“Damien actually punched the guy?” Sylvia looks between me and Jamie and Bree. It’s Saturday, and days have passed since the arrest. Now we’re on the bungalow’s rooftop patio, sipping wine around the table, taking a little bit of girl time before the house is inundated with little kids, arriving to help celebrate my girls’ birthdays.

Jamie just shrugs. “Don’t look at me. I wasn’t there.”

“It was beautiful,” Bree says. “I said I needed to get something out of my car, and when I opened the door, the cops burst in, Damien with them. And he punched that bastard right in the mouth.”

“You were great,” I tell her. “Thank you.”

Her smile is a little tearful, but genuine, and she reaches for my hand. “We’re good,” she says, for what feels like the millionth time.

“You saw it?” Syl asks me, and I shake my head.

“But I heard it through Damien’s mike. Rory went down like a little baby. And I’m so jealous that I didn’t get to punch the guy myself I can’t even begin to tell you.”

“I’m never going on vacation again,” Sylvia says. “I can’t believe you didn’t call us. We would have come right back.”

I smile ruefully. “That’s why we didn’t call. What could you have done except worry, too?”

“I could have worried with you,” she says gently. “So everything’s over? Rory’s in jail? They found the money?”

“They found all of it,” I tell her. “Including five hundred of the ransom in his wallet. Damien’s people had recorded the serial numbers.”

“When’s the trial?”

“He confessed to everything,” Jamie says.

“He acted entirely on his own. Sought Bree out like we suspected.”

“Fucker,” Bree snarls.

“And the motive was what Ryan guessed,” Jamie adds. “That he’s a self-involved prick who believed he was entitled to a silver platter and blamed Damien when one didn’t come his way.”

“The sentencing hearing is in a week,” I say. “Meanwhile, he’s in custody. And he’ll stay locked up for a long time.”

“And the girls?”

“They’re great,” I say, once again feeling that wash of relief that overwhelms me every time I think about how bad it could have been. How we could have lost Anne or she could have been returned traumatized. As it is, she really doesn’t seem to remember much other than a constant stream of cartoons. Versed is a drug they use to chill kids out before surgery. I recall that when they gave it to Lara, she remembered as much about the pre-op time as she did about the operation. In other words, exactly nothing.

I could kill Rory Claymore for what he did to my little girl, but for that one small thing, I’m grateful.

Bree stands up. “I need to get back to the girls. They’re bubbling over about the party, and I should help Moira keep them occupied until the guests start to arrive.”

“Thanks,” I say, meaning more than about today’s birthday party, which has turned in to a much bigger celebration. “I need to hit Jamie up about something, and then I’ll be out.” I check my watch. “Sally’s supposed to be here in an hour with all the cupcake stuff, so let’s meet in the first floor kitchen when she gets here.” The party will be by the pool, so the rarely-used first floor kitchen is the best staging area for today’s extravaganza.

She gives me a thumbs-up, and Sylvia stands. “I’ll walk back to the house with you. I want to find Jackson and compare notes.” She winks, and I know she’s purposefully trying to make me laugh. Because Damien is undoubtedly telling Jackson the entire story, too.

“Did you ever find out who vandalized your office?” Jamie asks me after they’ve both left.

“I wish. I’m guessing Marianna Kingsley, but I may never know for sure.”

She makes a face. “Sorry.”

I shrug. “All things considered, nasty words on my wall are no big thing.”

“No, but that was a factor. Not a big one, but a factor.”

I nod, not meeting her eyes. I told her that I’d cut, and other than Damien, she’s the only one who knows. Not even Ollie who, years ago, I might have told even before Jamie. But I can’t deny that things have changed between us. He has his secrets. And I have mine.

“Nik,” she says gently. “You should talk about it.”

“I know. And I will.” I’ve already called the counselor I saw before we adopted Lara. I wanted no secrets that might come out and prevent the agency or the Chinese government from approving our application. “Damien suggested it, too. But it won’t happen again.” I meet her eyes, mine hard. “Nothing like that will ever happen again.”

She nods, and I know she understands that I’m talking about the kidnapping as much as the cutting.

“You’re really okay?”

“I am,” I say. “A little rough around the edges, but I think that’s fair, don’t you?”

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t.”

We’re silent for a bit, then she runs her finger over the rim of her glass. “How’s Damien?” she asks.

I sit back, because isn’t that a loaded question?

“He’s … hurting,” I say. “But he’s trying not to show it. Anne’s a lot of it, but we got her back, and in large part because of him. Who he is and what he does.”

