Even as I say the words, I can't deny the irony. For so long, I'd wanted to build my business and then worry about children. Now, it's the thought of a family that weighs so heavily on my mind. It's a sad truth that the odds are good I'll never feel a baby growing inside me again. But that doesn't mean I can't be a mom.
He turns to look at the screen again. "They all have some sort of special need," he says, reading the information.
"Yes," I agree. "Most are relatively minor. But all the babies in the system are considered special needs. They call them waiting children. They need our help, just like the kids here."
I stand behind him so that I can see the screen, too, my hands on his shoulders. "I thought first about adopting one of the foundation kids, actually. I mean, so many of them need permanent homes. But I thought it looked too much like singling one of them out, and I didn't want hurt feelings in the rest of them."
"Yes," Damien says, "that makes sense."
I move around beside him and press my hand over his on the desk. "So you're really into the idea?" I'd thought I might have to ease him toward it. Give it time to settle. But he looks ready. Hell, he looks eager.
"I am. To be honest, I've been thinking a bit about adoption lately."
"Really?" The fact that we'd been on the same path makes me feel warm inside. "And it doesn't bother you that the child won't be ours biologically?"
"Are you kidding?" he scoffs. "Blood is biology. It's not family."
My smile blooms so wide it's almost painful. "Let me show you something else," I say, scooting in front of him so that I can sit at the keyboard. "I know this is fast," I say as I move the mouse, clicking on links until I find the image I'm looking for--a little girl of almost a year with a sad face and eyes that captured me the moment I saw her.
"I saw her picture, and she just pulled me in. She needs a family, Damien," I say. "I think she needs us."
I look up at him and see his chin tremble just slightly as he reaches out and presses his fingertips to the computer screen. "Yes," he says softly. "I think she does."
Over the next few days, we go on a series of dinner and cocktails dates with friends so that we can share our news. They're all enthusiastic, but I think Sylvia's squeal is the loudest. I figure that makes sense--after all, she adopted Ronnie right after she married Jackson.
Jamie almost crushed my ribs with the force of her hug, then promised to be the best aunt ever. "Seriously," she'd said. "Best. Aunt. I mean, I'll even sign up for the Learning Annex class if I need to. In case there are rules and shit." And Ryan slapped Damien on the back in a manly sort of way, and then said they needed to go have a celebratory cigar on the back patio.
Evelyn got choked up, but managed to hold it together. Sofia clapped like a little girl and started to throw her arms around Damien in a hug. She stopped herself, then looked at me, and only finished the embrace after I'd given her a nod.
Frank was the one who truly surprised me. I actually saw tears in his eyes, and when he hugged me and said he was proud of me, I started to cry myself.
But those are the people I knew would support us. I'm meeting my mother in an hour, and I really don't expect the same kind of warm reception.
"You don't have to tell her anything," Damien says. We're in the Tower apartment, and I'm pacing in front of the wall of windows that overlooks the city.
"I do," I say, though I can't explain why I'm so insistent. Maybe I'm hoping to give her one last chance. Maybe I'm kicking my own ass, pushing the issue so I'll have the impetus to finally and truly cut the strings.
Either way, I'm about to head downstairs to the plaza. I've told her I want to meet her for coffee at the Java B's outside.
"Do you want me to come?" he asks.
"Want, yes. But I think I need to do this alone. If I need you, you're only fifty-seven stories away."
He bends to kiss me. "I'm never that far away."
I nod, then cling to him for a moment. "Wish me luck."
"Luck," he says, walking me to the elevator. The car is already there, but he takes my arm to hold me back before I step on. "I poked around a bit," he says. "Your mom's house in Dallas was going into foreclosure."
"What?"
"She's broke," he says. "I don't know why she really came to Los Angeles, but I have a feeling she thinks there's a payday at the end of the line somehow."
I nod, not surprised, but still a little numb.
"I wanted you to know before you talked to her."
