by J. Kenner
He takes a single step toward her, and she backs up, upsetting one of the dessert tables and sending cookies and cake bites tumbling to the ground. “You keep your hands off me,” she shrieks. “You can’t manhandle me. You can’t touch me.”
“You’re leaving, Marianna,” Damien says, the deceptive calm of his voice hiding an ocean of anger. He lifts his left wrist and glances down at his watch, then taps the watch face. “You can leave civilly or you can leave with an escort. But either way, you’re ending up outside those gates in less than five minutes.”
“Fuck. You.” She thrusts her chin out, then steps right in front of Damien, her eyes narrowed into slits. “You think you’re above everything, don’t you. Well, think again. You’ve crossed the wrong person, Damien Stark. I’ll destroy you. You just wait and see if I don’t.”
The doors open to the left, and I see one of the wide-eyed volunteers hurry that direction, presumably to tell the new person that the hall isn’t yet ready for guests. Except the person stepping into the hall is Ryan, and he makes a subtle hand motion that has the volunteer backing off. Then, with laser focus, he approaches Damien, acknowledging me with a quick nod and Marianna with a dismissive glance.
“Trouble, Mr. Stark?”
“Ms. Kingsley has become confused and can’t remember the way out. Could you escort her off the premises?”
“Not a problem.” He stares down Marianna, his expression cold enough to freeze ice in hell. “If you’d just come with me, please.”
For a moment, I think she’s going to argue. Then her gaze skims over Ryan, who stands there looking strong and dangerous. I see her swallow, then nod.
They get about two steps away when she turns back, her expression hard. “This isn’t over, Stark.”
“Noted,” he says, then turns his back on her to take my hand and lead me to the far side of the room.
“Can she?” I ask.
His eyes narrow slightly. “Can she what?”
“Well, she said she’d destroy you, and I know she can’t manage that. But can she make trouble?”
He strokes my cheek as he shakes his head. “Baby, she already tried that and we beat her. All she can do now is talk big. And we don’t have to listen.”
“Good.” I brush a light kiss over his lips. “That’s exactly what I hoped you’d say.”
Outside, someone clangs the triangular bell that hangs in front of the dining hall, signaling to everyone that the food service has begun—and signaling to me that I’ll soon be standing at that podium spilling my heart out to a room full of people.
“You okay?”
I look up, realizing that Damien is watching me intently. “Of course.” I force a smile. “Mind wandering.”
From his expression, I’m not sure he believes me, but the next moment he’s called away by one of the foundation’s board members. I kiss him on the cheek, then point to Jamie, who’s just entered the hall alongside Ryan. “Find me later,” I tell him, then scoot away before I catch another worried glimpse.
“What’s up?” Jamie asks when I come up and hook my arm around her waist, then lean against my best friend for support.
“Nothing,” I say, which is a lie that has her rolling her eyes.
“Ignore her,” Ryan says, obviously referring to Marianna and not to Jamie. “She’s no threat to Damien.”
“Of course she’s not,” I say. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it when she gets in his face.”
All of which is true, but I can tell from Jamie’s expression that she knows that’s not the entire story. “Spill,” she orders me after she tugs me to the side with the excuse that we’re making a run for the dessert table before all the kids pick it clean.
“I guess this is moot now, but I called the magazine. That editor? Doesn’t exist. And they’ve never used a reporter named Mary Lee, freelance or staffed. She was totally scamming you.”
“Considering what just happened, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“But you’re okay?” Jamie’s eyeing me intently.
“Absolutely.”
She’s silent for a beat, then she cocks her head to the side, crosses her arms, and stares me down. “Um, BFF here, remember? You want to try that answer again?”
I sigh loudly. “It’s nothing. Really.” I speak firmly, because I mean it. “She just got in my head.”
Jamie wrinkles her nose. “Well, get her out. Ick.”
