Eternal

by London Saint James

  “I know,” he said assuredly.

  At last, my feet hit the floor when Cayden put me down.

  “What do you guys have to eat around here?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know really, but I know what I want to eat,” he suggested, swatting my ass.

  I hit his arm. “Stop…you need to behave yourself, Mr. Cain.”

  I poked around in the kitchen to see what we were going to eat. I found the strangest array of foods. In the refrigerator rested miscellaneous jars of chunky and smooth peanut butter, grape and strawberry jelly, cheese, butter, milk, eggs, chocolate milk, Coke, Sprite, and imported beer. The cabinets held crackers, several bags of potato chips, some barbeque some jalapeño flavored, bread, SpaghettiO’s, and Captain Crunch…. I opened up the freezer and was taken aback by the oodles of frozen Hot Pockets, microwave burritos, and scores of boxed pizza. I decided to make grilled cheese sandwiches. They did have cheese, butter, and bread.

  “Do you guys ever eat anything other than Hot Pockets, burritos, and pizza?”

  “Sure,” Chandler said as he strolled into the kitchen. “We eat PB & J.”

  “I love Hot Pockets,” Cayden interjected.

  I giggled in response.

  “Who does the shopping?” I asked as I pulled the cheese out from the refrigerator.

  “Gretta does a lot of different errands and all the grocery shopping for us. Sara takes care of the house, makes sure we aren’t living in squalor when we are here,” Chandler returned.

  “Gretta and Sara,” I repeated, “so will I meet them?” I was curious.

  “Not this trip,” Cayden said. “I wanted you all to myself.”

  “Huh,” I commented.

  “Gretta is old enough to be our grandmother, and Sara has a girlfriend so if you are thinking….”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything, babe.”

  “Uh-huh,” Cayden smirked before kissing me breathless.

  Let me just say those Cain boys can eat. I cooked a load of grilled cheese sandwiches of which we ate this time instead of throwing. I had one grilled cheese sandwich with a few chips along and a glass of milk. Between Chandler and Cayden, they ate eleven grilled cheese sandwiches, one entire bag of potato chips, barbeque-flavored, and drank a gallon of chocolate milk. Only men could eat this way and still look good. It really is not fair.

  After our elegant dinner, Cayden washed and Chandler dried the dishes. Both of them poking and hitting each other like bratty kids before I squeezed in between them to add the pan I grilled the sandwiches on into the soapy water. That decision was maybe not my best. I glanced up to see Cayden and Chandler look at each other over-top my head. They smiled quite mischievously.

  “Oh no you don’t,” I said, glowering as the soapy water flew up in my direction….

  It was late when I made it to bed. Cayden, already in bed, watched me cross the room. I smiled. I had to. He rolled back the sheets on the bed for me. I slipped in next to my future, my love, my life.

  “Do you want to listen to some music?” Cayden asked.

  “Sure.”

  Cayden picked up a remote from his side table and pushed one of the many buttons. Piano music, soft and tranquil, started to waft through the room.

  “Cayden, tell me about England.”

  “What do you want to know?” he asked.

  “Anything, everything, is it pretty?”

  “The manor house we lived in with my aunt was very pretty, with wide expanses of countryside, rolling green hills, blue skies, and picturesque little villages scattered about.”

  Cayden smiled brightly as he continued to describe what was once his childhood home. As he spoke, I could see the morning dew, which sparkled like diamonds, on the wildflowers that surrounded the grounds next to the moss-worn rock wall. The wall separated the property from the grand old trees that dotted Cayden’s rolling countryside. Upon the grounds, saw gardens vast, bursting with color and groomed to perfection. Roses, lilac, gardenias, all sent sweet sensations to me. Warm pleasing fragrances brushed across my face. I felt the sides of my mouth curve upward, forming a gentle hint of a smile.

  “What are you smiling about?” he asked before his fingers brushed the corners of my lips softly.

  “I’m picturing what you are telling me. Don’t stop, tell me more,” I urged.