"Okay. Thanks." I lift myself up on my toes to kiss him. "I guess we'll find out," I say, and then step into the car. Soon enough, I'm off the elevator and across the lobby to the plaza. She's already there, standing with perfect posture by the fountain.
"They have tables over there," I say. "Grab a seat and I'll get us both a latte."
She does, and I use the few moments while I'm ordering and waiting for the drinks to get my act together. Then I join her at the table and decide to cut straight to the chase. "I wanted to meet you so that I could give you my news. Damien and I have decided to adopt."
"Have you?" Her brows lift almost imperceptibly.
"From China," I continue. "We've submitted the initial paperwork for a little girl. We're meeting with the agency tomorrow, and then we start the home study process. And the wait."
"Home study," she says. "Where a stranger comes in to evaluate you?"
I put on a cheery smile. "Yup. Pretty much."
"Hmm," she says, then sips her coffee. "And you're adopting from China? My friend Angelica's daughter just adopted from China. She was infertile, too." Her voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard. "I understand all the children have something wrong with them."
A knot of anger forms in my stomach, and I tell myself to just ignore it. "I wouldn't put it that way, but all the children in the program do have special needs."
"And this child you're interested in? What's the matter with her?"
I mentally bang my head on the table. "She has an extra toe on each foot. It's really no big deal. We've already spoken with a surgeon about what's involved to correct it."
"I see," she says, though I sincerely doubt she does.
"Well," I say. "That's really all I wanted to tell you. I'm sure you have a busy day and all that . . ."
She makes no move to leave. "I can't say that I ever considered adoption, but I do think that a woman should want children so long as she can keep her figure and her husband happy." She looks appraisingly at me. "At least this way you don't have to worry about baby weight. But do you think Damien will be happy with a child who's not his own blood?"
"I know he will be."
Her mouth pinches together, and she inhales loudly through her nose. "You're blind, Nichole. You always have been where that man is concerned. Do you really think a man like Damien Stark wants a child who isn't his flesh and blood? He won't. I've seen it before, you know. You can't hold a man like that without the tie of blood."
"What are you talking about?"
"My father--your grandfather--he was my mother's second husband and my stepfather. Do you think he cared a whit about me? I was never enough. Never polished enough or pretty enough. I was an irritation until I grew up, and then I was simply his heir by virtue of the fact that he had no other."
I've never heard my mother talk about my grandfather that way. "I didn't know that," I say. "But that's not what Damien's like."
"So you say now. Men don't stay. Your sister learned that the hard way. I don't want you to suffer the same. But you will. He'll leave you. You give that man a child that's not his blood and he'll walk away."
"No, he won't." I lean back. "The thing is, I've been thinking a lot about families. Family isn't about blood. Blood is an accident. Blood is biology. Family is love and respect and caring and commitment."
"Commitment! Is that why he's been tooling around with that crazy bitch from London?"
"Sofia?" I tilt my head, examining her face. "What do you know about Sofia?"
Her eyes dart away, and I have the impression that she's kicking herself for saying too much. "I saw it online," she says vaguely.
"Since when have you hung out on social media? Christ, Mother," I say, pushing my chair back to stand. "You're the one who sent that email?"
"I don't know what you're talking about. But if you're suggesting that someone told you about your husband and that trollop, then I think you should thank them."
"Go," I say.
"What?"
"You heard me. I want you to go. We're done."
"But what . . . I don't . . ."
"You understand me just fine," I say. "And it's time for you to leave."
"Fine." She pushes back her chair and stands up. "You always were an impossible child." She hitches her purse up on her shoulder. "Do you really think they'll allow you to adopt? With your . . . issues?"
There's something cold in her tone. Something that makes me reach for the back of my chair to steady myself. "You mean the fact that I used to cut?"
"I would think an agency would be very disturbed by that fact. If they were to find out. If they were to see photos. Hear the stories. And of course, it would be terribly embarrassing if your history went public."
"Are you threatening me?"
