Enchant Me

by J. Kenner

  “I don’t know about that. Someone was trying to lure you away. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to keep this from your husband.”

  I close my eyes, realizing I’d expected that answer. “All right,” I tell him. “I’ll wait here.”

  We end the call, and I slide down in my seat to watch the show. Or try to. I feel numb, my mind racing, and these dancing, gyrating men on the stage are like nothing more than the ephemeral background of a very strange nightmare.

  I don’t know how much time passes before Jackson, Ryan, and Damien stride into the club. I feel the shift in the air, then realize that most of the club’s patrons have turned to look at them. I see anticipation on their faces; clearly these women are hoping that these men are going to get up on stage, too.

  As far as I can tell, the guys are entirely oblivious to the other women in the room. As Jackson and Ryan find their wives, Damien crosses directly to me, then takes my hand.

  “With me,” he says, and I have only enough time to look back at my friends and mouth goodbye before he leads me out. The limo is waiting, and we get in. Immediately, we pull away from the curb.

  “What about everyone else?”

  “They can find their own way home.” He pulls me close and kisses me, a long, deep kiss. The kind that’s more claiming than affection. As if he has to prove to himself that I’m real and safe, and that I’m his.

  “Tell me the rest of it,” he says when we pull apart. “Ryan told me about the text trying to send you off to the middle of nowhere. But he also said there was something else you needed to tell me.”

  I draw a breath, then show him the text and relay the conversation with Evelyn. “Charles can’t stop it. All we know is that there’s going to be an announcement tomorrow.”

  Damien leans back, but he doesn’t look broken. He looks frustrated, and I can’t blame him.

  “Sweetheart, I hope this isn’t true. But we’ve had this conversation before. There is a possibility. A slim one, because I’ve always been careful, but there is a possibility.”

  “I know that.” He told me himself when we first started going out that he didn’t date, but he did fuck. In many ways, Damien had been as lost as I was before we found each other. I’d cut. He’d lost himself in his business, moving forward toward conquering the world, and on that journey he had a stream of gorgeous women on his arm. Considering his reputation back then, I suppose we’re lucky this hasn’t happened more often.

  “Listen, I don’t know if it’s true,” he says. “And if it is, I don’t know what their endgame is. Why not just approach me? Why send these vile texts? I don’t know, and I don’t like it.”

  He shifts in his seat and takes my hand. “There’s only one thing I know for certain right now, and that’s us. You and me, Nikki. Our daughters. Our son. Our friends and all the people we care about. They’re my world. You’re my world. I will find out who’s doing this, I promise. I’ll get us answers, whether this is a hoax or the truth or some mixture of both. But right now I need you to do something for me.”

  I look at him and nod.

  “Anything.”

  He pulls me close and kisses the top of my head. “Right now, I just need you to let me hold you.”

  Unlike Evelyn and Frank, we wanted our wedding in the afternoon, primarily so the kids would have a chance to play in the pool and on the lawn after the ceremony. By noon, everyone has gathered. The invited press is set up in the back, our friends are all sitting in the white folding chairs lined up on the lawn, the wedding arch is covered with flowers, and our children are standing in front of us at the back of the aisle.

  This time, Lara and Anne won’t be scattering flowers. Instead they’re simply going to walk ahead of us, holding their little brother’s hand as he walks between them. The three of them look absolutely adorable in their fancy clothes, and as I lean against Damien, I don’t think that I’ve ever been happier in my life, not even on our original wedding day. That day had been amazing, but I wasn’t a mom back then. And, honestly, that colors everything.

  The music begins, people turn in their chairs, and our children start down the aisle. We wait until they get halfway, then Damien and I take our first steps as well. He squeezes my hand and whispers, “I love you,” and I know that my smile couldn’t be any brighter.

  I feel all the eyes on us as we walk the short distance to the arch. As we planned, as soon as we arrive, our children sit near the judge’s feet, making them an integral part of the ceremony, too.

  Judge Kaplan smiles at us, then lifts his eyes toward our gathered friends and family. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate with Nikki and Damien, as they renew their vows.”

  He takes a breath, getting ready to start the small speech before Damien and I speak the vows we wrote to each other, but he’s interrupted by a man’s voice from the back.

  “Not everyone came here to celebrate,” he says, the words sending a chill up my spine. Damien squeezes my hand and we turn around to see a dark haired man who looks vaguely familiar standing at the end of the aisle.

