Fire in an Amber Sky

by Addison Moore

  Macy and I pull into the circular driveway, and I watch as her apple green eyes enlarge at the sight of my parents’ impressive estate.

  We head into the limestone entry with its twenty-foot ceilings, the sprawling marble floor that bleeds out to a double wrought iron staircase. An egregiously large painting of my parents sits on either side. My mother on the left, and my father on the right. They look ready to brawl, divided. But as is par for the course, they each demand their own level of attention. Having their ten-foot effigies displayed at the entry is nothing short of what’s required to maintain their level of megalomaniac insanity. Daphne and Hans Lionheart wouldn’t have it any other way.

  “This is amazing,” Macy whispers as my mother’s heels click-clack from a mile away. “I must see your old room,” she buzzes with excitement. “I bet you have an entire wall lined with old Baywatch posters.”

  “Think again.” I sniff. “Those posters were relegated to boarding school. I spent summers shipped off to camp. I was just a visitor here. My room consists of a bed and a dresser.” It’s true. I couldn’t wait for school to start again in the fall. Boarding school was at the Sea Ridge Academy, not more than fifteen miles from where we’re standing, but nevertheless, I only saw my parents as much as my friends whose families lived in Europe. But I had family at school. I had Jackie. I twist my head, trying to push her out of my thoughts. For so long, she had vacated the premises, and then, bam, one mention and she’s right back to haunting me. Sorry, Jackie, not today, not with the sins I’m about to commit with this gorgeous girl by my side. My entire body wrings with grief at the thought.

  Mom comes over, holding out her hands. “Everyone is already here.” Her pale hair is swept back into a neat bun. Her stylish, and presumably designer black dress has a slit running all the way up her thigh, her heels tied on with leather straps. She’s young at heart, and her fashion sense suggests the same. My mother is gorgeous, a perfect complement to my father’s rustic good looks. They could have had it all if he hadn’t strayed. They almost did. Some might say they do, but my father’s indiscretions have hung over our family like a toxic cloud.

  “This is Macy O’Conner. She’s my guest for the evening.” I cringe at how formal and pretentious that must sound to Macy. But that’s the reality at the Lionheart home— formal and pretentious are the order of the day.

  “Just for the evening?” Mom feigns a look of heartbreak through her smile as she pulls Macy in for a quick embrace. “Can’t you please steal my son’s heart? He’s too old to be running with the night. He needs to settle down and produce some heirs if we’re ever going to be rid of all of this.” She fans around at the opulence of her home as if selling Macy on the idea of shared wealth in exchange for grandchildren. My mother has no problem using her bank account to leverage just about anything, and my future children are apparently at the top of the list. “I have nothing to do with my time anymore, and I’m ready to dote on a cute little baby.” She taps her palms together to prove her point.

  “That’s Kinsley’s department.” I pat her back, shaking my head over at poor Macy who has the sudden edginess of a caged tiger. Can’t blame her. Although, I can’t blame my mother either since this is the first girl I’ve brought home. I take a step back for a moment, taken off guard by this. It’s true. They never met Jackie or any of the nameless, faceless girls that came after her.

  We head outside onto the expansive terrace with a city light view of L.A. which has the appeal of a dusty impressionist’s painting that’s been rotting in a smog-riddled attic.

  “So pretty!” Macy beams, taking in the arched patio, the enormous table that has the capacity to seat one hundred. Below is a rolling green yard, an Olympic-sized swimming pool that neither my father nor mother has ever dipped a toe in, and a guesthouse they sometimes let their housekeeper spend the night in. Everything about the Lionheart estate is vastly underutilized, and tragically overpriced. But it’s expected of them, and, if they are about anything, they’re about putting on airs.

  Stevie, Aspen, and Kinsley flock to Macy as if she were the grand prize they’ve been waiting to arrive. The concert has started, and she is the rock star.