She sits back down. "I'm concerned about your welfare. I don't want you taking on more than you can handle. And, of course, I'm looking out for the best interest of the child."
Fury pounds in my ears, and I grip the back of the chair so hard I'm afraid I'm going to break it. But then I take a breath, because the bigger picture is coming into focus. Because this isn't about me or Damien or my child. Where my mother is concerned, it never is.
This is about her. And I know exactly what to do.
"You know what, Mother? You win."
"Excuse me?"
"You win. You're going to go back to Texas. To your new, mortgage-free house and your lovely new Mercedes and a six-figure bank account."
"What on earth--"
"Don't act surprised. It's what you want. And it's yours. If you go in the morning. And if you stay the hell out of my affairs."
"You think you're so special because you have money now? That you're going to take pity on your poor mother who lost her fortune. It wasn't my fault, you know. And that money isn't yours at all."
"Take it or leave it, Mother. But decide now."
This was her end game all along. Cash. And I'm more than happy to have realized it now. Because I want this over. I want her gone.
"Be at the airport in the morning," I order. "You remember where we keep the jet hangared? If you're not there, the deal's off."
"I will," Mother says. "But only because your perception is so skewed. I know this isn't forever, no matter what you say. You're just like your sister, and eventually you'll come crawling back to me. You've never stood on your own. And when he leaves, we both know that you're going to be destroyed."
"He won't," I say. "I know it. And you know what, Mother? You know it, too. Maybe Ashley wasn't strong. But I am." I move around the table to stand closer to her. "But we don't need to argue about it. You win, remember?"
I start to walk away, then pause and look back at her. "Actually, I guess we both win. Because you'll finally be gone. Goodbye, Mother. We're done."
And then I turn my back on her and, with my heart pounding wildly, I walk back into Stark Tower and take the elevator up to Damien.
26
"You're sure you don't mind?" We're in bed, and I'm propped up beside him, my fingertip tracing patterns on his chest as I run down the drama with my mother.
"Paying to get her out of our hair? I think it's money well spent."
I sigh, relieved. "Good. I know I should have asked first, but--"
"It's your money, too," he reminds me, which is a little fact I never seem to remember.
"Do you think she'll tell the agency anyway? About my cutting, I mean? Once she has the deed to the house, there's not much we can do. At least not easily. And she could tell them anonymously, so we couldn't even prove it as her."
"She might," Damien says. "I wouldn't put it past her."
I close my eyes, then blow out a breath. "It won't matter if she does. I'm going to tell them myself."
He shifts, then tilts my chin up so that I'm looking straight at him. "Are you sure?"
I nod. "Better to be upfront. Besides, I want to do this right. They do an evaluation. They talk to the family beforehand. I don't want to have to dodge questions. I want to just be me. The real me, with no mask at all."
"No child could ask for a better mother."
I quirk a brow as I look at him. "Hopefully, the agency and China will agree with you."
I push myself up to sitting, my mind still going over the conversation with my mother.
"What is it?" Damien asks.
"It's just . . . well, she said I can't stand on my own. That if you leave, it would destroy me." I swallow, then look at him. "She's right, you know. I love you so damn much."
He shakes his head. "Love isn't reliance, baby." He strokes my hair, his eyes looking deep into mine. "The truth is, you can stand on your own. But you choose to stand with me."
"Yes." The word is almost a gasp, and I cling to him as relief and understanding floods through me. "Yes," I repeat. "I choose you."
"And that makes me a very lucky man."
"Damien?"
"Yes?"
"Would you make love to me now?"
I feel the vibrations of his low chuckle in his chest. "Baby," he says, rolling over and trapping me beneath him, "it would be my pleasure."
Slowly, he peels off the T-shirt I'm wearing, leaving me naked beneath him. He does the same with his sweatpants, tossing them in a heap on the floor. He kisses me sweetly, his hands caressing me, gentle strokes. Sensual movements.
There is nothing wild about the way we make love tonight, and yet it is no less passionate than when he takes me hard and fast, claiming me with such fervor it leaves me breathless.
