“—I don’t like anyone but you. Does that make it easier? Will it make it sooner?”
She laughs and makes a face. “No. Best I can do—and it’s a limited time offer, not subject to negotiation—Sunday in Santa Barbara at Jack’s. Then we can leave Jack the kids and slip away. How about Sunday? You in?”
* * *
You in? Her voice floats through my memory and I laugh. Yep, I’m all in, Chrissie. I wasn’t sure I would be, but I am. And the last two months have been the best months of my life, baby.
Now where the hell are you?
I hear talking from the closet. She’s on the phone. Damn, she’s dressing.
I turn onto my side, reclined on a hip with my cheek in my palm, facing the doorway. I hear the sound of hangers against the bar. She’s shoving outfits aside. She hasn’t dressed yet. I’m not out of the game yet. I can get her back into bed.
She rushes into the bedroom. Ah, my wife—my sexy, beautiful wife, wearing only panties and bra, her outfit for the day still on hangers in her hands.
I’m definitely still in the game.
She drops her clothes onto the chair in front of the full wall mirror, tosses her cell onto a table and then hurries across the room to me.
“How long have you been awake?” she asks, placing a fast kiss on my lips and then moving out of reach back in front of the dressing mirror.
I lock eyes with her in the glass. “Not long. Why didn’t you wake me earlier? We had a deal. You’re mine first thing every morning before you start your day. It doesn’t even look like you’re going to have coffee with me today.”
She laughs and reaches for a blouse. “Wasn’t going to happen so I let you sleep. You got in late from New York last night. I started my period last night. Wasn’t going to happen this morning.”
“I don’t care if you’re on your period. You know that. Baby, it’s been four days since we’ve been together.”
She makes a face. “You should care if I get my period, Alan. Because of my age, my best health option is getting my tubes tied. Why don’t you just get snipped? It’s easier for you to get cut. Until you do that, you better care a lot every time I get my period.”
I rake a hand through my hair as I shake my head. “Very funny. Don’t even joke about that.”
She laughs.
I stare at her. “Come to bed, Chrissie. I feel cheated. I’m on the road in ten days. I don’t want to waste a single morning I have with you before I leave.”
She stops what she’s doing. She runs her teeth over her lower lip several times as she studies me. Hmm, she’s thinking about it. It’s going to be a miserable four months without her now that I know again the pleasure of always being with her.
“Come back to bed, baby,” I whisper, my voice raspy and low in that way that usually gets me my way with her.
She exhales loudly. “I can’t. My moderately overloaded day just turned into major overload and shitstorm.”
She sounds upset. No point in pushing. It’s not going to happen. I pour a cup of coffee and wait for her to explain what the hell has happened now.
I sip my coffee and watch her dress. I wish I could have a smoke without going out onto the patio. That’s not going to happen either. Other than learning to fuck on a schedule and smoking outside it’s been a hassle-free transition: my living here, the kids, and us being married.
Chrissie wanted to move slowly for the kids, but somehow we ended up marrying three weeks after I landed in California. And her worry over this change proved unnecessary. The kids didn’t think anything about it. They were all pretty cool with it when we told them we were getting married, and it’s working out well, surprisingly well.
Krystal is practically my shadow.
The boys are oblivious to everything.
I get to spend most of the day with Khloe.
That’s amazing.
I’m with Chrissie fulltime.
That’s beyond amazing.
Yep, other than Kaley, no complaints here.
I take another swallow of coffee and study Chrissie. Yep, I know that expression. Either it’s more nightmarish tabloid press or Kaley’s done something again.
I set down my cup. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”
She reaches for her belt. “I’m supposed to be in the studio all day with Strike at One while they record my new song. But I got a call this morning from Kaley’s school. They want me in there in forty minutes to talk to the Dean and her counselor.”
I shrug. “Maybe it’s nothing.”
She shoves her feet into her shoes and comes to the bed. “No, Alan. It’s not nothing. They don’t call you in on the first day of Spring Break, school administrators don’t work when they are on break, unless it’s something pretty bad.”
Oh fuck. The kids are out of school for two weeks. And shoot, Chrissie’s right, this issue with Kaley is going to be unpleasant.
I make a sympathetic downward curl of my lips. “You don’t know for sure that something is wrong, Chrissie. Don’t get upset until there is a reason to.”
She nods. She lays her forehead against mine.
“Who would have thought you’d work out to be such a good team player?” she whispers. “And you are absolutely terrific with Khloe. She likes you more than she likes me.”
I laugh and pull her into my arms. I lift her hair and start kissing her along the neck, then run my tongue lightly against her ear. When she starts moving into my kisses, I take her hand, guide it beneath the sheets and press it to my erection. “Why don’t you be a team player and come back to bed, Chrissie?”
She laughs, jerks back her hand, and shoves me away. “God, you’re impossible. You’d think I’d learn it’s never safe to get near you when you’re being sweet.”
I fall back on the bed, smiling. “What can I say? I love my wife. I’m horny as hell today. Didn’t get you last night. Didn’t get you this morning. Chrissie, stay.”
Her lush blue eyes soften and fix on me. “I love you, too. I’d like to come back to bed. I’d like to hide under the covers with you today. But I can’t. So I’m leaving.”
I watch her grab her cell phone and her purse. “Call me once you know what’s going on with Kaley?”
A flash of surprise in her eyes—why does it still surprise her that I care and want to be involved? I’ve always cared about these kids. And anything to do with her is everything to me.
Quickly the surprise is tucked behind a smile. “I will.”
She turns the lock and then closes the door behind her. I sigh and stare at the empty room.
I finish my coffee, read the Wall Street Journal online, contemplate having a Kevin Spacey shower, and check my email instead. Tour itinerary. I forward that to Chrissie. PR email. Fuck, not doing any extra press appearances. That’s a no. Kenny. Emailing instead of texting. Interesting. Directions to a new studio location. Wants me there today. No, not hanging out with him. Listening to him ramble about his marriage is less appealing than a day alone in the house with five kids. What the fuck is Brian sending me now? One line message: You need to start responding to some of these. Oh crud, more online tabloid links.
I click on one. Interesting. Just pictures of the wedding. Nothing new. Fuck you, Brian, no comment. How did so many reporters get tipped off about the day we got married? We were so careful. We told no one. Jack called the people we wanted there. Invited them to Santa Barbara for the day. No explanation. If they showed they showed. If they didn’t they didn’t, and Chrissie and I couldn’t have cared less.
It would have been perfect if not for the clusterfuck of paparazzi on all sides of us and even in the air. I was so worried Chrissie would step outside, see the nightmare of press and melt down. But no, my girl rolled with everything that day. Refused to move the ceremony indoors. She wanted to get married on the cliffs above the beach as planned. And how beautiful she was. No. It was a perfect wedding anyway…
* * *