  I have a moment of déjà vu as I think that he must be the man I saw at Evelyn and Frank’s wedding. But as I look closer, I realize that he’s not. The two men look similar, but there are enough differences in their faces to make me certain I didn’t see this man last week.

  Damien starts to take a step toward him, and I hear his soft curse. That’s when I realize who this person is. It’s Ashton Stone, and I recognize him from his picture on the television.

  Before Damien can speak, Stone’s words ring out over the heads of all of our friends. “Damien Stark isn’t a man I can celebrate,” he says. “Neither should you. He may be wealthy. He may be powerful. But this is a man who had a son. Who shoved that child out of sight so that he wouldn’t get in the way of his fabulous life on the tennis circuit and then in industry. Damien Stark is a man who sacrificed family for money and fame. This is a man who doesn’t deserve your celebration. How do I know? My name is Ashton Carrington Stone. And my father is Damien Stark.”

  I feel my knees go weak, and I think Damien’s have, too, because his arm goes around my waist and he holds me close. I expect him to signal to the security guards to take Ashton away, but instead he lets him speak.

  I’m not sure if there’s a purpose, or if he’s just too shell-shocked to stop the man. Everyone in the crowd is silent, some looking at us, some looking at Ashton. I see Evelyn’s eyes on me, and the sympathy reflected there makes me want to cry more than this man’s words.

  “Smells like scandal to me,” Ashton continues. “You have daddy issues, Stark? Well guess what? So do I. And now that I’m an adult with my own assets and resources, I’m not just going to sit back and stay quiet. I’m going to destroy you, destroy your business. You know I have the tech to build on, and I’m very, very motivated.

  “It’ll be a challenge, sure, but it’s one I’m willing to pursue, and I’ll have a great time doing it.” He turns and steps into the aisle, then drops a large, sealed envelope onto the ground.

  “I’m leaving now. Have your goons stop me if you want, that’s your choice. But you know that every word I’ve said is true. You left me. You forgot about me. You erased me from your life. And I’m going to erase you, too.”

  And then as me and everyone else in the crowd gasps, Ashton Stone turns and walks away, with Damien standing still and silent beside me.

  As soon as he’s gone, the crowd starts to murmur. I hear Damien’s name as well as mine. And someone’s voice rises above the unintelligible murmurs to very clearly point out just how much Ashton Stone looks like Damien.

  From her seat in the front, Sylvia calls the children to her.

  But Damien shakes his head. “No. Stay where you are, kids.” He looks out over the crowd, even at the press who are practically buzzing with what they’ve just witnessed. I’m certain they’re already quietly sending texts of this breaking news back to their offices.

  “For the record,” he says
, as he moves to pick up the folder, “I barely know that man, and I don’t know what grudge he holds against me. But it doesn’t matter. This day is about me and Nikki and our vows, and we’re going to continue this ceremony. If you’d all please take your seats, we can continue.”

  Everyone gathered, including the press, falls silent as Damien starts to turn back toward the arch. But I don’t. I stay perfectly still, frozen by the mathematical reality that Damien clearly hasn’t yet considered.

  Ashton Stone is in his late twenties, which means that if Damien is his father, Damien would have been around fourteen when Ashton was conceived. And that’s how old he was when he slept with Sofia, doing the only thing he could to keep his father from whoring her out.

  “Damien,” I whisper. “We need to postpone the ceremony.”

  He turns back to face me, and I can see the effort as he works to control his temper. “The hell we are. Today’s about family. This is our day, our day to celebrate our marriage and our family.”

  “I know. You’re right. The day is about family.” I squeeze his hand, hating this so much, and hating even more that our private life is so damn public. “But, Damien,” I whisper, “I think Ashton Stone might be family, too.”

  15

  Everyone is sympathetic following the interruption, but it still takes time to clear the crowd out. Even the press seems to want to hang about and say how sorry they are about the whole thing. To my surprise, nobody asks what was in the envelope that Ashton dropped.

  The kids and I join Damien as he walks across the lawn so that he can address the members of the press. To them, I’m sure he looks as calm and in control as always, but I see the pain and confusion underneath. That need to do something. To find answers. That frustration that he can’t simple reach out, push a button, and have the world fall obediently into place.

