by Miranda King
“I think you’ve exceeded your daily limit.”
“No, no, it’s an average. And obviously, I’m above average—in everything.” His tone jests, even though she knows it to be true.
“Except humility.” She laughs, despite herself. She doesn’t want to be sucked into his charm.
“I think God gave all mine to you. You’re the hardest working person I know, and you never give yourself enough credit.” He thrusts himself up to sit atop the counter. He tilts his head and stares at her as if he’s searching straight into her soul. “I don’t understand why you’re so hard on yourself.”
She tries to look away, but that look begs her not to, as if he bared his soul and now feels vulnerable if she doesn’t do the same. Fair enough.
She drags in a breath, remembering the loneliness and rejection from her childhood. She takes a moment to reshelve that pain back into the darkest corners of her mind before she speaks. “I guess deep down, maybe I’m not good enough. I’m afraid if I make a mistake, then I’ll lose my fans.”
He jumps off the sideboard and cups his hands over hers. “You can’t lose your fans. You are so talented. You don’t need to be anything other than yourself.”
“You don’t know a thing about my business, do you?” Her words scrunch together like a soda can being smashed for recycling.
“I know you should have your hair red if you want it red. I know you should eat a damn candy bar if you want it.” He furrows his brows. “And I know you shouldn’t have to work out to eat.”
What he says is a reality check. She sounds so… inhibited. Completely the opposite of Eden Knight on stage. And probably the reason why most men lose interest in her. But why don’t people get that Eden has to work really hard and make sacrifices offstage to be the Eden Knight everyone loves on stage?
“I think you have the wrong impression of me.” Her voice is too defensive, but she can’t help it. “I don’t have to work out to eat. I only have to watch what I eat. That’s a big difference.” She pulls back from him and crosses her arms. “If I want to eat a candy bar, then I just have to work out.” She examines her nails with feign interest. “Or have lots and lots of sex.” There. She doesn’t sound so inhibited anymore.
He gives her a double take. “You have sex just so you can eat a candy bar? Because sex doesn’t count as exercise.”
He sounds so serious about it. But of course she doesn’t have sex only to eat a candy bar.
“Hmm… don’t you think there’s a reason why God created men to think about sex nineteen times a day?” She raises a mocking eyebrow. “Women need their candy bars. Sex absolutely counts as exercise.”
“No, no, no. Sex does not count. You shouldn’t even bother with it.” He’s joking, but he’s not joking.
She tries not to read too much into it, but she can’t fight her DNA. What’s his game in not wanting her to have sex? Is it jealousy? It certainly seemed like it earlier tonight when she brought up the hundreds of strong, virile men here on base. But is it really jealousy, or is she just misreading him again?
“Oh, I can’t give up sex,” she croons. “I crave it like a candy bar. But I’m tired of all the different varieties out there. I could use someone to be my Snickers whenever I have a craving.”
“You want me to be your Snickers?” He swallows hard.
“Oh no, not you.” Her voice is sultry. “We’re just friends, remember?” Let him eat his words. “But Ollie could be some fine man candy.” If that doesn’t make him jealous, nothing else will.
“What? You want to sleep with Ollie?” he snaps. “I forbid it. NO.”
“Why not? You said you don’t want sex with me.”
“Well, I sure as hell don’t want you to have sex with Ollie.” His voice is deep, dark, and possessive.
“Why do you even care if you don’t want me?”
“Because if I can’t have you, he can’t either.” His words are heated, like the look in his eyes.
“Why can’t you have me?” She matches his tone.
“Because we’re friends.”
“Is that all you really want from me?” She huffs. “To be friends?”
“Yes.” His answer is too curt to be convincing.
“Then you’ll support me with Ollie and be happy for me because that’s what a friend does.”
“I’ll tell you what this friend does: Kicks Ollie’s ass if he even thinks about touching you.”
“You’re jealous.” Now she’s getting somewhere with him. “Admit it.”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “Maybe I am jealous.”
“Why?” By now, her anticipation for this answer had turned it into the eighth wonder of the world.
“Because I care about you as a friend.” The eighth wonder of the world only turned out to be a repeated Friends episode.
“Enough with that word.” She flails her arms. “Maybe for you, jealousy can coexist with friendship. But not for me. All I see it as is a place of limbo. A place with no promise of love. A place with no commitment to a future.” She thrusts her hands on her hips. “A place no better than a foster home. And you know how I feel about those.”
He steps closer to her. “I never wanted to hurt you. Count on me to always be your friend and—”
“I said enough of that word.” She pushes her hand up between them. “Do we or do we not have a future together beyond friendship?
“It’s complicated…”
“It’s a yes or no.”
“I can’t say yes, but I don’t want to say no.”
“If you can’t say yes, then by default, it’s a no.” She brushes her palms together and holds them up in the air. “We’re done here.” She’s had enough of foster homes, be they real or metaphorical ones.
She flings her hair over her shoulder and turns on her booted heel.
Crunch. Crinkle. Crumple.
What the hell has she stepped on? Whatever it is interfered with her dramatic exit.