I laugh, feeling better. Then better still after I snag a tiny cheesecake and follow Jamie toward a table in the back. We’re about halfway across the room when Bree bounces up with Rory in tow.
“Having fun?” I ask unnecessarily. It’s clear from her face—not to mention the way her arm is linked through Rory’s—that she’s having a great time.
“I just wanted to say thanks again for letting me have the day off. I really wanted to be here for your talk, and then when I found out that Rory was coming, too, well, you know.” She lifts her shoulders in a happy shrug. “And, yeah, we’re having a blast.”
Her happiness is infectious, and I grin. “I’m really glad to hear it. And it’s great to see you again, Rory.”
“You, too, Mrs. Stark.” He aims a finger at me. “Looking forward to your speech.”
“Great,” I say, as a fresh lump settles in my gut.
“Interesting fellow,” Ryan says after Rory and Bree are out of earshot.
“You know him?” I frown as we settle at a table.
“I know of him,” Ryan clarifies, then grabs a bite-sized chocolate cake off of Jamie’s plate.
“Um, hello?” she says, then frowns. “Never mind. Go for it. I have to be on camera soon anyway. Save my teeth from flecks of chocolate and my hips from Lacey Dunlop.”
“What do you mean, you know of him?” I press, ignoring Jamie. “Oh, Ryan, you didn’t,” I continue, ignoring my own question.
He pops another little cake into his mouth. “It’s what I do,” he says after he swallows. “You don’t really think Damien would have it any other way?”
I frown because I should have realized that Damien would have his people check out our nanny’s new boyfriend. “All right. What did you learn?”
“Rough past. Abusive dad who skipped out, thank goodness. Mom with no education who struggled to feed him, then bounced. He ended up in foster care. Walked when he was fifteen. Lived on the street, supported himself by selling pot. Not a user, though. Or not much. Took the GRE. A ridiculously smart kid,” he says. “Got lucky a cop saw potential and offered to pay for a few community college classes if he quit selling. Rory did, and the cop kept his word. Then got his name in front of the foundation way back in the early days. Now he works as a financial manager at one of the investment firms downtown.”
I nod; Bree already told me that.
“He’s good at his job, but he’s Peter Pan.” Ryan says this part with a smile, and Jamie rolls her eyes. I, however, frown at him, confused.
“He’s been at four different firms in half as many years,” Ryan explains. “Does well, but hasn’t settled.”
“He’s saying Rory hasn’t grown up,” Jamie translates.
“That kind of childhood, might take him a while to find his place,” I say.
Ryan nods. “And if the profile that his foundation scholarship was built from is any indication, he should be working in R&D. Not moving other people’s money.”
“Cut him a break,” Jamie says. “Hell, I’m still not sure that I’ve figured out what I want to be when I grow up.”
I meet Ryan’s eyes and we share a grin. We both know that Jamie is doing exactly what she was born to do.
“All I care about is that he’s right for Bree,” I say firmly. “And so far, they seem giddy together.”
Damien joins us, but waves off Jamie’s invitation to sit. “Nikki and I are needed in the back. You ready?”
I want to say no—my stomach is in knots—but as soon as Damien takes my hand, I feel calmer. This is my choice, after all. I c
an do it. With Damien at my side, I can do anything.
As Annabelle Tate, the recently appointed Executive Director of the Foundation, steps up to the podium, Damien and I disappear toward the back. We pass Jackson and Sylvia’s table, and they both mouth words of encouragement, as do Bree and Rory, who are sharing their table. I haven’t seen Abby and Travis, but I’m sure they’re around somewhere, and I know Jamie will invite them to join her and Ryan before Jamie goes off to meet her cameraman and do her reporter thing.
The podium is set up in front of the hall’s far wall, a curtain behind it that leads to an open door. Damien and I are now behind the curtain in a staging area that leads to the kitchen. Servers and foundation personnel move with purpose all around us, but Damien doesn’t pay them any attention at all. Instead, he is focused entirely on me.
“I’m fine.”
