Delight Me Page 9

  Baby, I’m sorry. Crisis expanding. Won’t be back until late Christmas Day. I love you. I miss you. It’s not enough, but no matter what, I am there with you and the girls in spirit. Forgive me?

  The thought of his continuing absence is like a knife to my heart, but I roll my shoulders back. Whatever he’s having to deal with is obviously bad, and I don’t want him worrying about me or feeling guilty.

  So I pull up my big girl panties, draw in a breath, and quickly type my reply.

  It’s never enough unless you’re beside me, but we will be fine. We love you. We miss you. Be safe. I love you, Mr. Stark. Come home soon.

  I hit send, hoping that he’ll reply quickly. I anticipate the reply, because I know what it will say: I will. And until then, imagine me, touching you.

  I sigh, smiling despite his absence.

  But then Not delivered appears beneath my message bubble, and though I try and try to resend, nothing will go through.

  My smile morphs into a scowl. A husband who owns a piece of every industry in the world, including telecoms, and I can’t get a simple text through? If I weren’t feeling so sorry for myself, I might actually find the irony amusing.

  The cloak of sadness that’s enfolded me loosens a bit when I reach the kitchen and see the pile of Christmas cards from yesterday’s mail that Gregory left on the breakfast table. I smile at the colorful envelopes, then frown when I see the familiar looping style of my mother’s handwriting.

  My chest tightens and for the millionth time that day, I wish Damien was here. Before, I’d simply wanted him. Now, I want his strength.

  But he’s not here, and I have only myself to rely on.

  Get a grip, Nicholas, I think as I draw a breath. Only myself to rely on? Physically, maybe. But that’s all. Because even when he’s not beside me, Damien is in my heart, helping me find the strength I’ve had all along.

  And that means that I can handle this. My mother and all the baggage that goes along with her.

  I steel myself, then pluck the card up with the same distaste I’d show for a nasty tissue left on the floor. I slide the silver letter opener that Gregory used as a paperweight under the flap, then pull out the card.

  The image is simple. A line drawing of a Christmas tree. The contents inside are much more complicated.

  Nichole.

  I know that we did not part well, but I think this rift has gone on long enough. I want to see my granddaughter. Let me know when I can visit, or when you and the little one can come to Texas.

  Happy holidays,

  Mother

  My stomach twists, and I feel sick. Granddaughter? Singular? Of course that’s what she’d write. Because to my mother, Lara doesn’t count at all. And you and the little one? As if Damien and our eldest simply don’t exist in her world.

  Fury rips through me, so powerful and violent I feel physically ill.

  What the hell? I mean, seriously. What. The. Hell.

  I pace, trying to burn off some of this energy. Craving Damien but knowing I can’t have him, and the knowing makes my chest tighten.

  I can’t even seek comfort with my girls. I’m too upset. Too rattled. And they’d pick up on it. I know their sloppy kisses and snuggly hugs would make me feel better, but this isn’t a burden I want them to bear. Not coming from that woman. I want my girls to stay far away from her in every way possible.

  The sharp chime of the doorbell pulls me from my thoughts. Evelyn, I think, as relief flows through me. Because right then, with the exception of Damien, she really is the person I want to see most in the world.

  “Texas!” Evelyn says as I open the door. “I’m so sorry I missed you yesterday. What did my girls think of the Winter Wonderland?”

  “They loved it, and they missed you. So did I,” I add, ushering her in and through the house to the back patio. She takes a seat by the pool, and I hurry to check on the girls and grab a bottle of wine.

  In her late fifties, Evelyn has spent a lifetime in the entertainment industry. She was Damien’s agent back when he first started taking endorsements. Now she represents Jamie and any number of our friends. She’s smart and strong and doesn’t take shit from anyone.

  She was one of the first people I met in Los Angeles, and definitely one of my favorites. She’s held my hand through trauma and drama, and I’m so glad that she showed up in my life to fill the hole in my heart where my mother should live, but never occupied.