  “He’s here!” Kinsley clucks at Macy, and my inner alarm goes off inspecting the grounds. “God, he’s so freaking handsome! I swear, if you don’t want him, just throw him my way. And he’s nice! You’re right—you and Linc would never have worked out. This guy is genuinely a good guy.”

  Just as I’m about to inform her that I’m a good guy, and nice, which by the way is a four-letter word—I spot them. My father and Luke stand by the oversized Italian fountain next to the outdoor bar with its extensive selection of whiskey, scotch, and brandy, Hans Lionheart’s favorite vices.

  My father summons me over with a flick of the wrist. “Why don’t we all gather ’round. No use in prolonging the mystery.”

  Aspen swoops in close. “Your mother mentioned there was no dinner. There are finger foods.” She points to a culinary display that could rival any five-star buffet. “What does this translate into with your kind?”

  I pause to assess the damage. Aspen is right. Dinner was demoted to appetizers, not that any of us are in danger of starving. But it definitely means something. A culinary code tantamount to a warning siren—we won’t be staying long enough to enjoy a feast. “We’re either headed to a second location, or after listening to my father’s announcement, we’ll collectively lose our appetites.” I’m betting on the latter.

  “Good Lord.” She touches her hand over her bourgeoning belly. “You know, it’ll take a miracle to suppress my appetite.”

  We head over, and Luke gives a friendly wave to everyone, but it’s Macy he pulls in for a bear hug. Too tight. Too controlling. Too much of a lust-fueled smile spreading over his face. I don’t care for the asshole, so already I’ve lost my appetite.

  “Daphne.” My father bows his head and opens an arm until she flutters in like a wounded bird. “I’m sure you’re all wondering what I could have gathered you here at the estate together for, at a place that is foreign to most of you and home to others. As I age and enter into my golden years, I no longer choose to live a life that is divisive, filled with regret at the heartache I’ve caused. I want to open my doors to my children—all of my children—and end this constant resentment, hurt, and remorse over my own transgressions. Though I am not proud of stepping out on my beautiful wife, she certainly didn’t deserve the way I treated her for so long. None of you deserved it either. I think, even though there has been tremendous pain caused by my actions, we’re ready—both Daphne and me—to embrace what good did manage to come of it, and that is all of you. It’s high time we come together with love and acceptance.” He lifts his head a notch as if there was a threat locked in his words. “I want you to take a good look around at these faces. Save for the lovely young woman Lincoln has graced us with this evening, you are all my children—my flesh and my blood.” He dips his chin, taking the dramatic pause when he can get it, and my mother lifts her nose to the moon as if waiting for the applause.

  “All right.” I’m the first one to break the silence. “We get it. We’re family. I’m glad you’re coming around. My sisters and I have cherished a close bond for years. I’m hoping this extends to the two of you as well.” It’s true. I would like nothing more than for my mother and father to appreciate the gift that my sisters have become to me.

  My eyes snag on Van Der Wolff standing next to my father like a soldier, legs parted, shoulders back, stiff.

  “So, what’s he doing here?” I take the wine glass my mother hands me and down it in three big gulps.

  “Linc?” Stevie says with her body tipped in his direction as if she might fall over. Her eyes are glued to Luke’s as if he’s got a gun. “I think they’re trying to tell us something.”

  Aspen touches her hand to her chest. “Are you saying we have a new brother?”

  My body goes cold.

  Kinsley hops up and down the sa
me way she did when she was twelve after I had won her a stuffed bear at the school carnival. Only he’s not a stuffed bear, and I didn’t win him, or want him. Shit. He’s my father’s prize, another fucking son.

  All of those feelings I had when I thought he was my replacement come flooding back because I might have been right. Hell, I was.

  The atmosphere shifts to a festive one as each of the girls offers him a hearty embrace.

  My mother comes over and places her hand warmly on my back. “I know this is hard for you as the only boy, but, the truth is, Luke has been on the radar for quite some time. He’s a bright boy, cunning. Reminds me a lot of you.”

