“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.”