“Magic dust,” Jamie says. “Gotta give the guy props.”

I know she’s trying to make me laugh, but all I can manage is a tiny smile.

“It’s you,” she says. “Because you cut.”

“I think he blames himself for the kidnapping. Like he’s supposed to sprinkle that magic dust all over our lives and keep us in a safe box or something. It’s stupid, because he can’t protect us like that. No one can. But it’s Damien.” I manage a smile, and Jamie nods. It’s Damien. And that pretty much says it all.

The press found out, too, which has made it doubly hard. Because every time we turn around, we’re reminded of what happened. So far, we’ve avoided interviews. But I know from Evelyn that they’ve been calling day and night. Damien’s repeatedly turned down their requests for even two or three minutes on the air, even though the press has treated him—and the entire team—like the brilliant heroes they are.

“And even though he gets a lot of the credit for getting her back, he knows that you cut because of the kidnapping.” She nods, considering. “Yeah, I can see that messing with him. Hell, it’s messing with me. I don’t have any good advice, though. I wish I did. If I had a brilliant idea, I’d totally tell you.”

“I know. And I’ve got an idea. Maybe not brilliant,” I admit. “But I think it’s a start. And to do it, I need your help.”

Two hours later, I find Damien in the second floor library, his favorite place in the house, but also the place he goes when he’s feeling the most melancholy. He’s standing over the display case that holds the first editions of the Ray Bradbury and other sci-fi books he loves. Recently, we added pictures of the girls to the case, and I have a feeling that in a few years, their favorite baby books will go in there as well.

“Hey,” I say, coming up behind him and putting my arms around him.

He turns, then pulls me close, and when I tilt my head back, he closes his mouth over mine, claiming me with one long, deep, heated kiss. The kind that makes me think of naughty uses for the wooden desk behind us, then makes me regret the fact that we’ll have guests arriving in under an hour.

“Hey, yourself,” he says when we finally break the kiss.

“Is that a tease? Or a promise for later?”

“Both,” he says, cupping my chin and brushing his thumb over my lips. He’s smiling at me, and that kiss just about melted me. Anyone looking at us would think that everything was perfect. But I know better. I know that things have shifted slightly off-kilter. There’s a hesitancy with me now. A gentleness that’s sweet and tender and that any other woman wouldn’t complain about. But I know Damien like I know myself, and I know when something is off.

I cut, and he blames himself. And though he probably doesn’t mean to, he’s holding back, his guilt like a wall rising up between us.

And all I want to do is climb over it.

“I know it’s the girls’ birthday party,” I tell him. “But I have a present for you.” I take his hand and lead him toward the back of the mezzanine where there is a small couch in front of a flat screen television.

“A present?” he says when I turn on the television, then punch buttons until it’s set up to broadcast a video from my phone.

“Not so much a present as a possibility. I want to give this to Evelyn,” I say. “I want her to release it to the press for us.”

His expression is both confused and wary, but he nods when I ask if he’s ready. The screen blips and shakes, then goes steady on an image of me and Jamie sitting side by side on a love seat inside the bungalow. It’s a tight image, one single shot since we did it ourselves, and my phone was on a tripod.

It’s Jamie’s interview of me. And although this may turn out to be only for Damien’s eyes, if he agrees to release it to the press, then it will also be a feather in Jamie’s cap and a kick in Lacey Dunlap’s ass. Because this will be the only interview about our daughter’s kidnapping that the press ever sees.

I sit hand-in-hand with Damien as we watch the screen. As Jamie introduces me, and I tell—slowly and haltingly—the story about how Anne was abducted. About our terror and about our investigation. I don’t reveal too many details and I don’t talk about the team, but the point of the interview was never the details. It was the emotion. The fear.

Ultimately, this interview is about me, and when we get to the part where the ransom had been delivered but our daughter hadn’t been returned, I take Jamie’s hand, and I look at the camera, and I tell the world that I am a cutter. Not only that, but I talk about how I locked myself in my bedroom that afternoon, and how I pulled out a blade.

“It’s a battle I’ve fought since I was a teenager,” I say. “My husband knows that. He’s known from before our marriage. And throughout our relationship, I drew on Damien’s strength to help me battle that horrible urge. One of the reasons I was able to fight, even through the rough times, was the knowledge that he was beside me. And more than that, I knew that he didn’t judge me.”