  He laughed his low even laugh and continued. I was with Cayden when we approached the Queen Ann Manor quietly and respectfully. I was immediately stricken speechless by the timeless architecture of the manor house. I studied each window with their individual panes of glass. I looked deeply at the intricate colors of the stonewalls, finding gray, blues, greens, mauve. The doors stood tall and wide, brushed bright red in a welcome entrance. The large windows perched at each side were flanking the entrance to Cayden’s home, our home, in grandeur. Upon our entrance, I found the home to be quite stunning with all of the finest antiques throughout along with numerous hand painted oils, tapestries and other artwork hanging everywhere. Everything in place, perfect.

  “Are you still picturing it?” Cayden asked, breaking my dreams.

  “Yes,” I confessed. I closed my eyes and listened to his soft silk ridden voice.

  We continued to explore Cayden’s home with childlike curiosity, allowing each room to open up to my dreams like the familiar pages of an old novel. The home was warm, welcoming. With my hand intertwined with his, we made our way upstairs where we laid claim to one of the most simple but beautiful rooms with a wonderful view of the property. Just beneath the north window, I could see the large expanse of yet another garden. There within it, perfectly placed in the middle, stood a whitewashed arch dripping with wisteria. I pulled back the curtain and knew I wanted to see this view, always. This room, our room, was light and airy and allowed me a real sense of calm, peace and home. The yellow tea rose wallpaper set the mood of the room while the large four-poster bed sat proudly in the middle of it. We would be happy here.

  “London is amazing and pretty in a different way, I guess.” Then Cayden began to take me with him down the city streets of his youth, I dreaming at his side.

  I woke to the pewter color of the sky breaking out of the night, shifting into differing shades of silvered pink dawn outside the windows of Cayden’s Hollywood home. He was sleeping. I woke first for once. I tucked my knees up to my chest and placed my arms around them, resting my cheek on the top of my hands. The ring shimmered. I looked at it and twisted it around and around on my finger. I wondered when he had time to buy this ring. He moved slightly, so I froze for a moment.

  Cayden was lying on his right side stretched long across the bed. The color of his chestnut hair shimmered highlights of bronze in the morning light. His head was lying on a large white pillow. My gaze followed the line of his neck that extended and curved into the muscles on top of his shoulder. The dim light seemed to shimmer off Cayden’s body, accenting areas of light and shade as both followed the angles and planes of his flawlessness.

  I listened to Cayden breathe, his breath coming and going smoothly that held no hint of distress, only quiet even breathing. I watched his back move softly with each breath, the rise the fall. His muscles were relaxed in his sleep but still very evident beneath the smooth alabaster of his skin. The shape of his shoulder gave way, inclined to his arm. I outlined his distinctly strong bicep and the shape of his forearm that was resting at his side.

  I studied the line of his forearm, looking at the line of dark hair where it started on top of his hand. His long fingers curled slightly around the tip edge of the white sheet. My gaze naturally flowed to Cayden’s back bare, his shoulder blade, with his musculature defined. I studied the curve of him, following the flow of his spine into the small of his back where his two dimples started before reaching the curve of his round firm butt. The sheet was covering crooked over his tight waist while the lines of his muscles curved downward into the cut of his hip. One foot peeked out from the bottom of the sheet.

  I reached out towa
rd him and began to trace the high definition of his sculptured cheekbone without touching him. I kept my fingertips above the surface of his skin, careful not to disturb Cayden from his dreams with my touch nor wishing to interrupt me from my dream of him. My fingers knew the way. They were taking in the shape of his jaw, his chin, the slope of his nose the very slightest bit from a straight line at the bridge. His dark eyebrows that thinned and narrowed at the outer edges and his brow peaceful as my fingers moved. I drew the length of his dark lashes that extended out from the gentle curve of his eye and the slight shadow falling across the hollow of his eye. I continued my quest, saving his lips for last, still outlining, never touching.

  Every line of his body, each winding curve, every splendid muscle, each faultless angle and shape of Cayden was familiar to me, filling my memory from what went before me yet knowing he has always been. Looking at him, he filled my eyes with wonder. The very existence of Cayden still boggled my mind and set it free. The splendid youth of him and the complete knowledge of him overtook me. In all of my life, whether it ended in this very moment, or whether I lived to be a hundred and ten, Cayden like Austin had always been and would always be the most beautiful creation of my world.

