by Miranda King
God, if he only could.
She searches his face. “You love me. I know you do. But I need to hear the words. Logan, I need the words.”
“I can’t give them to you.” He steps away. “I can’t.”
She whirls around to face him and crosses her arms to cover her breasts. “I know you’ve gone through a hard time. But I’ve gone through a hard time, too. First I lost Milton. Then Dante. And now I feel like I’ve pretty much lost you.”
“Why don’t you blame me for Dante’s death?” That question rips out of him like a parachute and his heart free falls, waiting for her answer.
“I can’t blame you for something that’s not your fault.”
“How is it not my fault? He sacrificed himself to save me.”
“And that was a choice he made. Not yours. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same if the roles were reversed.”
He would’ve sacrificed himself for Dante in a heartbeat.
“You’re not saying anything because it’s true,” she says.
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
Or the promise I made to Dante. One that he’ll never be able to take back now that he’s gone.
“I’m not the man for you,” he says. “You need more than words I can’t give. You need a man free to make a commitment to you.”
“And you can’t?”
“No.” He says, convinced this is the saddest word in the English language.
Footsteps stomp on the hardwood floor. The sound is coming from the other side of the ballroom.
“Eden?” Bo calls out. “Eden?”
Of course it’s Bo.
“I’m in here.” She calls out and shimmies her halter top under her arms to cover herself. “With Logan,” she huffs.
“Do the next girl a favor, Logan.” Her words sling in a verbal slap. “If you know you can’t tell her you love her and make a commitment to her, don’t feel her up.”
Her words hit against his heart. Beating and bruising and brutalizing. Punishing him, just as he deserves.
She fumbles with the tie strings and attempts to loop them around her neck. Her fingers shake. A tear slips down her cheek.
I’m hurting her. I’m hurting her. I’m hurting her.
I need to stay away. Keep my hands off her.
He reaches out. “Let me help you.”
She steps back. “No.” The saddest word in the world now comes from her lips.
Logan hears Bo’s footsteps closing in on them.
Every good action hero has a one-liner he is known by. Bo comes in and delivers his. “I’ve got this.”
He sidesteps Logan and takes charge of tying Eden’s dress.
Like Bo is some kind of hero to damsels in a state of distress—or undress. He’s just an actor, stealing into Logan’s scene with the leading lady. Yet Logan couldn’t help but feel like he’s the villain.
And Eden treats him like he is one onset. She doesn’t even look at him during filming, unless Jean-Paul directs her to.
In the garden, outside the ballroom, is a wooden tree swing attached to a bough with thick manila rope. The rope twists into fat tassels where it connects to the wide wooden swing seat. Eden sits on that swing, with all her pink ruffles fluffing around her like cotton candy.
She clutches the rope with both her hands and tilts her head while she sings to the camera.
I know that you love me.
Friends is all we’re gonna be.
Logan stands behind her. Jean-Paul cues him to push the swing as Eden sings her next lines:
Yet another man can’t stay away,
tells me words that you can’t say.
“Cut!” Jean-Paul claps his hands. “Okay, we need another take. Logan, push the swing a little higher so we can get the lighting right against the Dutch tilt.”
Translation: Just push the damn swing higher.
For now, the director merely has Logan stand in a grey suit and push the swing. They’ve done about fifteen takes of only these song lyrics, all so the camera can catch Eden singing from different angles. The music cues each time for a take, and she sings more muted than he’s seen her do on stage.
Once the director made them do a retake because her lip-syncing didn’t stretch out one of the words the way she does on the recorded version. The whole process of making the video is much harder than he expected because of the complexities of the lip-syncing, various camera shots needed for the same line of lyrics requiring multiple retakes, lighting consistencies, and timing issues.
And of course, there’s having to deal with Jean-Paul.
“Logan, in these song lyrics for this shot, you are metaphorically spinning Eden in circles, confusing her.”
Does he know it isn’t just metaphorically—it’s real life?
“So in this shot, I need you to twist the rope above Eden,” Jean-Paul instructs, “and back off so the swing will spin her around.”
Logan is careful not to twist it around too much so he doesn’t make her dizzy.
“No, no, no.” The director jumps around behind the camera. “You need to spin her more forcefully.”
Logan tries again.
“Spin her harder!” Jean-Paul yells. “You’re the guy in this song that’s hurting her. Do it harder!”
Logan looks down at Eden. She’s gone so pale since their changing room encounter. She didn’t touch any of the food laid out at a breakfast buffet. She seems ill. All the spinning can’t be good for her.
“Let’s take a break,” Logan demands.
“No,” she says defiantly. “The quicker we can get this over with, the quicker I can be out of here.”
That’s exactly what she should do—get the hell away from him. It’s what’s best for her. He can’t stay away from her, and because neither can he be with her, all he’s doing is spinning her around in circles.
Nearly a dozen takes later, Logan sets Eden off on yet another spin for the director. She twirls and twirls and twirls. A wind machine blows directly on them, and her dress lifts high, showing off her legs.
She’s supposed to lean back and caress her bare foot over her calf, like she’s doing underwater acrobatics while spinning on a swing.
