Damien is looking at me questioningly, and I shrug in reply. Part of me wants him to step in and send her packing. But she is my mother, and another part of me—the secret, buried part that I don’t like to take out and examine too closely—wants to have her at my wedding. Wants to have her hold me and tell me she’s sorry for all the years of horror and drama.

I want it, but I do not expect it. Yet still that flame of hope is alive, and I feel it flickering inside me.

“Ryan will take you,” Damien says to my mother. I glance at Ryan and watch as he turns his attention away from Jamie to this new assignment. I turn to look at my best friend. Her expression suggests that she’s oblivious to Ryan’s attention, but there’s an unfamiliar color to her cheeks, and as she watches him lead my mother out the door, I can’t help but wonder.

Jamie crosses the room to join me at the table, then picks up the red velvet cake with her fingers and takes a huge bite. “You realize that there’s no way I’m sharing a suite with your mother.”

I laugh. “Neither of you would survive.”

“I had Tony pack your things when he delivered Mrs. Fairchild’s car,” Damien says. “You’re staying in Malibu with us.”

Jamie does a fist pump. “Score!”

My smile is so wide it almost hurts. “Thanks for having my back,” I say to Damien.

“Always.” The softness in his eyes hardens a bit. “Do you want me to send her back to Texas?”

I almost say yes, but then shake my head. “No. I’m getting married, and she is my mother. I’m strong enough to handle it,” I say, in response to his reproachful look.

“You are,” he agrees.

“And there was a moment—” I shake my head, thinking about the way she’d talked about Ashley’s wedding, and the vulnerability that I’d seen in her eyes.

“What?” Damien is looking at me intently.

“I just think that, despite all the Elizabeth Fairchild nonsense, part of her really does want to be here for me on my wedding day.”

For a moment, Damien only looks at me, his hands on my shoulders. Then he leans forward and captures my mouth with the sweetest of kisses. When he pulls away, I expect an argument. I expect him to recite an itemized list of every horrible thing my mother has done to me, to us. I expect him to point to his own father, whom neither of us want at this wedding. Hell, I expect him to talk some sense into me.

Instead, he says simply, “Be careful.”

I swallow and nod, because I know that he’s right to be concerned.

Once again, the door chimes, but this time I do not know the man who enters. He is drop-dead gorgeous, with dark hair highlighted by gold and red. He carries himself with a Damien Stark kind of confidence, and when his gaze sweeps the room, I see both calculation and intelligence in his sharp, gray eyes.

“We should finish up with Sally and get going,” I say to Damien. “She’s got other customers to deal with.”

“I’m sure she does,” he replies, “but Evan isn’t one of them. He’s with me.”

“Holy crap,” Jamie says, “do you travel in packs?”

Damien frowns, and I almost laugh. There aren’t many people who can knock him off kilter. “What are you talking about?” he asks.

“Never mind,” Jamie says, waving her hand as if wiping the words away. But she turns her attention to me, and I nod slightly. I have understood her perfectly, because this guy is hot. Maybe not Damien Stark hot, I think loyally, but he’s got some serious sizzle going on.

“Evan Black, let me introduce you to my fiancée, Nikki Fairchild, and her best friend, Jamie Archer.”

Evan strides across the room to join us. He shakes my hand, then Jamie’s. I can’t help but notice that she holds on a moment longer than is necessary.

“Congratulations,” Evan says to me. “I knew the first time he talked about you that one day you two would be married. I wish you all the best.”

“Thank you,” I say, looking curiously at Damien. He’s never mentioned this man before.

“I’ve known Evan for years,” Damien says. “He lives in Chicago—we had a drink when I flew out there a few months ago,” he adds.

“We met when we were both looking to acquire a failing business,” Evan adds.

“Who got it?” I ask.

“Damien,” Evan says, without regret. “But today it’s my turn.”

That I don’t know what he means must be obvious by my expression. “Evan’s acquiring the galleries,” Damien says, referring to the art galleries that Giselle Reynard recently transferred over to him. “We were in Palm Springs examining the items in storage, and Evan’s going to come to Malibu tomorrow to take a look at the main property.”

“I have a few other things to take care of while I’m here,” Evan says, “but I’m honored to have been invited to the wedding. I’m very happy for both of you.”

“Thank you,” I say, noticing that Jamie is still peering at him with interest. This is something that needs to be nipped in the bud. Not only is Jamie supposed to be backing away from men, but considering Evan is Chicago-bound, he could be nothing more than a fast fuck. And that is so not what my best friend needs.

Jamie pulls out her phone and makes a face, then looks at me. “We need to hurry,” she says. “We’re going to be late.”

“Late? For what?”

She rolls her eyes. “I told you. We’re meeting the girls at Raven,” she says, referring to a male strip club in Hollywood.

“Raven,” Damien says, his brows lifting.

“Um, hello?” Jamie says. “Bachelorette party. Alcohol. Mostly naked gorgeous men.” She looks him up and down. “Not that she doesn’t already have that in her life, but still. This is the night to be naughty.”

“It’s only barely past lunchtime,” I say stupidly.

“I know,” Jamie says. “That’s when there’s less of a crowd. More attention for us.”

Oh my .

I glance toward Damien, but this is one of the few times when I cannot read his expression. My gaze shifts toward Evan. He is easier to read, as he’s not even trying to hide his amusement.

“I told you I didn’t want a bachelorette party,” I say. “And I have stuff to do today. The music. The photographer,” I remind her, then grimace when I see Damien’s brows rise again. Damn. My little lie earlier has been soundly caught out.