Chapter 15
Two months later
Oh fuck. I’ve overslept. That’s Bach’s Air on a G String pouring from the ceiling speakers. Chrissie is already in motion for the day. I probably won’t catch her again until midnight.
How the hell does she manage this pace?
I stretch out in bed. Fuck, I’m fully erect. Hard. Ready to go. And she’s not here. She knows the agreement. 4 a.m. to 7 a.m. is our time. I grab my cell phone from the night table.
Shit, it’s after eight.
Why the fuck did she let me sleep through the morning?
Early morning has become Pavlovian to me.
Oh, my favorite part of the day with her.
Doesn’t she get that yet?
I sit up and scan the room. Carafe of coffee on the nightstand. Thank you, Chrissie. No wife in room. Still too much sunlight in here even with the shades pulled down over every window.
I definitely need to reopen the discussion about moving. This house is too small. Anything short of fifteen thousand square feet with separate wings for everyone is too small. And I’m certainly not hot on the notion of living permanently in Pacific Palisades without a wall for privacy and security.
No, not doing that one, Chrissie. Time for another round of intense—probably futile—negotiations. Well, she might surprise me. She’s not always a pain in the ass, rigid and inflexible. She wasn’t that morning on the patio when she agreed to marry me. I can still feel it in my body exactly how it felt when she finally said yes…
* * *
I am sprawled on a backyard sofa with Chrissie draped over my body. It’s nearly sunrise. I don’t want to let go of her. I don’t want to leave. I feel completely sated. Lying here with her, doing nothing but quietly touching.
Fully aroused and sated at once.
“Say it again. I’m not sure I heard you correctly,” I whisper into her ear.
Chrissie laughs. She lifts her face and stares at me. “Yes, I will marry you, Alan. It was yes when you asked me. It was yes an hour ago. It’s still yes.”
We both laugh.
I hug her tightly, kissing the top of her head. “We can go to Nevada today. Get married there. No wait.”
“No, I’m not doing that.”
The tone of her voice—oh shit, she married Neil there.
“Fine. Then when?”
I stroke her hair and wait. I’m happy. Don’t ruin it, Chrissie. Not now. Tell me something I want to hear, baby.
“We need blood tests in California. It’s a three-day wait.”
Oh fuck. She’s organizing it in her head.
I take her face in my hands and move her head so I can stare into her eyes. “What is that? Four days’ time, tops? Fine. We’ll get married Thursday. Pick a place.”
Chrissie frowns. “You’re ridiculous. Four days, Alan? Not going to happen. I need more time. I want to get married somewhere quiet and beautiful. A place special to both of us. Where we can have the kids and some of our friends. Nothing elaborate. But I want it special.”
Damn. Special. That’s going to take a minimum of a year for her to pull together.
“So here’s what I’m thinking,” she says and I tense. I lift my head from the pillow so I can study her face and see where this is going. “No in regards to Thursday. Not happening. Not workable. But if we invite only the people we really like—”
“—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…
* * *
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Jack says.
I stare at Chrissie, the breathtaking smile on her face, and the way her eyes are shimmering for me. What I’m feeling—being married to Chrissie…finally—there are no words for it. I’ve never experienced anything like what’s rushing through my veins today.
“Are you going to kiss the bride?” Jack asks, louder and amused.
I shift my gaze to Jack. “This better be legal.” It’s a mind blower that he performed the ceremony even though it’s perfect symmetry that he did because I would have never met Chrissie if he hadn’t interfered in my life all those years ago. How the hell did he manage to become a licensed justice of the peace in under a week to marry us so there would be no outsiders here?
Jack laughs. “It’s legal once you kiss her.”
I run my thumb along Chrissie’s cheek. “I just want to stare at you for a little while. Let me.”
Her smile grows larger. “No, I want to be kissed. Kiss me fast since we’re not married until you kiss me.”
I laugh, and pull Chrissie into my arms and lower my face to hers.
Applause all around us.
