He looked at his friends, nodding to himself as he re-ran that list in his head. “But all that’s for tomorrow. Right now, I’m going to go find Nikki. And this time,” he added with a look to Jamie, “none of you are going to stop me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said. “And for the record, it sounds like you’ve got a good plan.”
Damn right he did.
He left them to finish up and let themselves out, then headed back to his bedroom, expecting to find Nikki. But she wasn’t there.
Frowning, he moved on to the girls’ room, then stopped in the doorway when he saw her. She was sitting on the window seat, backlit by the moonlight so that she glowed with an ethereal beauty. Anne was asleep in her lap, and his heart swelled at the image of the two of them together, kissed by the light of the rising moon.
He started to step into the room, but then he heard it. A low, sad sob. She was crying. She was curled up in front of a window holding their baby and crying. Because of him. Because he’d fucked up.
How could he have been so ridiculously naïve to think that she just needed time? How could time heal the kind of pain he’d caused? He was supposed to protect her, to keep her safe.
She’d put her trust in him, and he’d failed completely.
And, dammit, he didn’t know how he was supposed to live with that.
* * * *
For almost an hour, he’d been punching the bag, trying to pound out his frustration. His anger. His fear.
Frustration that he’d walked away from Nikki instead of talking to her. Holding her.
Anger at Sofia for tagging the office. Anger at himself for being so blind as to not even consider that she might have done the vandalism.
And fear. He was so afraid that she wasn’t better. That this was the beginning of another long, slow spiral into the abyss.
Again and again, his taped hands beat against the bag, his arms burning, his feet moving. Always keep moving, right? A lesson that worked equally well in fighting and in business.
He thrust out again, a tight, pounding jab punctuated by an uppercut. Then another fast jab. Another, and another. And on and on, because how could he stop? He had a mission, after all. To get it all out. To leave himself an empty shell.
To start fresh.
Only then could he apologize to Nikki. And somehow, some way, make it up to her.
It wasn’t working. The anger still swirled. Along with a wretched self-loathing that was driving him harder and faster and—
“Hey.”
He froze. Nikki.
“Everyone’s gone or asleep.” Her gentle, soft voice touched him like a caress. “I was looking for you.”
She was still behind him, talking to him from the doorway as he faced the bag.
He didn’t turn around. “I would have thought that tonight you’d just as soon not find me.”
He heard the soft pad of her feet on the mat, then saw her appear in the mirrors that lined the side walls. He watched, his already fast heartbeat picking up tempo as she approached, then pressed her hand lightly to his shoulder. “Is that how you feel about me?” she asked. “When I do something that pisses you off. You’d just as soon not find me?”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Baby, how could you ever piss me off?”
Her sweet laughter was a gift he didn’t deserve.
“Liar,” she said. “And you don’t have to answer because I already know the truth. You’re always with me, Damien. Even when we irritate each other. Even when we think that we’ve destroyed everything.”
He drew in a breath, amazed that she could find her way so easily through the noise and slide straight into his soul.
She moved around to stand beside the bag, facing him. “Here,” she said, placing her hand over her heart. “That’s where you are. In my heart and right beside me. Always, Damien. Even when it’s dark and scary. Even when we fight, Damien. Even then, you’re always beside me. Don’t you dare believe it’s different with me.”
He looked at her. Just looked, taking in everything about this woman who was his. Who belonged to him so completely. A woman he didn’t deserve, but knew he could never lose. The moment he lost Nikki was the moment he left this earth, because losing her would be to lose his heart.
She’d washed her face, and there wasn’t a trace of makeup left. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She wore one of his old Wimbledon T-shirts, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. She looked young and fresh and alive and earnest, and he wanted to pull her close and kiss her sweetly. He wanted, somehow, to make amends. But he didn’t know how.
Despite her words, he didn’t know how.