She leans down to get a better look. There’s an explosion of shiny wrappers all over the floor. She picks a few of them up and examines them. “Why are there all these Hershey Kisses and Apple Jolly Ranchers by the desk?”
“They attacked Dante earlier.” He uses the time to shorten the distance between them. “Those are the casualties.” He steps in front of her. “You can’t leave like this.” His voice pleads.
“I sure as hell can.”
“We’re on lockdown, so you’re stuck with me.”
“Ollie could stay in here.” She tries to pivot around him without them touching. “I’ll just call down the hall for him.”
“Unless you want his dead body on your conscience, then I would suggest you don’t. Because I am not responsible for myself if I see him flirting with you again.” He can’t be serious, but there’s an edge to his tone that suggests he’s reached his limit when it comes to any thought of Ollie and Eden together.
“I’m not responsible for your jealousy.”
“But you are for your own regrets. There’s too much between us to end things this way, and you know it.” He exhales. “Don’t leave like this. Just… stay.” He reaches for her hand and caresses her fingers—and she lets him.
No, no, no… don’t give into his charm.
She stands there. Indecisive. Letting each swirl of his fingers sneak his way back into her heart. Until her tummy growls, giving into her hunger. LOUDER than before.
“You never did get anything to eat.” He uncurls her fingers around the candy in her hand, revealing a mix of chocolate kisses and apple candies. “Do you want one?”
She doesn’t answer. Her tongue is tied too tight in a knot of emotions.
“If you can’t say no, then by default, it’s a yes.”
She clears her throat, and barely audible says, “It was the other way around.”
“What?” He asks, although she suspects he’s heard her.
She clears her throat again. “I said… it was the other way around.”
Her voice is loud enough for probably Ollie to hear down the hall. “If you can’t say yes, then by default, it’s a no.”
“Ohh… and she talks, ladies and gentlemen,” he broadcasts that fact to essentially nobody. But he says it with such gusto that, God help her, she smiles.
He smiles back. “How about a Dante between us?”
“Dante is my brother,” she allows herself a brief chuckle. “You mean a détente?”
“Oh, yes, that’s how you pronounce it.” He laughs at himself, and she suspects someone with his education knew exactly how to pronounce it. But that’s all part of his self-effacing charm, his ability to use himself to make other people feel more comfortable.
Because at his core, he is good. She should cut him some slack. Whatever is going on between them, he would never purposely hurt her.
“Here, let me take these for you.” He shuffles all the candy out of her hand and into his. He picks through to find a green candy. “Can I tempt you with an apple?”
The playful words coax a smile out of her, despite her fighting against it. “You’re making me feel like Eve in the Garden of Eden.”
“Is that what your parents named you after, the Garden of Eden?”
She nods. “My dad, actually. He was a farmer, but he read a lot. Picked it up during his time in the service. He said that my name means Paradise. He saw too much war, like you and my brothers. He told me that I reminded him of all that’s good in the world.”
“You do the same for me.” His voice is naked in front of her.
“I do?”
He nods.
She bites her lip. What to do? This man pushes her away—and pulls her back. This is Hell—and Heaven, all at the same time.
Her tummy rumbles in agreement.
She looks down at the candy in his hand. “I think if Eve had a choice between an apple or chocolate, she would’ve gone for the chocolate—no contest, especially since they have the same amount of calories. About 22, if you’re wondering.”
He laughs. “I don’t think Eve counted calories.”
“Oh, you don’t know that.” She permits herself a full grin. “She looks like a size 0 in all the Bible illustrations of her.”
“I think it’s because of all the exercise she had with Adam.”
She shakes her head. “That magazine is so wrong about men thinking about sex nineteen times a day—it’s more like every nineteen seconds.”
“Don’t forget, I’m above average.” He winks. “Waaaay above average.”
She rolls her eyes. “Just give me a chocolate.”
“Just one?” He tumbles the rest of the candy onto a desk and hands her one silver wrapped chocolate. “This is equivalent to only one teeny bite. That’s not enough.”
“Oh, it is. Don’t you know?” She unwraps the silver foil. Her mouth already waters. “One bite is how all the trouble in the world began.”
She plops the creamy chocolate on her tongue and sucks on it. “O-o-oh, God,” she moans. “Mmmm…” She closes her eyes and chews the final remnants of the chocolate with pure pleasure. She opens her eyes and swallows. “Oh yesss, that was sooo good.”
His mouth is gaped open, and then he gulps hard. “I can see how one bite started all the trouble in the world.” He chuckles. “Remind me to give you chocolate more often.”
“Well, there’s plenty on the floor here.” She looks at all the silver wrappers around their feet. She shakes her head. “All these wasted Kisses.”
“Yes, too many wasted kisses.” His voice is smooth and sinfully silky like fine chocolate. He cups the nape of her neck with his hands, stroking her with the softest of caresses.
She closes her eyes and tilts her head slightly forward, giving him better access.
And then he stiffens. “What the hell?” He retracts from her like they’ve been splashed with a bucket of ice cold water.
“What’s wrong?” She opens her eyes.
He squints towards the window. “I’ve got to check on something outside.” He looks at her and puts both hands briefly on her shoulders. “Stay here. I’ll send someone in to replace me.”
