He doesn’t reply. Instead, he kneels on the thick pile of the mat laid out in front of the tub. He rests one hand on my thigh, then cups my cheek with the other. For a moment, we just look at each other, and I wish that we could stay like that forever. That we didn’t have to speak or think or talk.
“You’re overwhelmed,” he says. “Your emotions are all over the place. You’re happy. You’re scared. You’re confused.”
I nod, blinking furiously so that maybe I won’t start crying again.
“Mostly, you’re hurt. And maybe just a little bit angry at me. But, sweetheart, you’re carrying my child—our child—so how could I feel anything but joy?”
“No. No, it’s not that.” But even as I say the words, I know they are a lie. He’s right, goddammit. He’s so fucking right. I wanted him to be lost with me. To be confused and overwhelmed.
I wanted it, because I can’t stand knowing that even with Damien beside me, I’m completely alone.
“It’s exactly that,” he says firmly. “Do you think I don’t see it? Nikki, sweetheart, you’ve been a part of me from the first moment we met. How could I not see the gorge that’s opened between us?”
Those damn tears start flowing again, and I stand up, extricating myself from his touch even as I brutally wipe away the tears.
“We talked about this,” I whisper, my back still to him. “We had a plan. A path.” I draw a breath and wipe my running nose. Then I turn to face him, expecting to see an accusation in his eyes. Instead, all I see is love.
I press my lips together and try to fight back another wave of tears. “We agreed we weren’t ready,” I say. “Neither one of us. And we talked about how it was important to me to get my business more stable. Hire some employees so the company can grow even if I take time off. Time,” I stress. “More time to . . .”
I straighten my shoulders and meet his eyes. “I’m not strong enough, and we both know it.”
“You are,” he says simply.
“The hell I am.” I yank my skirt up to reveal the scars that mar my hips and thighs. The concrete evidence of my weakness. Of everything in me that’s broken and fragile.
“Dammit, Nikki, don’t point to your past just because you’re afraid of your future.”
“But I am afraid.” I take a step closer, a rising anger giving me strength. “That’s part of why we were going to wait, remember? Or were all those conversations bullshit? Have you been coddling me? Worse, have you been lying to me? Pretending you were okay with waiting when you’ve been wanting to build our family all along?”
“Nikki, no—”
“I’ve seen you with Ronnie and Jeffery. I know how much you adore them.”
He runs his fingers through his hair, looking as miserable as I feel. “I do. And I’ll adore our children. But I never lied to you. I swear to you, baby, I was one hundred percent with you on our plan. But life never turns out the way you expect. You and I know that better than anyone.”
I stand rigid, so overwhelmed by emotion I fear I’m going to implode.
“Sometimes it’s a crisis when a plan goes wrong. But sometimes it’s wonderful.” Slowly—with the same care he’d use when approaching a wild animal—he moves to me and places his hand on my belly. “This,” he says earnestly, “is wonderful.”
I swallow, trying to process his words. His attention is locked on me, as if he is trying to read our future in the lines of my face. After a moment, his brow furrows, and I see the slightest hint of uncertainty flash in his eyes. “Are you . . . Nikki, I get that you’re scared. That you were caught off guard. But is there more going on here? Are you thinking about—I mean, do you not want this at all?”
At first, I can’t even comprehend what he’s asking. Then the meaning of the words—so horrible and wrong—hit me with the force of a slap. “Not want this? Not want your child? No, Damien, no. How can you even ask that? You have to know that I—”
I squeeze my eyes shut and press my fingertips to my temples because, of course, he would think that after everything I’ve said. “No. No. It’s just . . .”
“What?” he urges.
“I don’t know how to explain, but having a baby with you . . . building a family with you. I want that more than anything.”
“I believe you,” he says, and I sag with relief at the pure simplicity and love that color his words.
“But I still feel numb,” I say, sitting on the edge of the tub, “and I don’t know why.”
My eyes are welling up again, and Damien comes to sit at my side. “Of course, you know why. Because you’re surprised. Unprepared. And,” he adds, putting an arm around me, “because you’re not sure you can handle it. But you can, baby. I promise you can.” He takes my hand, then lifts it and gently kisses my palm. “Sweetheart, you’re not your mother.”
A hard knot forms in my gut, because Damien has cut straight to the crux.
“How do you know?” My voice sounds as small and fragile as I feel.
“I just do. And I’m brilliant, remember? All the articles say so.”
I laugh, the tightness inside me loosening a bit. “You definitely have your moments,” I concede before he leans in to gently kiss me.
After a moment, he stands, then holds out his hand to me. I take it, and he leads me back to the living room, then gestures for me to sit on the sofa. I do, and he sits beside me, then leans forward and pulls open the drawer in the coffee table. “I was going to show you this at dinner,” he says in what seems like a complete non sequitur. “I pulled it from my files before we left Los Angeles.”
He passes me a photo, and I take it automatically, making a little “oh” sound when I see the image—me in a bathing suit on a stage at the Dallas Convention Center. “You really kept this?”
“How can that possibly surprise you?”
He’s right. Once upon a time, I would have thought it odd. Now I know that Damien cherishes even the most random memories of the two of us together.
I run my fingertip over the image of me. We’d met for the first time when I was competing in the Miss Tri-County Texas Pageant, and professional tennis player Damien Stark was one of the celebrity judges. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that day changed my life forever.
“You scared me,” I admit.
His brows rise. “Did I?”
“Because of the way you made me feel. I didn’t know you—hell, I barely talked to you—but those minutes in the green room with you were so vivid, I knew even then that they’d be burned into my memory.”
“I felt the same.”
I smile. I know that now, of course, but at the time, I’d had no clue that Damien thought of me as anything but another contestant.