“I screwed up, Nikki.” He pounded one more time on the bag. “I missed it. Ignored it. Was fucking blindsided by it. I wanted so desperately for things to be okay between you and Sofia that I didn’t consider the possibility that even with the doctors giving her a gold star for mental health, that she was still a woman who would be jealous of my wife. Who might do something vindictive and stupid. I didn’t see it, baby, because I didn’t want to see it, and I’m so damn sorry.”
“No.” She shook her head as tears flooded her eyes. “No, Damien, I’m the one who’s sorry. She’s your friend, and you have a lifetime of history with her. You love her. Not the way you love me, but she’s part of you, and I know how much having us at odds hurts you. And you thought she was better. Her doctors even told you she was better. Of course you trusted her.”
She drew a breath and offered him a wobbly smile. “I’m sorry I said that you were wrong to trust her. That was wrong. Me lashing out in anger, and I’m sorry.”
Her words, so sweet and heartfelt, moved him more he could ever express. But they were empty words, no matter how much she might believe them. The bitter truth was that her anger had been justified. He’d fucked up, and Sofia had hurt her.
And how the hell could they ever get past that?
She stepped closer, then wrapped her arms around him, her head to his chest. “Come to bed,” she whispered.
He bent, then kissed the top of her head, breathing in the clean scent of her shampoo. “Soon,” he murmured. “I just want to get in a few more punches.”
She stepped back, and the moment she was no longer touching him, he felt cold. Lost. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
For a moment she only looked at him, and he knew she could see right through him.
But how the hell could he hold her close and take comfort in her body when he was the one who’d hurt her?
Chapter Twenty-one
The irony, of course, was that back when Sofia told him about her recovery and her twelve-step program, he’d given her access to one of the suites at the Stark Century Hotel that he kept open for personal and corporate guests.
Which meant that he was housing the woman who’d harassed his wife in one of the most luxurious hotels in the country.
She opened her door the instant he knocked, looking fresh and happy. She’d changed her hair again. Now it hung in midnight black curls around her fine-boned face, each ringlet tipped with blue.
“Damien!” She threw herself into his arms, silently demanding a hug. He gave her a gentle squeeze, then released her, gesturing for her to step back inside.
“I’m ready to go,” she said, indicating the purse on her shoulder. “Is Alaine meeting us somewhere? Or is he cooking for us?”
“Come on, Sofia. Back inside. We need to talk.”
Her brow furrowed, and he knew her mind was churning as she wondered what had happened and what he knew.
“What about brunch?”
“Canceled. I called Alaine on the drive over. Inside, Sofia. Now.”
For a moment, he thought she would argue. Then she lifted a shoulder as if it didn’t matter in the least. “Wanna order room service?”
“Later.” He gestured for her to sit on the couch while he sat down on the chair opposite her. “Sofia, honey, why did you do it?
”
“Do what?”
He just looked at her. And while he looked, her tears started to flow. “I don’t know,” she said, wringing her hands in her lap. “I really, really don’t know. I was lost, you know? I’d had the miscarriage, and even though I’m not ready to be a mom, it felt like everything was all wrong. Like I’d never have that. And I thought about you. And about her. And about how you have a family now and those little girls, and I was just sinking under, because I know that I’ll never be to anyone what she is to you.”
He remembered the violent anger sprayed across Nikki’s office walls. He recalled the way she’d come to him later, asking if she could take over as the girls’ nanny when Bree moved to New York.
A slow rise of anger pushed him to his feet and he paced, feeling the weight of her eyes on him. “Why did you show up at Nikki’s office the other day?”
“I—I wanted to make sure it was all gone. And I wanted to apologize.”
“I don’t recall any apology.”
“I couldn’t. I’m sorry.” She blinked, and more tears fell. “I’m a mess, Damien. The miscarriage—everything around it—I’m so sorry, but I’m a mess.”
“And the father?”
She shuddered. “No.”
“No?”
Her face went hard. “He’s—just, no.”
He stepped to the window, then looked out at the city spreading out below them. “I need you to go.”
“Go?”
“Back to London.” He turned to face her and saw panic in her eyes. “I’ll arrange a flight and a flat,” he added gently.