“Ollie?”
“Don’t sound too hopeful, sweetheart.” He jests, even as he’s checking his weapon. Then he completely focuses on her. “Now I mean it, don’t leave this room. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
He nods, satisfied. He’s halfway out the door when she calls out to him.
“Wait, I still have your shirt.” She pulls one side off her shoulder.
“Keep it.” He gives her roguish grin. “I always come back for the things I love.”
He winks, and then he is gone.
“Wait…” She scuttles to the door in her stiletto boots, kicking Kisses out of her way. “What does that mean? …Tell me, what does that mean?” Her words echo in the empty hallway.
But she thought she could hear a chuckle.
“Eden’s Show Cancelled Due to Electrical Issues”
– headline from The Summerland Tattler
“I’m proud that you serve our country, but I worry about you every day…”
– Pop Star Eden Knight’s email to Prince Logan
“No one thinks of how much blood it costs.”
– Dante Alighieri, Medieval Poet
Logan is good to his word, and Ollie stands sentinel outside her door. Apparently he ordered Ollie not to step foot inside the room. She smiles. Logan sure is jealous. But she wants him—not Ollie.
There’s a coldness in the room without Logan filling it with his presence. She hugs herself and walks back to the window. It’s dark outside but the nearby bright lights from the airstrip filter in through the window, giving her enough lighting to feel comfortable moving around in the room.
After Logan left, she watched a plane take off in the distance and then saw scattered soldiers walking here and there by her window. Although there was one woman not in uniform. She wore a flowing white dress with a black, bulky belt that didn’t at all go with her outfit. Eden didn’t recognize her, but presumed she was a backup performer with one of the other singers. Definitely not one of hers. Her backup dancers couldn’t move on stage with a belt like that.
She paces. Too much time has passed. Not one word from anyone about Logan or her brother. Hoping for a glimpse of either of them, she again glances out the window. She presses her nose and hands to the glass.
What’s happening?
A knife. Her brother. Blood. Logan.
That woman in a black-belted white dress, now marred by blood streaks, holds a knife at a sharp angle against Dante’s throat! Red rivulets of blood run down her brother’s neck.
A glint of something metallic, bigger than a lipstick case, shines in the woman’s other hand. She brandishes it around. Her hair is wild. Thick dark mascara stains run down her cheeks.
Logan faces them, but his back is to Eden. They’re all talking, but she can’t hear what they say.
“Dante!” She pounds her hands on the window. “Dante!” But no one turns to her. They are close enough to see, but too far away to hear through the window.
She fumbles for a window latch, but there is none. There’s nothing she can open. The glass traps her, barricading her from Dante and Logan.
Every cell in her body screams to that woman, “Stop! Stop! Stop!” She pounds on the window so hard that her wrists and fingers hurt.
Ollie dashes into the room. “Stop. Don’t do that.”
Eden stops her pounding and turns to him.
“My brother and Logan are out there with a mad woman. Look!” She points to them out the window.
“I know. We’re monitoring the situation by radio.” He’s surprisingly calm about it. “This room is soundproof, but we can’t risk alerting that woman she has an audience. She’ll feel inclined to heighten the show.”
“You mean she’d”—Eden gulps, she can’t say the word kill—“just because people are watching?”
“Situations like that ha
ve happened before.” He nods. “She’s probably doing this to get attention.”
“But what about my brother and Logan?”
“We have snipers on it.”
“Why don’t they take the shot?” The words pierce her lungs and she can barely breathe.
“My guess is the shot isn’t clear or they don’t have the right position.”
“How can you talk like you’re telling me the weather?” she interrogates him. “Your friends are out there.”
“I’m trained not to panic. But don’t think I’m unaffected by what’s happening.” It’s the first crack she hears in his voice.
She softens her tone with him. “What is happening out there?”
He pulls an earpiece out of his ear and withdraws a small radio from a belt clasp. “All we know is the intel we’re getting from Logan’s radio. He took it with him and thankfully set it on autolock. So we can hear him, but we can’t talk to him.”
“Why can’t someone just wrestle her to the ground?” She watches the woman pointing something to Logan. “And what’s in her hand?”
“It’s a release trigger for an IED at her waist. Best we can tell, she snuck behind Dante with that knife, and now he can’t escape her grip faster than she can lift her thumb off the trigger.” His words knock straight into her gut. “It only takes a split second, and he’d be within blast range, no matter how fast he runs.”
And Logan would be within range, too.
“Oh, God. An IED… blast range?” She cups her hands on her cheeks.
“Don’t be scared. Even though this room is close to the blast radius, it’s technically the safest place on base. It’s certified blast proof up to—”
“—I’m not scared for myself. I’m scared for them.” She points to the window. “Ollie, I have to do something. You understand that, right? I can’t just stand here and watch the two people I love most in the world possibly die.”
She’s fast in high-heeled boots, but Ollie is faster.
“Logan told me you promised to stay out of harm’s way.” Ollie tugs on her arm. “Can you do that for Logan? He doesn’t need to worry about you and Dante at the same time.”