  “You’re coming to the gala for the Children’s Foundation tomorrow, right? Lara is dying for you to see her in her costume.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she says. “And I’ll bring the girls’ presents to your party after.” She takes a sip of her wine, then studies me. My whole life I’ve worn masks. Social Nikki. Beauty Queen Nikki. Science Nerd Nikki. Evelyn is one of the few people around whom I’ve truly let down my guard, and I have to fight the urge to hug myself, because I’m certain that she can see the mish-mash of violent emotions roiling inside of me.

  “You might as well tell me about it,” she says boldly. “Whatever it is, you know you’ll feel better.”

  I can’t help it; I laugh. “You really do know me too well.”

  “Not a chance, Texas. It’s not possible to know the people you love too well.” She takes another sip. “So spill.”

  I give her the shorthand version of the story. My sadness that Frank is missing Christmas. My frustration with Damien—that he went away in the first place so close to the holiday and that now he’s stuck and not getting back until Christmas day. And, of course, the newest straw on my camel’s back—the card from my mother.

  “I’ve got to give it to you, Texas. You definitely have it rough.”

  I manage a laugh. “Always nice to be validated.”

  “I miss Frank, too,” she says. “And I am definitely sorry that I missed seeing him in a Santa suit.”

  “Me, too.” I take a sip of my wine, thinking about the slow burn that’s been growing between Evelyn and my dad. “So, um, how’s it going with you two?”

  The corners of her eyes crinkle. “A lady never kisses and tells.”

  “Just knowing there’s something you could tell makes me happy,” I say. “Seriously, I hope you two work it out. But no pressure,” I add, and we both laugh.

  “Between you and me, Texas,” she says. “I hope so, too. Who knows? Maybe there will still be mistletoe when he finally does catch that plane.”

  “I’ll make sure of it.” I sigh and top off my wine. “Mistletoe. Cookies. Hot chocolate and carolers at the mall. I hate that Damien’s missing out on all of that pre-holiday stuff. The little things that are the fabric of family memories, you know?”

  “I do. But we both know he loves you and those girls more than anything. But his work—well, that’s part of who he is.”

  “And that’s why we love him,” I say, clinking the glass she’s extended in a toast. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want him here now.”

  “I hear you.” She sets her glass down, then props her chin on her fist as she looks out over the pool toward the ocean. “Maybe you need to look at this as an opportunity.”

  “An opportunity?”

  “What have you got him for Christmas? That man of ours who’s so damn hard to shop for?”

  I make a face. “I’ve got a few things. An engraved watch. Some geeky gadgets he’ll get a kick out of. And two signed Isaac Asimov first editions.”

  “Oh, he’ll like that,” Evelyn said, knowing as well as I do how much Damien loves science fiction.

  “He will,” I agree. “I’m still trying to figure out that gift, though.”

  She nods knowingly. “That’s what I mean. By opportunity,” she clarifies, obviously seeing my confusion. “If he’s gone for a bit, take advantage of that time. Make something with the girls for him. Something he’ll cherish forever.”

  I nod slowly. “I know what you mean. I just haven’t figured out what it is.”

  She pushes back her chair. “Well, you�
�re in luck, because I have a few ideas. Why don’t we go in and see those little girls, and I’ll share my ideas with you?”

  I stand, too. “I like that plan. Thanks.” And for the first time in a lifetime, it feels like I really do have a mom for the holidays.

  Chapter 11

  “It’s not like we had a choice,” Frank said, about eight hours after they’d left the airport in the Volkswagen that now belonged to Damien. He’d bought it outright. Under the circumstances, that had been easier than trying to figure out the rental cost and logistics for getting Damien and Frank to Los Angeles in the small car, and then getting the car all the way back to the southern end of Mexico.

  Of course, before he’d resorted to acquiring yet another toy for his collection, they’d wasted an hour trying to locate another plane to rent. But they’d ended up running into the same problem they’d had before—with the strike, all available private aircraft had been claimed.