I kiss her slowly. Gently. Tenderly deepening it as she melts into me, then quietly drawing back before we go across the line of loving and appropriately chaste because her kids are watching everything. And the paparazzi overhead in helicopters and the cameras tucked into drones are capturing every minute of this.
Fuck ’em. Who cares? Let them film today.
Chrissie steps back, breathless and laughing. “Holy crap. We did it, Alan.”
Everyone around us laughs and we’re quickly swallowed up in hugs and congratulations. My humor comes, fuller and richer. Shit, I’m so happy today I’m feeling fucking giddy. And my heart swells into something painful as I watched Chrissie embraced and kissed over and over again.
I don’t think anyone outside the two of us knows that Chrissie tucked behind a few silly words to make everyone laugh what it is to both of us to get here, married and still in love and together as we should be. They don’t know the moments we’ve been through together, the bad, the good, and the loving. They think it’s just light banter, one of Chrissie’s cute-cute moments, but what it is for me is in her voice and the look in her eyes as she looks at me.
Holy crap. We did it. My thoughts exactly, baby.
Everyone moves to the wedding party beneath the giant tent Jack had set up on the lawn. He pulled together an amazing party—dance floor, music, buffet tables, serving staff brought here and not told what the function would be—and by the looks of it everyone we care about is here.
Chrissie and Jack thought of everything.
At 11:30 p.m. I stare down at my wife as we dance. Fuck, the only way I can keep her with me and not have someone drag her away is to dance with her. The party is not winding down. All the guests are still here. She told me not to plan anything. Did she plan a wedding night?
I bring her closer to me, kissing her beneath the hair by her ear. “Is it time to go yet?”
She laughs. “Already?”
“I was ready to go when you said ‘I do.’ I am beyond ready to leave here now.”
She smiles, her face flushed, her eyes sparkly and impish. “Don’t look at anyone. Don’t say anything. Follow me. We need to get to the stairs on the cliff if we’ve got any hope of getting out of here.”
She takes my hand, pulling me through the crowd, and I laugh. I’m possessed by a pleasant sensation of déjà vu, a memory of Chrissie at eighteen, dragging me across the lawn at a running pace to the steps built into the cliffs.
We slip out of the tent and then she hurries me to the access to the beach.
She stops at the top step.
We’re both laughing.
I grab her against me, kissing her the way I’ve wanted to all day. When she pulls back we’re both breathless.
“What are we doing, Chrissie?”
She kisses my bicep, laughs, and then takes my hand and starts going down the narrow stairs.
At the bottom, she pauses and turns in the sand to face me. “There’s security at each end of the beach. It’s empty. I want to walk on the beach with you. Kiss you in the exact spot where you kissed me the night we first met. Then slip down to where a car’s waiting. Jack’s got the kids for a week. Your plane is at the airport on standby for us. I don’t care where you take me. Run away with me, Alan.”
* * *
My mind fills with vivid images of my honeymoon with Chrissie. Oh yes, I need a Kevin Spacey shower this morning. Fuck, I wish my wife was still here.
My phone dings again. Christ, another email from Brian. Why is he sending me this? It’s just the usual tabloid shit. Nothing new.
I toss aside my cell without checking out all the links. Who gives a fuck what anyone writes? What they’re spewing online. I wonder if this shit is part of why Kaley’s being so difficult lately. Maybe she’s getting crap at school over it. Her friends are old enough to surf the web and understand this.
It’s ridiculous what people are willing to believe and babble about. Every story. Nonsense. Is it worth trying to talk to Kaley again? She’s lived through this her entire life. Christ, she’s Neil Stanton’s daughter. Every anniversary of his death she ends up in print. She must know by now that what the tabloids write is ninety percent garbage.
Maybe Chrissie’s wrong about never commenting back on things in the press. Maybe it would all stop if we went on the record, did a late-night talk show or two or something. Maybe we feed it by freezing the press out. Maybe no comment is the same as telling them to comment how they want.
No. I used to answer everything. It never worked well.
Chrissie’s right.
Fuck it. Not commenting, Brian.
I know the truth.
Chrissie knows the truth.
We’re married.
We’re happy.
Fuck them.