“I know you are,” he says, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Damien?” The corner of my mouth twitches. “What?”
“Just this,” he says, then bends to claim my mouth with his. Not a soft kiss, appropriate for planting on your wife in front of your coworkers and employees. No, this kiss is pure sin. Wicked. Wild. And it sparks a raging fire inside me that roars white hot through my blood and my mind, burning away reason and etiquette until there’s nothing left but raw, brutal need.
I hook my arms around his neck, only then realizing that he’s pulled me close so that my breasts are crushed against his chest, our bodies melding into each other. I can feel every hard inch of him, and all I want in that moment is to surrender.
All I get, though is his kiss. Then his hands sliding down my arms. Then his fingers twined in mine as he lifts our joined hands and kisses my fingertips. “I love you,” he says, and I feel my answering smile burst through every part of me.
“Break it up, you two.”
I hold onto Damien, but turn my head to smile at Lyle, who’s standing with Evelyn, both of them grinning right back at me. With his rugged good looks and hypnotic blue eyes, Lyle looks every bit like the bankable star he’s become after starring in several blockbuster action films, then winning an Academy Award for a smaller family drama.
“Where’s Sugar?” I ask, referring to the wife he met under circumstances that rival the nude portrait that was the catalyst to me getting together with Damien.
“You’ll see her when you step to the podium,” he says. “We’ll both be at the front table, cheering you on.” He glances toward Damien, then looks back at me, his expression serious. “Are you sure about this? You were there when all my secrets came out. It can be a rough gig.”
I understand that he’s giving me an easy out. The four of us standing here, plus Jamie and Ryan, are the only people who know that I’m about to announce myself as the newest Youth Advocate.
I say nothing. Just release Damien’s hand, walk to Lyle’s side, and kiss him on the cheek. Then I return to my husband, shrugging as he lifts a brow. “Showtime,” he says, as Annabelle wraps up her speech by introducing Damien, and the audience bursts into applause.
He runs the pad of his thumb over my lower lip, then steps forward to move through the curtain to the podium. I listen as the crowd calms, then hear Damien’s strong, confident voice as he greets the foundation’s guests.
“He’s in his element,” Lyle says.
I shake my head. “No. Being in front of an audience is your element. His is in smaller groups. Making deals. Or sitting around a table thinking up crazy tech that sends his R&D folks off in nine hundred different directions.
“Fair enough,” Lyle says. “And yours?”
He means it as a tease, but the question resonates. Am I in my element at work? With my kids? With Damien? And if the latter, what does that say about me? That I love my husband, yes. But what about me?
“Nikki?”
“Me?” I shrug my shoulders, a little sassy, a little flirty. “I’m an enigma. Or hadn’t you heard?”
Outside, the audience applauds, one of those examples of perfect timing. Beside me, Evelyn hooks her arm around my shoulder. “You’re going to do just fine, Texas,” she says, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s talking about my speech or something else entirely.
“That’s you,” says Annabelle, who’s now standing just inside the curtain listening to Damien sing the praises of the foundation and the kids it supports. She’s pointing to Lyle, and he nods, ready to go out and introduce me as this year’s keynote speaker. The Youth Advocate announcement will come solely from me, along with my story that tells the audience my particular pain that qualifies me for that role.
He takes a step toward the curtain, then pauses and turns back. “I know it’s nerve-wracking. Just remember that everyone who’s gone before you up to that podium had a story to tell, too. And everyone felt a hundred pounds lighter afterwards.”
Beside me, Evelyn snorts. “We’ll need to tie you down before you start talking. Lose a hundred pounds, and someone will blow you away from just cooling down their coffee.”
“Hysterical,” I say.
Evelyn winks at me. “I do my best.”
We stand side by side until Annabelle signals that it’s my turn. Then I take a deep breath, step through the curtain, and take my place at the podium.
