He shakes his head. “No. What would have been a mistake is pushing yourself to do something you’re not ready to do.”
I want to believe him. But…
I lift a shoulder in a shrug, which is the best I can manage.
He studies my face. “Do you trust me?”
My answer is automatic. “You know I do.”
I see a flicker in his eyes, and I frown, remembering a similar reaction when we were outside the gallery. “You do know that I trust you, right? With my life. My heart. My everything.”
“You? Of course, I do. I’ve never doubted it.”
I nod slowly, trying to parse through what he’s not saying. Because trust isn’t a bond he has only with me. Trust is at the heart of the business he’s built. It’s the key to his reputation and the spark that fires his empire. My husband can be ruthless in business, but he doesn’t play games. His word is his bond, and it always has been.
“Damien, what’s happened?”
For a moment, he says nothing. Then he shakes his head. “It’s not important. Just something Breckenridge said when we were at The Domino.”
My eyes widen. “Breckenridge? Well, isn’t he the annoying prick these days?”
“Never mind,” Damien says. “We should mingle. Then we’re spending the afternoon with two little girls. And after that…”
He trails off and I raise my brows, intrigued. “After that?”
His smile is the kind that makes me weak in my knees. “You’ll see.”
That smile lingers in my mind for the rest of the brunch and on into the late afternoon when Damien and I are back home with our girls.
“Daddy! Daddy! Do you wanna see our show? Can we show you the show? Please, please, pretty please?”
“Pretty please!” Anne adds, as if Lara’s plea needs additional help.
We’re sitting around the table in the third floor dining area, and now Damien leans back in his chair. “Well, I don’t know. Usually shows are reserved only for little girls who eat their vegetables.”
“Okay!” Anne says, then picks up two green beans and shoves them in her mouth.
Lara just wrinkles her nose. “Do I gotta?”
“Have to,” Damien says. “And I think you do. How about you, Mommy? Do you think she has to?”
“Afraid so, kiddo. I ate mine.” Canned green beans aren’t my favorite either, but they are kid friendly. And there are no more left on my plate.
Lara makes a show of sticking out her tongue, and Damien and I do a valiant job of keeping a straight face when she complains, “Parents!”
“Eat!” Anne says to her sister, then jumps out of her chair and does a wobbly pirouette. “Eat! Eat!”
“Okay, okay.” Lara stabs her fork onto her plate, comes up with three green beans, and shoves them into her mouth. She chews, swallows, and scowls. “Can we go now?”
“Dishes to the sink,” I say. “Then off to the playroom.”
“Come on, Anne,” Lara orders, carrying both their plates. “You’re coming?” she asks Damien and me.
“Right behind you.”
They scamper to the elevator—Anne’s not allowed on the marble stairs without an adult—and Damien and I quickly load the dishwasher and then follow.
The show is a delightful mess of little girls bouncing around to a child’s version of Mozart on the makeshift stage that Bree taped off earlier. This goes on for over half an hour, and when it’s over, Damien and I clap wildly, equally pleased that the show is over and delighted by the energy and imagination of our kids.
After the show, we settle down for a game of Memory, which Lara aces, and which leaves Anne mostly giggling, much to her sister’s consternation.
When that’s over, Damien announces that it’s bedtime, which draws a string of sleepy protests from both girls. “Oh, no,” he says. “Begging won’t get you extra time, but if you’re good, that might earn you a piggyback ride.”
Both girls immediately make lip-zipping motions, and Damien hoists Lara, and I haul up Anne, and we all bundle into the elevator for the ride up to the third floor. We tuck them in, read them a story, then kiss both our babies goodnight.
By the time we slip quietly out of their room, our exhausted little girls are already asleep.
I pull their door shut, then slide into Damien’s arms. “Bedtime,” I say. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”
“Always a good idea,” he agrees. “But right now, I have a better one.”
I bend back, my arms still around his waist. “Do you? What’s that?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, then hits a button for speed dial. “We need you tonight” he says. “Unless you already have plans.”
I frown, my head cocked. “Bree?”
Instead of answering, he says, “The sooner the better. We’ll be staying the night in the Tower, so if you can handle the morning as well.”
I release him and take a step back, holding out my hand for the phone. He grins, then complies.
“It’s me,” I say.
“You two do keep me on my toes,” Bree says, sounding as amused as I feel.
“You’re sure it’s okay? You didn’t have a date?”
“Yeah, I did. With Tom Cruise. I downloaded three Mission Impossible movies. But Tom and I will do just fine together in the big house. Trust me. It’s really not a problem.”
“And tomorrow morning? Anne has—”
“Lovely Littles, I know.” It’s a toddler art class that Anne absolutely loves. “I can take Lara, too, but—“
“She’ll whine. I know. I’ll ask Moira. I bet she can babysit in the morning.”
“That’ll work,” Bree says. “Have fun.”
I tilt my head to look at Damien. “I will.”
“So we’re heading to the Tower Apartment?” I settle into the Lincoln’s passenger seat. “I approve of this plan.” Actually, I approve wholeheartedly. Right now, we need each other. Need to burn away all the bullshit and fear and pain. My self-recrimination. My disappointment in myself.
I always need him. But right now, I need the passion that proves the words. I need him to make me feel strong again.
And Damien … I don’t know what’s happened, but I do know that he needs to see my trust. To touch it as he touches me.
“Later,” he says, surprising me. “We’re going somewhere else first.”
I shift in my seat, confused, but he’s looking straight ahead, and I can’t make anything from his expression. For the first time, however, I consider the car that we’re in. Not the Tesla or the Bugatti or one of his Ferraris. Not a showy car that stands out. A plain, black Lincoln Town Car, just like hundreds—maybe thousands—of sedans in this city.
I sit back, considering. But I honestly have no clue.
We drive in silence for a while, but when he turns onto the 10, I can’t hold back any longer. “Okay, I give up. Where are we going?”
“I talked to Ryan the other day,” he says conversationally, as butterflies start to flutter in my belly. “He mentioned that Jamie had sung the praises of Masque to you.”
“Oh.” The butterflies morph into something harder. Heavier. Something that makes my thighs quiver and my breasts feel heavy. “Oh,” I repeat.
Damien glances sideways and his gaze skims over me. Then he turns his attention back to the road, saying nothing.
I lick my lips. “You know about Masque?”
His smile is slow. “I know about Masque.”
“Uh-huh.” I cross my arms, then make a show of looking him up and down. “I assume you know about a club like that from your wild days. You know, the days before you met me.”
“I’m glad you explained. I thought my wild days were the ones with you.”
I press my lips together until I’m sure I won’t laugh. “I’m talking about your lonely, wicked single days.”
“Ah, those days. Actually, Masque hasn’t been around that long.”
I cock my head
. “Don’t even tease me. I know you’re not sneaking off to sex clubs without me.”
“It’s Matthew’s club,” he says. “Of course, that isn’t common knowledge.”
“Matthew? Matthew Holt?” Our friend Matthew is a triple threat in this town, into movies, television, and music, with shelves and shelves of shiny awards for each. The man has serious pull. Apparently, he has secrets, too.