  Macy takes up my hand, and I give her a hard squeeze without meaning to. All of my emotions, all of my hurt, my hate come rushing to the surface, and I do my best to sweep them away.

  “Hey.” Luke comes at me with an open hand. “I’m sorry, man. I wanted to say something, but he insisted I wait.”

  I stare at his hand for a moment and decide not to shake it. “You did good. I was completely in the dark.”

  His hand slips to his side, but not before acknowledging my grievance with Macy by way of a disapproving glance.

  My sisters stand in front of him, wide-eyed and open-mouthed as if he had transformed into a deity, and fire questions at him quick as a machine gun.

  “Are you really from New York City?”

  “Yes.”

  “Will you be out here for a while?”

  “As long as you’ll have me.”

  “How long have you known you were a Lionheart?”

  “Since I was thirteen—so it’s been thirteen years.”

  He’s younger than me by two years. My father did a lot of business in New York for many, many years, still does on occasion, so this doesn’t shock me, and yet it knocks me off my center.

  “Do you have other siblings?”

  “Not until today.” He opens his arms wide, and they fall in and laugh.

  Stevie, Kinsley, and Aspen all feel like traitors, although it’s my father who is the only traitor around, the one who caused this desolation to begin with.

  We take a seat on the outdoor sofas as he regales us with his sordid childhood. Poor boy. Needed two jobs in college. Hoofed his own loans. Bought his own car. Cry me a fucking river. Sounds resentful if you ask me. Claims he refused anything my father offered, but loved the company and wanted to work for him one day. Says he and Hans spent much quality time getting to know one another over the years. He’s heard all about us. We were the fairy tales my father told him at bedtime. Lovely.

  And now he’s here, jumping out of the Lionheart closet like an unwanted skeleton. The night wears on, and I’m done. Two glasses of wine, not one hint of food in my belly. My mother called it. We’ve all managed to lose our appetites—the girls, because of their enthusiasm, and me, because I’m sick to my stomach.

  My father comes up as I take a moment to enjoy the hazy city light view. Macy has headed to the restroom, and once she comes back, we’re out of here. I may never want to visit again.

  “Son.” He slaps his hand over my shoulder, nothing but dead weight. “I know this is difficult for you in particular. Stevie and Aspen feel as if they’ve gained a peer, and Kinsley has a big heart. Another family member is a sheer delight for her. But you—this is another brother. A man stepping on another man’s toes. I don’t want you to feel that way. No harm will come of this. I assure you. So, please, as much as I’ve seen you enjoy your sisters over the years, I’d like to see the same camaraderie between my boys.”

  His boys. And for the record, I haven’t enjoyed my sisters. That sounds perfectly perverted. I’ve protected them. Became the father they needed him to be.

  “We’ll see what happens,” I choke the words out for the sake of my newly manufactured camaraderie.

  “Do your best. That’s all I can ask of you.” He takes off to speak with Kinsley. I’m assuming to give the same pep talk.

  There are plenty of things I’d like to ask of him. Why employ Luke at Merlin? Why season his records to make it look as if he’s doing one thing, when he’s clearly doing another? And why the Jinx crossover? Isn’t that what you fucking have me for?

  Macy emerges from the hungry mouth of the overgrown home and smiles that superstar smile. “Can you believe this?” She falls into me, laughing. And I fold over her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head without thinking and silencing my sisters without meaning to.

  Stevie cocks her head at me, sliding her gaze from me to Luke. I know what they’re thinking—that I’ve swiped a girl right from under his nose. I most certainly could if I wanted to. Macy would be at the top of the swiping list. I feel protective of her, and the last person I want to see her end up with is Luke Van Der Wolff—my brother.

  Macy and I say goodnight as we head back to the car.

  “You okay?” she asks as I speed the hell out of the driveway, the top of the convertible still in the process of reclining.