“Eden, lean back more and shake your head a little so your hair will dance in the wind.” Jean-Paul is making this way too complicated. “And harder, Logan. You need to really make her spin in circles.” He claps his hands. “Okay, people, let’s do this again.”
But the only “people” doing the hard work is Eden. She rests her head against the rope. She looks tired. One last time, and then Logan is calling this whole thing off. Damn the director.
On the last spin, she leans back on cue… and she keeps falling back and back and back. Logan drops on his knees to protect her head from hitting the ground. Her head lands on his lap with a thud and she’s half-cocked in the swing.
“Eden, sweetheart, are you okay?”
“I-I think so. I feel a little lightheaded.” Her voice is weak and she closes her eyes.
He reaches to pull her closer to him. “Here—”
“I’ve got this.” Bo swoops in and lifts Eden into his arms.
His Hollywood headache dramatically carries her across the patio and through a side door leading to a sitting room off the main entrance. The cameras follow him, probably thinking this is part of the filming. Idiots. Not one of them rushed in to help her.
Logan is fast on his feet and follows, assisting Bo in laying her down on a sofa in front of the fireplace. They both hover over her.
She opens her eyes, blinking up at the ceiling. “Logan?”
“I’m right here.” He takes her hand. It’s colder than it should be.
“Where’s Bo?” Her voice also is weaker than it should be.
Bo pushes Logan out of the way and holds Eden’s hand. “I’m right here, Babe. What can I do for you?”
“I think my blood sugar dropped too low. I just need something to eat, and I’ll be fine.” She looks
over at both men.
By now, Logan has ordered the camera crew out of the room and sent for a doctor. “Get her something from everything on that buffet table in the ballroom.” He directs one of the looky-loo camera crew. “Do it now.”
Logan scans the room for fruit in a decorative bowl or anything that might help her.
Ah, on the fireplace, exactly as Ollie had said he’d left between the pink flowers and potpourri, is the General’s candy tray filled with chocolate kisses and hard candy apples just as it was on his desk at the base. Logan grabs a handful of each candy.
He hustles to her, offering the chocolates first. “I know how much you like these.”
Bo props her a little with a pillow. And she thanks him with a grateful smile. Damn Bo. He would’ve done it if his hands weren’t filled with candy.
She looks at the chocolates and scrunches her nose. “I’ve no interest in those like I used to.”
One of the crew guys arrives with a loaded plate of food. Eden takes what he offers instead, but at least she eats.
The director stands on the fringes. After Eden sets her plate on a coffee table and closes her eyes, Jean-Paul says, “Maybe one of you guys should take her upstairs to lay on a bed before the doctor gets here.”
Logan and Bo size each other up, but Logan holds the trump card.
“It’s my house. I’ll take her upstairs.” Logan scoops her up and carries her in his arms up the grand staircase. His focus is on Eden, but he’s aware cameras follow him, as if they are filming Rhett Butler carrying Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. But Rhett never had a Bo Hunter rubbing shoulders beside him up that staircase.
No sooner does Logan set her on a bed when the doctor comes into the room, shooing them out.
Bo closes the door behind them. He crosses his wide arms. Logan does the same and the two men lock eyes.
“I won’t let you hurt her.” Bo breaks the silence. “Be the man she needs or let her go.” Then he brushes against Logan’s shoulder as he passes him.
Ten minutes later, Logan stands by the fireplace downstairs in the sitting room, contemplating Bo’s words, when Ollie joins him.
“Something’s bothering you. I can always tell when you get that faraway look in your eyes.” Ollie stands next to him by the fireplace. “And I’ll bet it has to do with Eden.”
“And Bo.”
“Tell me about it,” Ollie offers. “Maybe I can help.”
“Not sure you can.” But he tells Ollie about what happened with Bo anyway.
“I’m not taking Bo’s side on this,” Ollie offers, “but what he said is right.”
“I know.” Logan fiddles with the chocolate kisses in the General’s candy dish. “I need to let her go.”
“I didn’t say that,” Ollies says. “Common sense supersedes promises. You love her and that promise is a stupid reason to keep you apart.”
“You’re calling one of the last things Dante ever asked me to do—stupid?”
“Not when you put it like that. But didn’t the General say that sometimes something broken can be made into something better?” Ollie rolls one of the apple candies in his fingers, then sets it back down in the tray. “Maybe if you break this promise, it will turn into something better than you think.”
“I’m not breaking the promise I made to a dead man.” Logan is firm. “Death before dishonor.”
“Then walk away from her, Logan. Say goodbye and don’t look back.”
Death before dishonor. It really does feel like death letting Eden go. His heart pounds in his chest. Fighting him. Beating so hard that it’s as if his heart is kicking itself all the way up to his brain, demanding he rethink his decision.
Hours later, when Eden has been cleared by the doctor, Logan walks to the ballroom patio for his final scene with Eden. He forces his heart to begin the shutdown process.
If only he could hold Eden…
Just one more time.
“Is Eden Knight Dating Two Men at the Same Time?”