“When Anne wasn’t returned, the urge to cut must have been overwhelming,” Jamie says, exactly as we’d planned.

“It was. Too much for me to resist. And I gave in to that need.” On screen, I wait a beat.

On the couch, beside me, Damien sits perfectly still, his hand tight around mine.

“I’m not proud of myself. Just the opposite. After so many years of managing not to cut, I felt ashamed. Disappointed in myself. And I was so afraid that Damien would think less of me. That the strong woman he’d seen fight the urge to cut had suddenly disappeared before his eyes.”

“Is that what happened?”

I shake my head. “No. No, because Damien was there for me. Not just in the moment, but there. He understands me, and he’s strong for me. I had our entire relationship to bolster me. Everything he’s said and done. Every way in which he’s supported me as I’ve fought this battle over and over.”

I watch my image blink rapidly, and I remember the way tears stung my eyes. “He’s told me repeatedly that everyone breaks sometime. And that the thing to remember is that it doesn’t make you weak. Just wounded.”

On the couch, I draw in a breath, thinking once again of the way those words have always made me feel.

“Most of all,” my screen image continues, “he’s promised me time and again that he will always—always—be there to help me heal.”

A tear trickles down my cheek, both on the screen and on the couch.

“Damien is the reason I survived this ordeal. He’s the reason I’m not wallowing in self-loathing for having backpedalled. He’s strong,” I repeat. “And he shares that strength. And part of what makes him strong is that he doesn’t stand alone. I need him more than anything, but he needs me too. Together, we were strong enough to survive. Both the kidnapping and my cutting.”

“He played a significant role in finding the kidnapper, too, didn’t he?”

“A huge role,” I confirm, then slide into the final part of the interview where I talk about the unspecified tech that Damien used to track Rory down.

We chat a bit about how well Anne is doing. How she remembers hardly anything, and that we are hopeful the ordeal won’t scar her emotionally.

Jamie wraps by asking if there’s anything I want to add. I nod, then look straight at the camera. “As many people are aware, my husband founded the Stark Children’s Foundation many years ago to help abused and underprivileged kids. More recently, the foundation created the role of Stark Youth Advocate. These advocates are adults—celebrities or others in the spotlight—who have overcome a harsh past or some sort of personal trauma. Something that adds a level of empathy to their relationship with the kids.”

I hesitate just briefly, remembering how I’d choked at the brunch. But I’m not going to choke now. “I’m proud to say that I’m joining their ranks, and I hope that my experience with cutting—and my continuing struggle to fight that urge—will help at least some of the foundation’s kids.”

Jamie thanks me, then wraps up the interview with, “I’m Jamie Archer here with Nikki Fairchild Stark in an exclusive interview following the horrific kidnapping of Nikki and Damien Stark’s youngest daughter, Anne.”

In front of us, the television screen goes dark. Beside me, Damien sits perfectly still.

“I’d like to release it,” I say. “Jamie and Evelyn can figure out what outlet would be best.”

“Nikki.” His voice is thick. Raw. “Are you sure?”

I nod, understanding that he doesn’t just mean releasing the tape. He’s talking about everything.

I slide off the couch, then kneel in front of him so that I can look up and see his face. “Don’t you know?” I ask. “Don’t you understand that every word I said was the truth? Don’t blame yourself for what I did, Damien. But do know that you’re the reason I’m still standing despite everything.”

His throat moves, and though he says, baby, no sound actually comes out.

Then he’s reaching for me, pulling me up into his arms, his lips closing over mine for a wild, delicious kiss. “The guests,” I say as he yanks my skirt up.

“Fuck the guests,” he retorts, and I laugh. Both in joy at my victory and at the imagery. Because this is one part of the party to which the guests are most definitely not welcome.

“Fast,” I say, straddling him as the echo of the doorbell rings out. “And quietly.”

He doesn’t disappoint, and soon I’m riding him, his hands on my ass as we move together, hard and deep, until I feel him explode inside of me. I start to cry out with my own release, unable to hold back, but he silences me with his mouth, pulling me close and holding me tight until my body quits shaking and I’m loose and boneless in his arms.

He brushes a kiss over my lips, then grins. “You need to pull yourself together, Mrs. Stark. We have guests in the house.”

“Funny.” I climb off him and clean myself up, then make a quick turn in front of the mirror by the elevator. Damien takes my hand, and I smile up at him.

“Ready to go see our girls?”

“Always,” I say, as we step onto the elevator and head down together for Anne and Lara’s birthday celebration.