rink. Eden can’t—her heart has been acting up. I keep her company as we watch the others, my own heart hammering in my chest, but I try not to show it.
We go shopping, or our version of it: sneaking around under hats and glasses, surrounded by security guards. But everyone has fun. We go out to dinner, we go to a club.
In the small hours of the morning, everyone returns to their hotel rooms, but I have been invited to stay at the Elliot house—and I am not turning that invitation down. After dropping a slightly but not completely—not under my watch—intoxicated Faith off at her house, Eden and I sneak in, only to find Walter reading by the fire.
“Dad, don’t tell me you’ve been up waiting for us!” Eden exclaims.
My heart flutters. It will never get old, hearing her call him ‘Dad’.
“Of course I did, Paradise,” Walter stands up, hiding a yawn, and opens his arms to her. If he does the same to me, I swear I will lose it. “Did you have a nice time?”
“Very nice,” Eden drawls and Walter lifts an eyebrow at me.
He doesn’t say anything. I guess he trusts his daughter. I hope he trusts me too, but I wouldn’t put money on it.
“We each had one drink,” I say, “After dinner.” Eden is swaying against her dad’s chest dreamily, her eyes closed as she is still holding on to him. “Some of us can actually hold our extremely small amount of liquor,” I add.
I freeze.
I want to kick myself. I’m such an idiot. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s not one of my mates, to tease about her alcohol tolerance—she’s barely had any before.
But her sisters and I did make a pact to try and cry less. And what is the best way not to cry? To laugh instead. Although, was that funny? Or was it too close to the trauma of a girl who didn’t have access to a club, or, indeed, any friends to sneak her in there, until a few years ago?
Who wasn’t even twenty-one until barely a month ago?
Eden’s eyes widen, and she suddenly looks more awake than before. Then she starts laughing, her face still a mask of shock. Walter chuckles quietly behind her .
“Did you just crack a joke about me not knowing how to be drunk ?” Eden flicks my arm with her hand. “Literally two months after me turning twenty-one?”
I glance at Walter. He is still smiling, but when his eyes meet mine, I find something in them that I apparently was looking for: Approval.
“That’s what you get,” I shrug at Eden, “when you hang out with A-listers.”
“Not to mention Mr. Darcy,” Walter agrees.
“Mr. Dar—Weston Spencer,” Eden corrects herself, looking disgusted at what she almost called Spencer, “did not touch a drop of alcohol tonight. Neither did Ari. And I remember that your brother doesn’t drink at all, either, Isaiah.” She flicks my arm again. “I see why now!”
I arrest her finger midair and close my fingers around her wrist. My laughter is cut short. My breath catches as our skins meet. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe. Was this room always so small? My cheeks grow warm, the blood rushing to my neck and face.
“Shower,” Walter says quietly, “then bed.”
He presses Eden close to him and kisses her cheek. Then he gives me The Look TM and heads upstairs. I do not dare disobey him. I don’t even look at Eden on my way to the guest room. Gosh, this is going to be a long night. Or, well, early morning.
I take the longest cold shower anyone has ever taken in this house or, indeed, the planet, and I am still not ready to step outside and spend the next five hours in a quiet house with Eden two steps away, sleeping in her bed, possibly wearing nothing but a—
Nope. Another shower it is.
I get back in and turn on the icy water at full blast. I tilt my face towards it, nearly drowning myself in the process. Even that doesn’t help. I can’t stop thinking about her.
Suddenly, the pressure drops, and I realize that maybe Eden is trying to shower too, and I’ve been hogging all the water. The cold water, but still. I turn it off, rendering all my work here useless, since I am now thinking about Eden in the shower— great job, Isaiah! —and towel myself off.
I am still trying to control my thoughts as I stumble out into the semi-dark hallway, my towel wrapped around my waist, and collide into a piece of furniture.
“Ow!” it says.
Wait, it’s not a piece of—
“Eden!” I whimper, as she turns on the light .
She is barefoot, in cute Christmas pajamas, her hair wet. My hand goes to my towel, and so do her eyes. She blushes furiously; my head goes down.
“I’m sorry, I thought you were upstairs,” I say. “Did you, did—” Nope. Can’t talk.
“I was coming to ask if you—” She can’t either. The tips of her ears are redder than the Christmas lights blinking in the next room.
“Sorry,” I whisper again. I sound out of breath.
I grab the wall behind me, my knees going weak on me. I try to be subtle about it. I’m not.
“Your h-hair is dripping,” I say. Why is my mouth so dry? Wait, what did I just say?
She gathers her hair in one hand. It looks heavy and dark. It’s starting to curl. I think I am starting to lose my mind.
“You aren’t wearing a shirt,” she replies. Her eyes are so wide.
There is more stuff that I am not wearing, but I’m afraid she will swoon on me if I tell her that. Or I will swoon.
“Trying to get your attention,” I reply instead. It sounds like I’m choking, and I hide it with a cough.
I try to smile, make light of the situation. It’s not light. She is terrified.
As am I.
“My att… what?”
“You have mine,” I whisper, my head lowering over hers. No. No. This cannot happen right now. I won’t be able to stop. “Always. You have my attention even when you aren’t in the room.”
“You…” she says, licking her lips, lifting her chin. Don’t lick your lips. Have mercy on me. “You have my attention too.”
She is rooted to the spot. My head keeps lowering over hers. A droplet from a wet lock of dark hair on my forehead falls on her cheek and she swallows, hard, not taking her eyes off mine. Her eyelids flutter. Her breath is coming short and heavy. I am utterly still, like a statue. This is it. The point of no return. I lift my hand.
And make it into a fist so tight my fingers go white.
I turn on my heel and run out of the hallway. It’s all a blur after that, but I think I run to the front door, but even that is not far away enough. I have to physically stop myself from going back and finishing what I didn’t start. I open the door and hear a frantic scuffle behind me, as Ren, my guard who is staying in the house with us, gets up off the couch to run after me, but I can’t wait.
I’m not sure, but I think I step out into the street half-naked, with only a towel wrapped around my lower body, snow crunching under my bare feet. Even the cold isn’t enough to stop the white-hot electricity coursing through me. I am burning.
Somehow, I find myself outside Faith and Manuela’s building, blindly pressing the buttons, praying that I don’t get the wrong sister.
“Yeah?” Faith’s half-asleep voice greets me.
“It’s Isaiah,” I say in a drowned voice. “Help.”