Complete Me(46)

“Damie, darling, don’t be angry.” She stretches, cat-like, as she reaches for a glass of wine on the table beside her. She takes a sip, looking perfectly at home.

I want to go slap her face.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Damien demands.

Her eyes widen, then she glances at me. “After all the times I’ve shared this room with you, I’m like family. I just asked one of the room service boys to let me in.”

“It didn’t occur to you that you were costing the boy his job?”

She laughs. “Why would it? I thought we could celebrate your victory together. And when have you ever kicked me out of your room, Damie? When have you not been happy to see me?”

“Now,” he says.

I’m watching her face as he speaks, and am startled to see that there is no reaction. She doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t blink. She is neither angry nor hurt.

In other words, Carmela came here knowing exactly how this would play out. What a goddamned bitch.

“Get up,” I say. “Get up and get the hell out of here.” That gets a reaction out of her. A tight, condescending smile that only pisses me off even more.

Beside me, Damien squeezes my hand, but he says nothing. Somehow he knows that this is my fight now.

“You’re Nichole, aren’t you?” she says, though there is no doubt in my mind that she knows exactly who I am. “You’re the little girl who caught his eye in Texas at that ridiculous pageant.”




“I caught more than his eye, Carlotta,” I say, deliberately getting her name wrong.

Her eyes narrow. “Are you sure? Reality so rarely lives up to expectations. I hope you’re prepared for the day he realizes that you are not the woman he wanted, after all.”

I flash my best pageant smile and conjure a honey-sweet Texas twang. “Sugar, I think you have us confused. I’m the one he’s taking to bed. It’s you he doesn’t want.” I imagine a stadium of people leaping to their feet and applauding. “Now get the hell out of here.”

I know my blow struck home from the way her eyes dart to Damien, as if he will soothe the wound. But Damien is not her salvation. “You heard the lady,” he says. “Go.”

For an unpleasant moment, I think she’s going to argue. Then she rises to her feet. She moves with deliberate slowness as she takes the last sip of her wine and then hooks her purse over her arm. It seems to take forever, but she finally steps over the threshold and out into the hallway, the weighted door slamming shut behind her.

I turn to Damien. I can see the rage in his eyes. The rising fury. But it’s tempered by something else. Regret. And apology. No, I think. No way in hell is he apologizing for that bitch.

“Nikki, I—”

“You what? You didn’t know she would be here?”

“You know I didn’t.” His voice is hard. Firm.

“Do you think I’m going to be jealous, knowing that there was a time when she had free run of this suite?” I ask, making my voice even harder. I have a point to make, and I’m damn well going to make it. I cock my head, considering. “Just how many hotels around Europe is she intimately familiar with?”

“Goddammit, Nikki.”

“One? Three? Five?”

He stalks toward me and I take a corresponding step back, then another until my back is against one of the pillars that divides the sitting area from the kitchen and dining area. “Did you take her here? Like this? Hard against a wall?”

“What the f*ck are you doing?” Anger curls in his voice and I know that I’ve almost pushed him too far.