Complete Me(19)

And then suddenly the judge is finished, and he’s standing, and he’s filing out of the room with the other judges behind him. As soon as the door behind them has shut, the courtroom explodes into a cacophony of sounds, some cheers, some shouts, but some boos and catcalls. One of the attorneys takes pity on me. He turns and faces me. “The charges,” he says in a thick German accent. “The charges have been dropped.”

“What?” I say stupidly.

“It’s over,” Ollie says, pulling me into a hug. “Damien’s free to go home.”

He releases me and I stare at him, my body cold with shock. I’m scared to believe it. Afraid that I haven’t heard right and someone is going to tell me that I’ve misunderstood and the trial will be recommencing any moment now.

I turn to face Damien, but his back is still to me. The prosecutor now stands in front of him, speaking earnestly, but in such a low voice that I cannot make out the words. Maynard stands beside Damien, his hand on Damien’s back, the gesture almost paternal.

“It’s true?” I ask the German attorney. “You really mean it?”

His smile is broad, but his eyes are soft with understanding. “It is true,” he says. “We would not joke about such a thing.”

“No, of course not. But why? I mean—” But he turns away in response to a question from another attorney. Then I see that the prosecutor has moved away from Damien, and a wave of pure joy sweeps through me and I no longer care how or why.

“Damien,” I say, and my voice sounds light. His name feels delicious on my lips, and I want to capture this moment and hold it close to me. This singular instant when I got back the man I feared that I had lost.

He begins to turn, and I anticipate how he will look when I see his face. His eyes alight with joy, his features stripped of the worry that has been weighing on him since the indictment came through.

But that is not what I see. Instead of warmth, I see a chill in his eyes. And there is nothing joyous in his expression. Instead, it is flat and cold and desolate.

I frown, confused, and reach out for him. “Damien,” I say, leaning over the bar to take his hands. His fingers close tight around mine, as if I am a lifeline in stormy waters. “Oh, God, Damien. It’s over.”

“Yes,” he says, but there is a harshness in his voice that sends a shiver through me. “It is.”

Damien holds my hand, but says nothing during the ride back to the hotel. He is shell-shocked, I think. Probably unable to believe that the nightmare is really over.

We are alone—the attorneys having hung back to take care of all the administrative stuff that goes on once a trial reaches its conclusion, and I can only assume that there is even more to do when the conclusion is unexpectedly premature. I let the silence linger until we pull up in front of the hotel, but then I can’t take it anymore.

“Damien, it’s finished. Aren’t you happy about that?” Personally, I’m about to explode simply from the joy of knowing that Damien is free and safe.

He looks at me, and for a moment his expression is blank. Then his face clears as he smiles. It’s not huge, but it is real. “Yes,” he says. “About that, I couldn’t be happier.”

“About that,” I repeat, confused. “What else is there? What’s going on? Why were the charges dismissed?”

But now the valet has opened the door, and Damien is sliding that direction. I mutter a sharp curse and follow. Damien reaches for my hand to help me out, then twines his fingers in mine as we walk the short distance to the hotel entrance.