– headline from The Summerland Tattler
“Having fun on the set with Bo Hunter! xoxo”
– Pop Star Eden Knight’s picture caption
of her sitting on Bo Hunter’s lap on Instagram
“He who shall never be divided from me kissed my mouth all trembling.”
– Dante Alighieri, Medieval Poet
Poppy is back onset after school and has been handling Eden’s costumes. The two of them stand with Logan on the patio, waiting for the crew to finish spraying “snow” onto all the greenery surrounding the patio. At their feet, the patio brick is already covered in this make-believe snow. Apparently, it’s actually SnowCel, processed paper shreds made to look like the real thing.
But the whole effect works its magic. Eden is stunning in a black, long satin dress against the white winterland backdrop. She wears one of the most unusual creations he’s ever seen. It’s held together by safety pins.
That’s right—safety pins.
Thirteen large golden pins, each a few inches in length. Five of them run from her left shoulder down to her stomach and hold the fabric, leaving wide see-through gaps. Two are on her right shoulder, barely holding up the thin strap. And the other six flank her back, three on each side, again leaving wide see-through gaps.
Poppy fusses with the gown’s high, left-leg slit. But it’s the low V neckline that barely covers Eden’s nipples that grabs his attention. He knows the feel of them, the weight of her breasts in his hands. He remembers telling her that men think about sex an average of nineteen times a day. But with Eden, he thinks about it at least every nineteen seconds.
It’s because she makes him feel so alive. There’s been too much death surrounding him, making him feel dead inside.
But Eden is warm and soft and beyond beautiful—angelic. Like she is his guardian angel leading him out of the darkness of his soul.
“Logan, did you notice the royal crest imprinted on the safety pin heads of Eden’s Fashionista dress? And they were in the medallions on the Legendary dress she wore last night, too.” Poppy angles one of the gold safety pin heads towards him, showing every intricate curve of the crest. “Now she’s officially part of our inner family circle.”
“What do you mean?” Eden asks.
“Only people officially under our family’s protection get to wear our insignia.” Poppy stands back and beams a bright smile to Eden. “It signals to the world that you belong to us.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry if I wasn’t supposed to wear this.” She touches one.
“Don’t be sorry,” Poppy says. “Logan authorized it.”
He furrows his eyebrows towards Poppy.
“Don’t you remember, Logan? I made sure her dresses had these because you told me you wanted her to wear the family crest. It was before you were in the hospital. You told me that you wanted to mark her as part of our family and that you were going to make her my sister.”
He did tell Poppy that—before his promise to Dante.
And his sister essentially just let it slip to Eden that he was going to propose to her.
Eden’s cheeks bloom pink and she darts a wide-eyed look at him before she gazes out towards the garden, as if she’s in deep thought.
“Haven’t you noticed any extra security around you, Eden?”
She’s wrapped her arms around her stomach and says somewhat absently, “Actually, no.”
“Then they’re doing their job.” Poppy shrugs. “Unless you’re me. I always notice them.”
Eden turns to her. “You notice a great many things that I’ve overlooked.” She tilts her head to Logan. “W-why did you authorize the extra security for me?”
Because I love you. “I care about you, more than you might think.”
There’s a glassy look to her eyes. “Thank you for looking out for me.” She unfolds her arms and takes a step towards him. “So you care about me more than I might think?”
He doesn’t water down his words with let’s j
ust be friends. He only nods. Once this day is over, he needs to say goodbye to her, and his heart insists on a last rite of confession.
Jean-Paul approaches them and claps his hands together. “All right people, let’s do this.” The end is coming far too soon.
Poppy goes behind the camera with the crew and Jean-Paul positions Logan and Eden so that her hands rest on his chest. Will this be the last time she ever touches him like this? Her hands spark his heart to beat faster.
Logan puts his hands on her bare shoulders and his body winds tight with need to touch more of her.
Just one more time.
The camera rolls and Eden cozies her body up to him. Stroking her hands up and down his chest. Shimmying her body against his.
His heart constricts with the agony of want and the reality of letting go. It’s hard to breathe. Will he be able to breathe again without her so close to him?
She sings.
I’m cold and I’m lonely.
I want you to hold me.
Logan caresses her arms up and down with his hands, desperate to hold her.
Jean-Paul cuts. “Logan, pull her straps down her shoulder a little as she sings.” He says it like he’s directing Logan to simply chew gum, instead of giving him permission to indulge in the fantasies he has of her practically every nineteen seconds. “Eden, tug at his suit like you want to tear it off of him.”
The music cues again. Logan slips her black shoulder straps down and slides his hands over the curve of her shoulders. He has to touch more of her. Even if just one more time. He traces his fingers over the tops of her breasts along the V of her dress. She whimpers, though it’s not part of the song.
His body is hard for her. And if there weren’t so many cameras around, he would scoop her up and carry her like Scarlett O’Hara to his bedroom. Alone this time. And stay there until they forgot all about time.
Just one more time.
He roams his hands everywhere they will reach on her body, trying to memorize every curve of her for the long, dark, lonely nights ahead.
