Chapter 1
“See?” I say, balancing on the edge of my daughter’s bed as I close her favorite book, Goodnight, Sleep Tight, Little Bunnies. “All the animals are asleep, and now it’s time for Lara to go to sleep, too.”
“Kitty sleep?” She holds up her stuffed cat, its once plush fur now matted and dull, a reflection of its status as the best-loved animal in her menagerie.
“Kitty and Lara can both go night-night, okay?”
She wraps her arms around Kitty and nods, her thumb going into her mouth.
“I love you, Lara Ashley Stark,” I say as her eyes start to flutter closed. Honestly, mine are a little fluttery, too. Who would have thought that taking care of an infant and a two-year-old could be so exhausting?
“Love Mama,” she murmurs around her thumb as I bend over to give her another kiss, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo and powder.
Her eyes open again, and she blinks at me. “Baba?” she asks, still using the Chinese word for Daddy that she’s used since the day we adopted her. She was twenty months old then. And although it’s been only eight months since we came home from China, it’s already hard to remember what it was like not having this precious girl in our lives.
“Daddy loves you so much,” I say, stroking her hair and speaking softly so that she'll drift off. “Close your eyes, baby girl. Daddy will come kiss you night-night later. When you’re already in dreamland.”
I have to fight a melancholy frown. Although Damien tries hard to be home for both our daughters’ bedtimes, his work as a master of the known universe sometimes keeps him away.
In contrast, I’ve been a permanent fixture in our Malibu home ever since we brought Lara home. Except, of course, for the hospital stay when our second daughter, Anne, was born almost four months ago.
At first, I’d stayed home to bond with Lara. And for that first month, both Damien and I had concentrated one hundred percent on our family. Then he’d returned to the office, and I’d started to handle a few work tasks from home.
I had intended to take a typical three-month maternity leave with Lara, then spend the last month of my pregnancy working in my office in order to make sure all of my clients were happy and every project on track before Anne came along.
But I ended up on bedrest for the last month, which turned out to be only two weeks, as Anne came early. And as soon as she made her appearance, I dove immediately into another three months of leave.
Now I’m on the last weekend before I return to my office and a full-time work schedule. And even though I’m starting to go a little stir-crazy during my maternity leave, I also know that I’m wildly lucky. I have two beautiful, healthy daughters, and I’m married to a man who not only adores me and our children, but who makes my heart flutter with nothing more than a glance or the whisper of my name.
Even more, he’s a man whose talent and resources have ensured that we have an amazing home, that our children will never want for anything, and that even if neither one of us ever works another day, we have the means to keep our family not just afloat, but living in comfort and privilege.
I’ve known about Damien’s wealth as long as I’ve known him. Longer, really, since as a former professional tennis star turned billionaire entrepreneur, Damien’s reputation is both deep and wide. And goodness knows I’ve experienced firsthand the luxury and convenience that his dollars can buy. Everything from private jets to personal drivers to penthouse suites in hotels all over the world.
But it wasn’t until after we had our girls that I started to truly feel the impact of his wealth. How it will protect their future. How it’s a cushion against all the scary stuff that life can throw at you.
Except that’s bullshit. And as I look down at my daughter—at her sweet, innocent face—I have to sigh. Because the truth is, there’s no protection. Not ever. Not really.
No one knows that better than Damien and me.
I grew up in Dallas with the kind of money and privilege that oil and gas interests can buy. Not Stark-level money, but not shabby. And yet those dollars didn’t shield me from pain. Didn’t keep me from trying to escape from the dark corners of my life by taking a blade to my own skin.
And the empire that Damien built didn’t erase the abuse he suffered as a child or eradicate all the challenges that have been tossed at him—at us—over the years. Everything from physical assault to blackmail to professional sabotage.
But not my kids, I think fiercely. Maybe I can’t protect them from everything out there in the world, but I can damn sure try. And at least they have me and Damien as parents, and not Eliza
beth Fairchild or Jeremiah Stark.
The very idea makes me shudder, and I stroke a soft hand over Lara’s hair. “I love you, baby,” I whisper. “And I will always be there for you.”
Always.
The word seems to expand in my mind, reaching out and poking me with guilt-stained fingers. For the last three months, I’ve mostly left my still-nascent business in the hands of Eric and Abby, my two employees, both of whom have been with me almost two years now.
But Monday, our nanny starts working full time—and I’m going back to work. And the truth is that I can’t wait. Even though I adore my girls—and even though we don’t need the money—I’m eager to dive back into my business and get dirty. I started with just a love of coding and designing apps, and from that meager start, I built Fairchild Development from the ground up. I’m incredibly proud of not only the business, but its products and services, its growing client base, and, most important, its excellent reputation.
And while I can do some of the work from home, it’s not the same as being in the office in much the same way as Damien. Sitting behind my desk and running my empire—albeit a much smaller one.
So, yes, I’m excited about Monday. But as I gently stroke Lara’s warm cheek and watch the rise and fall of her chest as she breathes through parted lips, I have to admit that I’m also dreading it. Because my girls will be here in Malibu while I’m about an hour away in Studio City. I’m going to miss something wonderful, just like Damien so often misses dinner or bedtime. A word or a reaction. A silly face or a boisterous giggle.
And even though that hasn’t even happened to me yet, the inevitable certainty feels like a knife in my heart.
With a heavy sigh, I stand slowly, careful not to move the bed too much. But apparently not careful enough, because as I rise, Lara’s eyes flutter open, and her mouth moves in a silent Mama.