It’s easier than I expected, mostly because I see Damien first thing. He’s sitting at the VIP table with Lyle, representatives from local government, Damien’s lawyer—Charles Maynard, who’s also a major contributor to the foundation, and three of the kids who’ve come through the program and are about to graduate from college with honors.
Behind them, I see that Jackson and Sylvia have joined Bree and Rory at a table, and that Abby and Travis are with them as well, and Jamie and her camera operator are off to one side, talking in whispers. For that matter, everywhere I look I see friendly faces. People I know well. People I’ve met at various foundation functions. It’s a warm group. A kind group. And I’m proud to be a part of it.
That, in fact, is the theme of my keynote, and although I have my notecards available, I know this talk. This message. And my speech comes from the heart.
The applause I receive when I finish wraps around me like a warm blanket of encouragement, and I hold up my hand to signal that I have more to say. This part I didn’t write cards for, though. I thought about it—I rehearsed it in my head and in the shower more times than I can count—but it’s different now with eyes on me, and it takes time for me to find the words to get me started.
Time that passes as I scan the room, certain that the friendly, supportive faces will push me forward.
And they do. Jamie. Sylvia. Lyle.
And Damien.
Always, Damien.
I meet his eyes, see his encouraging smile, then lean into the mike. “I won’t keep you much longer,” I say, “but I do have one more thing to add. Don’t worry—it’s more of an announcement than another long-winded speech.”
The crowd laughs as I’d hoped, and I let my gaze drift over the faces, starting with Damien and then crossing the room, my plan being to start speaking again when I’m looking to that far side, which so often gets neglected by speakers.
That’s where the door is, and as my eyes land there, I see a man step in. A man I’ve met before, and whose voice I hear echoing in my mind.
Do you think I don’t know what he paid you to do? That painting. That money? He paid you like a whore, little girl, and then he married you to make you both feel better about it.
It’s not true. I know it’s not. There’s not a doubt in my mind.
But it doesn’t matter. The words are in my head, old fears rising. Old doubts. That horrible night when the first man I was serious about—the only man before Damien—got drunk and told me how disgusting I was. How sick my scars made him. How it was damn good that the rest of me was pretty because otherwise he’d never get through it. And my shame and fear when I first showed Damien my scars.
You’re past that, dammit. I tell myself that. He
ll, I shout it inside my head.
Right now, though, I don’t believe it.
And as I face the room full of expectant faces, I do the only thing I can do. I tell the crowd that Damien and I are endowing a new scholarship fund that will allow the organization to help up to ten additional incoming freshmen annually.
In other words, I lie, knowing full well that the moment this brunch is over, Damien will make my story a reality.
He’ll fix it, just like he always does.
But as much as I wish he could, the truth is that Damien can’t fix me.
15
“I couldn’t do it.” We’re in the back, and the brunch is over, and Damien is holding my shoulders, his eyes looking deep into mine. “I couldn’t get the words out.”
My voice sounds frantic. Panicked. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Trying to ignore the servers who move around behind us, cleaning up after the brunch. I’m certain that they’re watching me. Wondering about the strange woman who gave a speech and is now melting down. “I just couldn’t do it,” I repeat, as if he hadn’t heard me the first time.
“Then you were right not to.”
“Damien, no. I—”
He silences me with a finger to my lips. “Baby, this isn’t a test. It’s not a rite of passage. When you’re ready—if you’re ready—you will. And if that day never comes, then it’s not the end of the world.”
I make a scoffing noise. “All my big talk about being open and honest. About revealing myself and my weaknesses so that our girls and the kids we help understand strength. So that they get that nobody’s perfect and everyone has flaws. So much for being a bright and shiny role model.”
“You’re an incredible mother. Making a speech won’t change that any more than not making a speech. “
“I want to be strong for them. For me.”
“Sharing your secrets doesn’t make you strong. Living with the pain. Getting past it. That’s strength. And that’s you.” He cups my face. “You planned your speech with good intentions. And you didn’t fail anyone today.”
“Except myself.”