  And while their own rental jet was arguably flightworthy, with the damage to the belly and the length of the flight, Damien wasn’t willing to take the risk.

  So he’d negotiated to buy the car, and he and Frank had set off, heading north toward the States and his family.

  He’d intended to bring Grayson along, but the pilot had insisted on staying behind. “It’s a forty-four hour drive,” Grayson had said. “It’s going to be Christmas Day before you get back. You go on ahead north. If I can wrangle up parts and mechanics, I might be able to fix our bird. Then I fly to meet you somewhere, and maybe shave a few hours off your travel time.”

  “Or you could be stranded down here for Christmas.”

  Grayson waved it off. “Never been much of one for the holidays. Not since I was a kid. No, I’ll stay and make sure the repairs are being handled right. With any luck, we’ll meet up long before you reach the border. Get you home a little earlier.”

  Damien had looked at Frank, who’d shrugged. “I guess that’s our plan, then.”

  And they’d set out, but not until Damien had texted Nikki with the bad news.

  The text had gone through, but he hadn’t heard back. Still hadn’t, even though it had been over eight hours since he texted.

  He hoped it was the network that was the problem, but he also knew that Nikki hadn’t wanted him to leave, and hadn’t understood why he was so determined. That was his own fault, since he hadn’t told her about Frank, but now with the delay, he feared that he’d inadvertently pushed her away when what he’d wanted to do was pull the entire family closer.

  “It will be okay,” Frank said, pulling Damien back to the present. “She’ll understand.”

  “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

  “I can tell when you’re thinking about her. It’s one of the reasons I approve of you. I like what I see on your face when you think about my daughter.”

  Damien managed a smile, but his heart wasn’t in it. It was after ten on the night of December twenty-third, and he still had thirty-six hours of drive time staring him in the face. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to change that.

  He was fucking impotent, and that wasn’t a state of being that he was used to. It hadn’t been for a long time. A very long time.

  They drove in silence for a few more hours, both exhausted and dirty. When the gas tank reached the halfway mark, Damien started looking for a station. He’d been filling up regularly since they’d started the journey. This part of the country was remote, with only a few scattered buildings, many looking abandoned. And the last thing he wanted was to run out of gas in the middle of the night in an unfamiliar country.

  About an hour later, Frank pointed to a ramshackle gas station surrounded by flat dusty ground illuminated only by the few lights posted above the gas tanks and a tall lamp post that rose up from behind the building.

  Damien frowned at it, noting the way the light reflected off of something large and metallic. He couldn’t see all of it—just protrusion of metal sticking out past the side of the building—but something about it seemed so familiar.

  “Full,” Frank said, and Damien turned to see Frank holding the fuel nozzle. “No credit card attachment. Guess we pay inside.”

  Damien nodded, still distracted, and headed that way, his steps picking up speed as he realized what he’d seen.

  A plane. The nose and bit of prop from a small, single-engine plane.

  It probably didn’t fly. Was probably rusted and engine-less.

  But until he could ask the attendant, he could hope. Because right then, the only thing he wanted in the world was his wife and children. And for a few short minutes at least, he was going to hold onto the dream that the small, dust-covered, probably broken-down plane had enough oomph left in it to get him and Frank home to Nikki.

  It was the season of miracles, after all. And right then, he could sure use one.

  Chapter 12

  I stand in the middle of the Stark Century Hotel’s Grand Ballroom, the venue for the Stark Children’s Foundation’s Holiday Fundraising Gala, surrounded by bright, beautiful, smiling faces. Women and men dressed to the nines. Children in their holiday best.

  The kids are mostly in the far corner where a play area is set up, complete with holiday elves. As for the adults, they’re gathered around the silent auction displays, playing roulette or blackjack, indulging in the varied spread of food and drink, or enjoying the band set up by the temporary dance floor.

  They’re all here to support the foundation, to raise money for the kids that this organization supports, and to watch the children’s Nutcracker performance that’s due to begin in just a few minutes.