  Chapter Eight

  Under Par

  I felt fevered, thinking nothing of it at first, until I placed my hand to my forehead. My skin was hot and I felt strange with body aches. My head felt dull. My throat flamed. I was getting sick, or maybe I am already sick. I moved my legs. My stomach twisted and turned. The torrent in my stomach forced me to get up and sprint into the bathroom.

  My stomach lurched and churned. I lunged forward, losing the entire contents into the toilet and continuing until there was nothing left but heaving with more heaving dry and painful. I rested my too hot cheek against the cool porcelain seat and closed my eyes. Trying hard to make the room stop spinning. After a few minutes, I pulled myself up. I was weak and knew for sure I was burning hot with fever. I splashed some cool water over my face, rinsed out my mouth then pushed fully forward with brushing my teeth and tongue free from the sickening taste. The mint of the toothpaste set my stomach to churn more, but I knew there was nothing left to give up.

  I shuffled my bare feet forward and left the tiled floor of the bathroom behind. Warm soft carpet greeted me. I saw the welcome scene of the bed. I knew I needed to curl up beneath the sheets and die. Cayden turned over, threw his arm out, and obviously felt I was not next to him. He opened his eyes, saw me standing there weak and shivering. I imagined I was as pale as milk.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, shooting straight up and reaching for my hand.

  I mumbled quite pathetically, “Cayden, I’m sick.”

  He towed me into his arms and placed his lips to my forehead. “You are burning up.”

  “I don’t want you to get sick. Let me lie here and die. You should leave.”

  “Baby, I am not leaving you. I’m so sorry you’re sick. It was the rain and the cold. You should not have been out on the balcony in New York. You need to take better care of yourself when I am gone. Why were you standing out in the rain?”

  “I went outside to get some air, to think and I….”

  “You weren’t worried about Cheryl Lynn again? What is it going to take to convince you I cannot leave you, and I don’t want any other woman? I only see you.”

  Cayden held me close to his chest. I buried my burning face into the cool feeling of his arms. “No, I was worrying about you,” I admitted.

  “Worrying about what?”

  “Chandler told me about your concerns for my safety and what happened last year to Cheryl Lynn. All I could think about was losing you. I can’t lose you, Cayden.”

  I began to cry.

  “Shh…love, please.” Cayden’s voice was soft and comforting. His hands made slow soothing circles on my back. “I could really kill Chandler for telling you that. You should never worry about me.”

  “Cayden, promise me you will take Jayden with you and Langdon today. Take both of them. Don’t go out with only one bodyguard anymore. Please promise me, promise.” I sobbed frantically.

  “Baby, please calm down, don’t cry. Everything will be all right.”

  “Promise me, Cayden. Take them both today when you go.”

  “Winter, my love. Listen to me. I am not going anywhere today. You are sick so I’m going to take care of you.”

  “No, you have another interview today. You can’t stay here with me.”

  Cayden lifted my face up from his arm. He was looking at me with resolution. “I’m not leaving you.” I shivered. “Are you cold? I know you have a fever, I can feel it.”

  “I feel cold inside but I also feel like I am burning hot. My body hurts, my head hurts, my stomach hurts, my throat hurts…. I’m a mess,” I confessed, shook and cried for being sick. “I’m sorry I am sick. I’m sorry I am crying; that you are seeing me this way.” I continued to sob for ruining Cayden’s schedule. “I am ruining everything.” The tears flowed, and my voice squeaked small.

  Cayden tugged all of the sheets over me. He tucked me into them and pulled me into his body. “Winter, please relax, breathe, stop saying you are sorry. You have not ruined anything.” I sniffed, trying hard to stop crying. “I have you,” he assured and wrapped his arms tighter around me. “I am not letting you go. The interview can be re-scheduled, no big deal. You are my life, Winter, and I love you. I will never let you go. Close your eyes and sleep.” My body shivered again. “I have you, baby. Relax.”

