I see the confusion on Jamie’s face—she’s been staying at the Century Plaza suite.
“Oh. I see. Well, then.” My mother turns her attention to me. “I’ll go with you tomorrow to the dress fitting,” she says, and I remember with regret that I’d nervously prattled off my schedule for the week as I drove us from Malibu to Beverly Hills.
“Sure,” I say, though what I really want is to scream that there is no way in hell I want her in my head as I try on my wedding dress. “That would be great.”
Damien is looking at me questioningly, and I shrug in reply. Part of me wants him to step in and send her packing. But she is my mother, and another part of me—the secret, buried part that I don’t like to take out and examine too closely—wants to have her at my wedding. Wants to have her hold me and tell me she’s sorry for all the years of horror and drama.
I want it, but I do not expect it. Yet still that flame of hope is alive, and I feel it flickering inside me.
“Ryan will take you,” Damien says to my mother. I glance at Ryan and watch as he turns his attention away from Jamie to this new assignment. I turn to look at my best friend. Her expression suggests that she’s oblivious to Ryan’s attention, but there’s an unfamiliar color to her cheeks, and as she watches him lead my mother out the door, I can’t help but wonder.
Jamie crosses the room to join me at the table, then picks up the red velvet cake with her fingers and takes a huge bite. “You realize that there’s no way I’m sharing a suite with your mother.”
I laugh. “Neither of you would survive.”
“I had Tony pack your things when he delivered Mrs. Fairchild’s car,” Damien says. “You’re staying in Malibu with us.”
Jamie does a fist pump. “Score!”
My smile is so wide it almost hurts. “Thanks for having my back,” I say to Damien.
“Always.” The softness in his eyes hardens a bit. “Do you want me to send her back to Texas?”
I almost say yes, but then shake my head. “No. I’m getting married, and she is my mother. I’m strong enough to handle it,” I say, in response to his reproachful look.
“You are,” he agrees.
“And there was a moment—” I shake my head, thinking about the way she’d talked about Ashley’s wedding, and the vulnerability that I’d seen in her eyes.
“What?” Damien is looking at me intently.
“I just think that, despite all the Elizabeth Fairchild nonsense, part of her really does want to be here for me on my wedding day.”
For a moment, Damien only looks at me, his hands on my shoulders. Then he leans forward and captures my mouth with the sweetest of kisses. When he pulls away, I expect an argument. I expect him to recite an itemized list of every horrible thing my mother has done to me, to us. I expect him to point to his own father, whom neither of us want at this wedding. Hell, I expect him to talk some sense into me.
Instead, he says simply, “Be careful.”
I swallow and nod, because I know that he’s right to be concerned.
Once again, the door chimes, but this time I do not know the man who enters. He is drop-dead gorgeous, with dark hair highlighted by gold and red. He carries himself with a Damien Stark kind of confidence, and when his gaze sweeps the room, I see both calculation and intelligence in his sharp, gray eyes.
“We should finish up with Sally and get going,” I say to Damien. “She’s got other customers to deal with.”
“I’m sure she does,” he replies, “but Evan isn’t one of them. He’s with me.”
“Holy crap,” Jamie says, “do you travel in packs?”
Damien frowns, and I almost laugh. There aren’t many people who can knock him off kilter. “What are you talking about?” he asks.