Tonight, it's tender kisses that take my breath away. And when he spreads my legs and slides inside me, our eyes stay locked and he thrusts inside me, my hips rising in a matching rhythm that draws him in deeper and deeper, until we feel like one person, the boundaries between where I end and he begins merging together.
"Yes," I murmur when I'm so close I can feel the climax pounding against me. "Oh, Damien, yes."
He thrusts harder, his mouth closing over mine. I cling to his back, my hands sliding down to cup his ass, wanting to feel him deeper, and deeper still. And then, suddenly, the tempo of his thrusts increase, and his weight is pushing me into the mattress, and I feel the tension inside me growing and growing, until finally Damien growls in my ear for me to come with him--to explode with him.
And as if his voice is a command, I shatter under the force of his will, a billion points of light bursting from me, as pleasure rips me apart completely.
I can only tremble and breathe and cling to Damien until the orgasm fades. Then he pulls me close and I mold my body against his.
"I love you, baby," he says.
"I love you, too." My voice is thin, my eyelids heavy. And the last thing I think as sleep draws me under is that tomorrow, everything will change.
And I really can't wait.
I flash a nervous smile at Damien as we approach the door of the adoption agency. His left hand is twined with my right, and in my left I hold the photo I'd printed off the Internet of the little girl we've begun to call Lara. The child I hope will soon be our daughter.
"You're sure?" Damien asks. "If you tell them everything, they may say no. Not let us adopt. And it all may come out--you and I both know there are no secrets that are safe."
I nod, knowing that he's right. If I don't tell and they find out, we'll be denied for sure. If I do tell, I'll end up in a room with a psychologist who will decide if I'm fit to adopt. I'll have to pour out my heart, my history. I'll have to open up in a way I haven't opened u
p to anyone but Damien. And it will be painful and horrible and embarrassing.
It will also be worth it.
"They won't deny us," I say. "Maybe I am a cutter. Maybe I always will be. But I'm a cutter who got it under control. Who doesn't need the blade anymore. Because of you," I add, and he squeezes my hand.
I draw in a breath. "More important, I'll be a damn good mom."
"You will," he says. "You absolutely will."
"And if they deny us, we'll try another country or another agency or private adoption. Or we'll have a baby ourselves. The odds aren't entirely against us," I add, though the thought of multiple miscarriages before we finally hit that magical statistic makes me want to cry right then.
"I don't want you to go through that again," he says, following my thoughts.
"I would, though. Because I want this. I'm certain of it. More certain than I've been about anything," I add, looking at him. "Except you."
"I love you," he says.
And then he opens the door, and we step through it into our future.
Epilogue
I laugh as I step into the jet's doorway and see the Welcome Home sign held up between Jamie and Ryan on the tarmac below. I descend the ramp, our twenty-month-old daughter clinging to me like a little monkey, and Damien following closely behind.
"I think everyone we've ever met is here," I say, looking around at the crowd of friends and family gathered in front of one of the Stark hangars at the Santa Monica Airport. Jamie and Ryan, Sylvia and Jackson and their kids, Evelyn and my dad. Ollie's here, too, as is Sofia, along with Dallas and Jane, Cass and Siobhan, Lyle and Noah and Wyatt. Rachel and Edward and at least two dozen other people from Stark International, as well.
"There's more of a crowd inside," Jamie says. "Be forewarned. We had to give our girl a proper homecoming, didn't we?" she asks as she waves at the baby. "Say hi to your Aunt Jamie," she says, and my brilliant daughter lifts her hand in reply and giggles.
"Everyone," Damien says, his voice happy and strong. "Thank you all for coming. It means a lot to all three of us. And speaking of three, I'd like to formally introduce you to Lara Ashley Stark. Come here, you," he says, holding out his hands for me to pass Lara to him.
"Baba," she squeals, using the Mandarin word for Daddy. "Kiss!"
Everyone claps, and she ducks her head shyly against Damien's chest.