  I must have fallen asleep, because the next thing I remembered was the sensation of Cayden running his fingers over my shoulders. I opened my eyes, trying to focus. I lay, curled up on Cayden’s bare chest. My cheek warm against his skin. My right arm rested on his stomach, and my leg draped around his hip. I clung to him, to his body, as though I held on to him for life itself.

  “You are so damn beautiful,” he said. He skimmed his fingers across my forehead, brushing back the hair from my face.

  “Cayden, I feel horrible. I know I must look horrible.” I yanked the covers up over my head in an attempt to hide the hideousness of myself from him.

  The covers slid back against my skin, exposing my face. “Don’t hide,” he said quietly. He was looking at me from beneath his extraordinary lashes.

  “What?”

  “You were restless for a little while, saying things.”

  “What was I saying?”

  “I don’t know. Most of it did not make any sense, just mumbling. But you did say, ‘I love you’ then you grabbed onto me. I thought you were awake but you were sleeping,” he explained while outlining my eyebrow with his fingertip.

  “I do love you.” I nuzzled my nose against his chest.

  “I know.” He smiled, and it was like the dawn. “Do you feel any better? What can I get you?”

  “I’m not cold any longer,” I admitted. “But Cayden, please, how long have I been sleeping? You cannot stay in bed all day, holding me.”

  Cayden smiled tenderly as he explained, “You have been sleeping for a couple of hours but don’t worry, as your luck would have it, I don’t mind being in bed holding you so I can stay here all day, all night, as long as you need me.”

  “You smell so good,” I said. I breathed him in.

  He let out a low even laugh. “Now, you dodged my question. What can I get for you? Anything you want, baby.”

  “Maybe some Sprite. I am thirsty, but my stomach is kind of iffy.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “For what?” I asked, confused.

  “For not arguing and for actually telling me what you want.”

  Cayden scooted out from the bed and covered me up.

  “Hey, I didn’t want you to go.”

  “I’ll be right back, rest.”

  A few minutes passed, and I drifted in and out of a hazy sleep. I heard when Cayden came back. I opened my eyes to see he was balancing a large clear glass filled with ice cubes along with a six-pac
k of Sprite cans in one hand, while in his other hand, he held onto a bottle of pills and a fancy thermometer one swipes over their forehead to take their temperature.

  “Here, take some Tylenol.” He offered me the bottle and sat down on the edge of the bed. “It will help with body aches and fever.” He popped a can out of the pack, flipped the tab, and poured the Sprite into the glass. The cubes tingled against the glass when he handed it to me. I took the two pills and two large drinks of the Sprite. The lemon lime flavor of the Sprite burst on my tongue. It tasted great. “Hold still,” he instructed and ran the thermometer across my forehead. A beeping sound rang out. “Yep, you do have a fever so that makes you officially sick. That means you will stay in bed and rest.”

  “What’s going to happen with your interview?”

  Cayden shook his head at me; his eyes softened from beneath his thick lashes. “No, we are not talking about my job. Today is all about you,” he replied.

  He sat my glass down on the bedside table along with the bottle of Tylenol and the thermometer. I reached out and touched his face. Combed my fingers through his hair, brushing it over his ear.

  “Would you like to watch TV?” he asked. “A movie, listen to music? Anything you want as long as you stay in bed and rest.”

  “Will you talk to me?”

  “Sure, baby. What do you want to talk about?”

  “Anything. I just want to hear your voice.”

  “Do you want me to read to you?”

  The corners of my mouth turned up into a smile. “Really? You will read to me?”

  “Anything you want. What would you like me to read?”

  “Whatever you would like to read, I’m not picky.”

  Cayden looked at me for a long moment. Skimmed his hand down my cheek. Smiled tenderly. I watched him walk over to his vast collection of books where he stood. Cayden picked a book and came back to me. I pulled back the sheets before he slipped in under the covers and tucked me close into his side. There in his hand was a collection of poetry.

  “Let’s start with some Lord Byron.” Cayden gave me the book and told me what page to flip to.