“She’s fine,” my mother says firmly. “This can only be considered a good thing. It gives her a chance to find a dress that might actually flatter her figure.”
Alyssa’s eyes are wide, and she’s staring at my mother like she’s never met such a creature before. Hell, she probably hasn’t.
“Come on, Nichole. This is Beverly Hills. I’m sure we can find you a gown.”
“Get the hell out of here.” I did not plan the words, but I know the moment that they are out that I mean them with all my heart.
“Excuse me?”
“Texas,” I say. “Go back to Texas, Mother. Go now.”
“Texas! But, Nichole, how—”
“It’s Nikki,” I snap. “How many times do I have to tell you? You don’t listen.”
Beside us, I see Alyssa lick her lips and then fade into the background. At the glass desk, the thin girl seems overly interested in the single piece of paper on the surface.
I really don’t give a shit. Right then, decorum is the last thing on my mind.
“I can’t possibly go to Texas now. I’d miss the wedding.”
“That’s the idea,” I say. “I’ll have Grayson fly you. You’ll need to leave today so that he can be back in plenty of time. He is invited,” I add, my voice syrupy sweet.
“Darling, I’m your mother. You can’t ask me not to be at your wedding.”
I hesitate for just a moment, just long enough to hear Damien’s voice in my head talking about choices and paths and where they lead. And this choice leads to my wedding day. To a day of celebration. Or to a day with my mother harping in my ear. The woman who has, in so many ways, gone out of her way to steal the joy out of so many moments in my life.
“Nichole, don’t do this. I need—” She cuts herself off, her lips clamping tightly shut.
I take a deep breath, suddenly realizing that I’ve been more of an idiot than I thought. My mother didn’t come here because my impending wedding spurred her to repair our relationship. And she didn’t come because she wanted to apologize for the horrible things she said to Damien.
She came because she spent every dime our family had a long time ago, and she sees a new cash cow in me. I don’t know what it is she needs—a new house, a new car, investment capital. I don’t know, and I don’t care. She’s not getting a dime of my money, and she’s sure as hell not getting Damien’s.
“Goodbye, Mother.”
“Nichole, no. You can’t do this.”
“You know what, Mother? I can.” I head for the door, my heart feeling lighter and my step springier. I glance back at her and smile. “And for that matter, why don’t you go ahead and find your own way home?”
Chapter Eight
“You’re amazing,” Damien says that night when I tell him what I did. “You once told me that you didn’t have the balls to stand up to your mother.” We’re in the swimming-pool-size bathtub, facing each other, our legs touching.
“I still don’t have balls,” I say with a laugh.
“Sure you do.” He reaches for my hand and tugs me toward him, then very deliberately cups my hand over his package. “These are all yours.”
“Damn straight,” I say, then capture his mouth in a kiss.
His arms go around me and he pulls me close, until I have no choice but to straddle him if I want to sit in any sort of comfortable position.
Not that straddling Damien is a hardship, especially when his erection is rubbing against my folds in a way that is very effectively taking my mind off the day’s drama.
“I’m proud of you,” he says, trapping me in the circle of his arms.
“I’m proud of me, too,” I say. “I took control of the situation. I decided what I wanted for this wedding, and I did what had to be done.” I kiss him. “I think I’m going to make a habit of going after the things I want.”
“Haven’t you always?”
I press a finger over his lips. “That’s not the point.”
“What is?” he asks.
“This,” I say, reaching between us to cup my hand around his erection. Slowly, I stroke the length of him. “Taking control can be very rewarding,” I say.