Prologue
Nikki leaned back, clearly surprised. “Mr. Stark. Are you proposing?”
He took her hand.
“We’ve reached a checkpoint, and now we’re moving forward. Growing our family. Pushing our boundaries. The truth is, I renew all my promises to you with every kiss. Nikki, my love, I want to make it formal again. In front of our friends and our children.”
He stood, then got down on one knee. “Nikki Fairchild Stark, will you do me the honor of marrying me again?”
Her bright smile filled his soul. “Mr. Stark,” she said as she took his hands and pulled him up and into her arms, “it would be my absolute pleasure.”
Excerpt From Indulge Me: A Stark Ever After Novella, by J. Kenner
1
A cool ocean breeze caresses my face as I stand on the third-floor balcony of our Malibu home and look out over the hustle and bustle going on below. Frank and Evelyn’s wedding is in less than three hours, and half the planning staff are hurrying to set the chairs in perfectly straight lines on the specially designed helipad that looks exactly like a normal lawn, while the other half are decorating the wedding arch with pink and white roses.
It’s already past five on this August afternoon, and I should be inside, urging my kids into their fancy clothes or watching my husband dress in our apartment-sized closet. The thought makes me smile, because watching Damien Stark—both in and out of a tailored Brioni Vanquish II suit—is something I will never tire of.
Right now, though, I’m enjoying this moment. Thinking back on the years that have passed and another August evening when I stood on a different balcony with a similar Malibu view. That party—Evelyn’s party—had set me on a path that led inexorably into Damien’s arms. And now here I am, over a decade later, about to watch her exchange vows with my father.
I hug myself, letting a lifetime of memories wash over me. Some sweet and gentle, some dark and filled with pain and loss and difficult choices. But all led me to where I am now, and I know with absolute certainty that there is nothing I would have changed, not even the horror of my life with my mother in Texas. How could I, when my past was the first step toward my future with Damien? And he—
“NonononoNOOOO! Bradley Nicholas Stark, you come back here right now!”
I press my lips together as I fight a burst of laughter, then rearrange my face into an expression of concern rather than amusement as I turn to face my two-year-old son and eight-year-old daughter.
“Mama! Me naked!!”
“Bradley!”
I almost laugh from the stern tone in Lara’s voice, one I’ve heard pass from my own lips on more than one occasion. Then I crouch, holding out my arms so my youngest can run into them. I scoop him up, breathing in the tantalizing scent of powder and bubble bath. “Hey there, BB. How’s my little scuttlebutt doing?”
Throughout my pregnancy we’d been unable to decide on a name, and we’d ended up calling him BBS for Baby Boy Stark. Ultimately, Damien had come up with the perfect name. Bradley—a combination of Bradbury in honor of Damien’s favorite author, and Ashley in honor of my sister and our first child, who we lost early in the pregnancy. The Nicholas is a nod to my best friend Jamie, as it’s her nickname for me, just like I call her James.
But despite having such a perfect name, Damien and I still often call him BB. He is, after all, our baby boy.
“Mommy!” I can hear the scowl on Lara’s face reflected in her voice. “He wouldn’t let me finish drying him, and I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t.”
She narrows her eyes at her little brother, her arms crossed over her chest. “Anne minded me.”
“Well, then you should tell Anne thank you,” I say, glancing around the room for my younger daughter. I don’t find her, and return my attention to my eldest. “But she’s six now, and Bradley’s barely two. Do you remember what you were like at two?”
She twists her mouth. “I was a tornado. That’s what Daddy says.”
“And Daddy got that right.” She’d been twenty months old when we returned from the adoption trip. At first, she’d been reserved, but in the short time between leaving China and her second birthday at home, the last of that reticence had fallen away, and she’d blossomed into our adorable, opinionated, passionate, awesome little girl.
“But I minded, Mommy. He’s not minding me.” She sticks an accusing finger toward her brother, who giggles and squirms in my arms.
“He’s just excited from all the activity. He’ll calm down. Come here, Snuggles,” I say, carrying him over so that he’s looking out toward the helipad with me. “We’re going to be sitting there soon. Do you remember who’s getting married?”
“Paw-paw,” he says, clapping his hands. “Paw-paw and Ebby!”
“You are so right,” I tell him, then kiss the top of his head and breathe in the subtle scent of baby shampoo.
“Ebby!” Lara calls from where she now stands beside me on the balcony. She’s looking down toward the pool deck that opens off the first floor living area. “Look at me!”
I see Evelyn there, the kids’ Ebby thanks to Anne’s mispronunciation. And since Evelyn swears she likes that better than grandma, it’s stuck. “I may have inched into grandmother years,” she’d told me, “but considering I haven’t actually had a kid, I think I’d prefer to enjoy the job without the official title.”
“Ebby!” Lara tries again, but Evelyn is clearly engrossed in something on her phone. Her expression, however, is anything but happy. A tiny seed of trepidation takes root in my stomach, because I can’t image what could be so upsetting that she’s already at the house a full three hours before the guests are due.
She stayed last night in my home office, a beach bungalow that is nestled into the hills at the base of our property. Her own house is near enough, but she’s in the middle of a remodel, and I’d suggested she stay in the bungalow so she’d be away from the noise and the mess before the ceremony.
After won’t matter, as tomorrow morning she and Frank head to the honeymoon villa at The Resort at Cortez. They’re spending phase one of their honeymoon at the nearby resort before heading on to the much more distant islands of Greece. By the time they return home, the contractors will have completed the renovations.
“I wanted your dad to know it’s as much his home as mine,” she’d said the day she showed me the plans. “And I don’t want him having to drive all the way to Santa Monica just because he wants to use the darkroom in his studio. So I’m adding one to the house, plus another guest bedroom for the kids and a man cave for Frank.”
I’ve been in love with Evelyn since the moment I met her as the bold and brassy hostess of an erotic art show who spoke her mind, stood by her friends, and took no shit from anybody. But that practical show of love for my father—and my kids—just about gutted me.
To be honest, she’s felt more like a mom to me than Elizabeth Fairchild ever had, and the fact that Evelyn is now going to truly fill that role makes me glow with joy. Which is why I’m now frowning as I see the way her forehead has creased and her frame seems to sag in a full-body frown. Cold fingers of dread creep up my spine, because what could possibly be disturbing her on her wedding day?