“Why the hell are you so fucking obstinate? Are you afraid to learn the truth about him? Or are you afraid I’ll learn the truth about what you do with him?”

He’s spewing words at me, clearly as pissed off as I am. Then, without warning, he grabs my arm and tugs it toward him. He jabs a finger hard on the bruise around my wrist. I jerk my arm back, blushing, and undoubtedly erasing any possible question in Ollie’s mind as to the cause of those marks.

“You’re being an idiot,” he says. He reaches out and tugs a lock of my hair, then looks pointedly toward my thighs. “How long will it be before Stark does something else that makes you take a knife to yourself?”

I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I feel the sting of my palm intersecting his cheek. “Get the hell out of my house,” I say.

He stands perfectly still, his mouth hanging open, his breath coming hard. “Oh, shit,” he whispers. “Oh, shit, oh, shit. Nikki, I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” I snap. “You’d be thrilled if Damien and I broke up. I don’t know why you dislike him so much—”

“And I don’t know why you’re so blind.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I see him perfectly clearly.”

“You see what he wants you to see. But you forget where I work. You forget that my boss is his attorney. There is shit raining down on Stark,” Ollie says, “and I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He sighs. “I warned you, didn’t I? You’re in the spotlight now, and that’s not where you want to be. It’s not where you should be.”

My blood feels as though it’s moving too fast through my body, and I feel a little sick to my stomach. “Just go.”

“Fine, whatever. I’ll get my stuff and get out of here.” He returns to my room, then emerges with his briefcase. He marches for the door, then stops. “No, you know what? I get that things are bad between us now, and I’m sorry. But I can’t just let this slide. Do you even know where he is now?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “In London.”

“Why?”

“Business.”

“Yeah?” He digs in his briefcase for his iPad, then pulls up a page from Hello! “Here,” he says, shoving the tablet at me.

It’s a picture of Damien with his arm around a woman. Her head is down, she’s wearing sunglasses, and a hat shields most of her face. I don’t know who she is, but I can guess. Apparently Hello! can’t even do that, because the caption reads

Did Damien Ditch the Delicious Darling? Is it the end for Damien Stark and Texas Beauty Queen Nikki Fairchild? Our sources say Stark looked quite cosy with this unidentified woman as they strolled the Hampstead Heath earlier today. Stark arrived in London without the woman whose portrait he paid a cool million dollars for. Buyer’s remorse, perhaps?

I hand the tablet back to him, feeling smug. “She’s a friend.”

“I thought he went on business.”

“He’s not allowed to see a friend while he’s doing business?”

There’s a loud bang on the wall Jamie and I share with Douglas, followed by a very loud, very satisfied groan.

Ollie and I meet each other’s eyes and, as if on cue, we both laugh.

For those few seconds, we are Ollie and Nikki again. But the seconds pass all too quickly.

“I don’t want to screw us up,” Ollie finally says.

“You already have,” I say. “All you can do now is try to fix it.”

For a moment I think he’s going to snap something back at me. Then he nods. “Yeah. I guess so.” He glances toward the door. “Should probably fix things with my fiancée first. That’s all I do, lately. Piss people off and then try to patch it up.”

“Ollie …” Sadness envelops me as he leaves. I think about what Damien says—that Ollie is in love with me. But I don’t think it’s true. I think that he’s grieving. Through our lives, I’ve always been the more damaged, and Ollie has been my rock. But I’m healing, and I have found a new rock in Damien, and I think Ollie wonders how our lives will fit together.

It’s not a question that I can answer for him. Not now. Not when he attacks Damien every time we come together. But I hope there is an answer, because I don’t want to lose him. And I know that if I am forced to make a choice, I will go with my heart. I will go with Damien.

I realize that Edward’s probably halfway through The Count of Monte Cristo by now, and so I hurry to my bedroom and get my laptop and the files I need. I pause at the door, then return to my closet for my old Nikon, since the fabulous digital Leica Damien gave me is still in Malibu. And as much as I love the Leica, the Nikon was a gift from Ashley, and I refuse to give up using it entirely.

“Back to the apartment?” Edward asks as he opens the limo door for me.

I close my hand tight around the camera. “Actually,” I say, “there’s one more place I want to go.”

“How you holding up, Texas?”

“Okay, I guess.” We’re on Evelyn’s balcony, looking out over the beach. Blaine is out with friends, and Evelyn had been enthusiastic when I’d called from the limo to invite myself over.

I’ve only been here once—the night that Damien and I met in Malibu—but it feels like home. I attribute that more to the woman than the location. “When I’m inside and away from it all, I do great. But when I see a paper or am accosted by a reporter, I feel like I’m going to crumble. Honestly, I don’t know how celebrities do it.”

“They have the fame gene,” she says. “You don’t.”

“There’s no such thing as bad PR?” I say dryly.

“For some people, it’s a truism. Have you watched reality television?”

I have to laugh. I don’t watch it regularly, but I’ve caught enough episodes with Jamie to understand what she’s saying. Some people don’t mind being the train wreck that other folks watch. Me, I mind.

“Pretty soon you’ll be last week’s news. Until then, hold your head up and smile.”

I flash a brilliant pageant smile. “That’s one thing I know how to do.”

In front of us, the sun is beginning its descent toward the horizon. I take out the Nikon and snap shot after shot, hoping that when the prints are developed, I’ll have managed to capture even a fraction of that beauty.