  “Better now. Let’s forget about what happened back there.”

  I glance over at her, wild and beautiful, as the wind sweeps her hair toward the sky like an open flame.

  It’s time to make new things happen—things that matter between Macy and me.

  Do they matter? They should.

  I reach over and take up her hand in mine.

  They do.

  Kiss the Night

  Macy

  The stars sit sheepishly behind the voile of stretched clouds as the night expands over the Pacific like a long, dark train, and here we are, caught in its enormous shadow. I crawl up onto the overlook, a widow’s peak, while Lincoln ducks in the shower. Had I entered his room five minutes earlier, he might have extended the invitation and asked me to join him. I’m pretty sure showering together is a little farther down the sexual road for me. There’s nothing wrong with my body, but the thought of someone seeing it so brazenly sets my skull on fire. I can feel my embarrassment heating me, even now as the wind sears my body like an arctic burst.

  I don’t own any lingerie, nor did I want to gaudy myself up for the occasion, but when I saw this purple silk robe, short with lace sleeves, I knew I had to have it. Purple is the color of royalty, which is fitting since I see Lincoln as someone who is noble and dignified. A thousand scenarios run through my mind of what tonight will be like, why I’m even going through with it to begin with—and it’s this exact time-suck that I’m glad to be rid of— the waiting, the heavy anticipation of when I’ll finally give it away and to whom. Ever since my hormones have kicked in, I’ve fantasized about what my first time would be like. Of course, I’ve imagined it with every cute boy I’ve ever had a crush on. For as frugal as I was with my virginity in reality, in my fantasy life, I’ve given it up a thousand times over. In all honesty, I don’t think virgins are all that rare in today’s society. I don’t think everyone in their twenties has managed to get laid, certainly not in their early twenties, and I don’t think either me or my vagina has participated in something akin to a crime against fornicating humanity for lacking in sexual knowledge. But tonight, there will be Lincoln¸ the cute boy at Jinx, the cute boy at Merlin. The cutest boy in L.A. in general.

  In the back of my mind, I wonder how many times Bradley has slept with Leah since I’ve been gone, and yet as much as I claim not to care, my blood still boils over the fact they took pleasure in hiding it from me. I swipe them away like an annoying horsefly, large and lumbering, begging for attention no one wants to give it.

  Tonight is about Lincoln—his perfect body connecting with mine—with the lights on. It’s that last part that tags me with the most fright. In all of my sexual musings, my fantasies have been contained under a cover of darkness. Who has sex with the lights on? Is this a thing? Why is this a thing? In every movie, every book, the lights are the first to go. I cringe at the idea of Lincoln openly observing every inch of me. Heck, I’ve never seen every inch of me.

  “Is this a private party?”

&
nbsp; I turn to find Lincoln in a white bathrobe, opened in the front, glowing against his tan chiseled body. He has on a pair of boxers—tight, black, and exhibiting quite a bulge. He’s grinning from ear to ear, holding a champagne flute in each hand, a bottle tucked under his arm. There’s a Hugh Hefner vibe about him, but it only adds to his playboy mystique.

  “This is your party as much as it is mine.” I force myself to swallow down the fear knifing up my throat. Leah would have had him night one, and here I am trembling after already having been in his bed, his fingers deep inside me.

  “It’s your party, Sin. I’m just an invited guest.” He comes over and pops the cork, pouring us each a glass as the white foam glows against the backdrop of a navy night. “You look beautiful.” He doesn’t hesitate to embrace me, and for whatever reason, it catches me off guard.

  His skin is still damp from the shower, heated and scented richly of his signature subtle cologne. He leans in and touches his lips to my neck, another welcome, yet, heart-stopping surprise. I’m not used to this casual grab-and-kiss version, the acting as if we’ve always been together side of Lincoln. And with the sky and its glittering hosts winking above, it feels magical in an out-of-body kind of way.