  As a member of the board and a Stark Youth Advocate, I’m one of the hostesses for the evening, and in that role, I move through the room, my Engaged Hostess mask firmly in place as I try not to reveal my fears. Because I still haven’t heard from Damien, and I can’t think of a single reason why he wouldn’t be in touch. None of his plants are so remote that cell service isn’t available, and as far as I know, all of the countries in which Stark International does business are stable.

  I’m hoping that he’s simply putting every second toward resolving the crisis, so he’s not even taking the extra time to contact me. But no matter how many times I tell myself that, I also know that’s not Damien. And the thought makes me spiral down into fear and worry again.

  “I’m so impressed by everything this organization does,” says a journalist I’ve met once or twice, but whose name escapes me. “I’d love to interview you and Mr. Stark about its origins and mission.” She glances around. “By the way, I haven’t seen him this evening. Where is he hiding?”

  “Unfortunately, he was called away for an emergency.”

  “Oh, what a shame.”

  “Yes, it is.” I manage a thin smile. This isn’t a conversation I want to be having, and I’m grateful when I see Jamie across the room, signaling me to come over. “I’m so sorry, but it looks like I’m being summoned. Why don’t you contact the foundation’s press office and we’ll see about setting up that interview?”

  I make my escape, the tightness in my chest fading the further I get from the conversation.

  “How are you holding up?” Jamie asks, and I shake my head.

  “It’ll be okay, Nicholas. You know it will.”

  “I’m really worried about him.” Tears prick my eyes and it takes a massive effort not to burst into sobs. If we were alone, I would. But I can’t lose it now. Not here. Not tonight.

  “Hey,” Jamie says gently, “he’ll be fine. He’s Damien Fucking Stark.” And despite my fears, I burst out laughing.

  “Thanks,” I say. Weirdly, that really does make me feel better.

  “The gala is incredible,” she tells me. “And Ryan and I can’t wait to see Lara dance in the show.” Her brow furrows. “Where’s Anne?”

  “Backstage. She didn’t want to leave Lara, and Kelsey was sweet enough to agree. She roped some of the older kids into going backstage to help wrangle the dan
cers, so she has plenty of supervision.”

  “Nice for you. You can mingle at will.”

  “Too bad I’m not in the mood to mingle. But duty calls,” I add with a shrug of my shoulders. “Want to join me?”

  She nods, and we ease our way back into the crowd. “By the way, did you ever get Damien’s big gift? Last we talked you hadn’t thought of it.”

  “I did. Evelyn had a great suggestion. The girls and I made him a photo album yesterday.” It turned out even better than I expected considering I’d put Lara in charge of decorating the cover of the plain album we’d bought at a craft store. It’s covered with family-themed stickers and cutouts of all of our faces, including Sunshine’s, and big crayoned letters that say Daddy’s Family.

  Inside the album, Anne and I glued photos to the paper, with Anne adding special stickers to fill in the spaces between.

  “That sounds fabulous. He’s going to love it.”

  “I know,” I say. And since I don’t want to bring the mood down again, I bite my tongue before I can add that I’m afraid we won’t have the chance to give it to him. Instead, I ask, “What did you decide on for Ryan?”

  “A sex swing,” she announces, far too loudly.

  “Jamie!” I look around, hoping no one standing nearby is listening to our conversation.

  “What? He’s going to love it.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but does everyone at the gala need to know?”

  She laughs. “You and Damien should get one.”

  “What makes you think we don’t already have one?” Actually, that’s a point. I wonder if we do. Our toy collection is wide and varied, and it wouldn’t surprise me.

  Jamie considers, then shrugs. “I’m just saying … the album is wonderful and he’ll love it. But trust me when I say he’ll love this in a completely different way.”

  I laugh and give her a hug. “There are so many reasons why you are my best friend.”

  “What can I say? I’m a well-rounded kind of girl. So you’ll get it?”