  “I understand that you’ll report this,” he says as the cameras record every word. “It’s news, and I get that. But I would ask you to solicit my comments before you publish.” A chuckle rises from the group, and to my surprise, Damien actually joins them. “I know,” he says. “That’s not my usual practice for articles dealing with my personal life. But today is not a usual day.”

  One reporter, who I vaguely recognize from various events, steps forward. “Mr. Stark, do you want to make a comment addressing Ashton Stone’s paternity claim now?”

  Damien shakes his head, but then he says, “Actually, yes. You can print that I was stunned. That this has come completely out of the blue. And that I intend to discover whether or not what Mr. Stone has said is true. If it’s true, I want to know why I never knew of his existence. If it’s fabricated, I want to know who took the time and trouble to put such a lie in his head. Because the one thing that I am sure of is that Ashton Stone believes he’s telling the truth. Whether his truth lines up with reality remains to be seen.”

  He takes a moment to make eye contact with all of them. “Other than that, no comment. Thank you for your understanding.” He turns and takes my arm, his other hand going to brush the backs of our daughters.

  As we head for the house, we pass Jackson and Sylvia along with Ryan and Jamie, all of whom are working to get everyone moving towards the exit. Damien and I accept words of sympathy and shock and small smiles of support as we head inside.

  Right before we cross the threshold, I catch Dallas’s eye. He lifts his hand, miming a phone call. I interpret that as an offer for Damien to call if he needs to talk, and I nod a thank you before disappearing into the relative sanity of the house.

  The kids come with me, but Damien lingers behind me to speak to Jackson. I glance back at him once, and he gives me a small smile, which loosens some of the knot that has tied itself around my heart. I know this is hell for him, but at least he’s handling it. Then again, what can’t my husband handle?

  Inside, the kids race to Evelyn and Frank, who are already in the first floor living area. I head to my dad, and he folds me into his arms.

  “How’s he doing?” Evelyn asks.

  I pull back from Frank, but don’t break contact as I say, “I don’t know. Not good. Surviving. Angry. Confused.” I meet her eyes and just shrug.

  “Yes, I suppose that is how he would be. How are you doing?”

  I manage a small smile and a shake of my head. “The same, I guess. Just on a smaller scale.”

  The truth is, I haven’t thought much about me. I feel removed from all of this, like a spectator. But, of course, I’m not. I’m in the thick of it with Damien, and he will need me. And if what Ashton Stone says is true, I have another son as well. Sofia’s son.

  “You’ll be fine,” Evelyn says, reaching out to squeeze my hand. “And so will Damien. The hammer fell. That’s always the hardest part. Now we pick up the pieces.” She presses her fingers to her temples and shakes her head as she releases a deep sigh. “Still, would have been easier if any of us had a damn clue any of this was coming. But I suppose we should have from all those horrible texts.”

  I blink, realizing that I’ve been in such shock that I hadn’t even put two and two together. Of course he’s behind those horrible texts. He’s resentful for never being acknowledged, and I’m not sure if I feel sorry for him, or desperately angry.

  I’m about to move to the sofa to sit down, when Bree hurries in from the back. She kneels in front of the kids and gives them both big hugs. “Hey, you guys, let’s go to the playroom and let the grownups do their thing, okay?”

  “You are a grownup,” Anne says.

  “I know,” Bree says. “But let’s not tell anyone, okay?”

  Anne giggles and Bree takes her hand and Bradley’s. She glances at Lara who says, “I’ll be right there. I promise.”

  Bree meets my eyes, and I nod as Lara comes to my side and takes my hand. As Bree leads my other kids into the playroom, Lara drags me away from Evelyn and Frank. We stand by the stairs, and she whispers, “How can Daddy be that man’s daddy? He’s all grown up.”

  I feel a knot start to form in my stomach. “Well, we don’t actually know that he is. But when we know, you’ll know, okay?”

  Her brow furrows. “Doesn’t Daddy already know?”

  The knot turns into a giant, thorny clump, and I have absolutely no idea how to answer that question, so instead I pull her close and give her a tight hug. “It’s complicated,” I say. “Can I explain why when things are less crazy?”

  She pulls back and looks at me with those big dark eyes. “Okay, Mommy. I love you, Mommy.”

  My heart swells a little, then almost bursts when she gives me the sweetest, softest kiss on the cheek. Then she takes off running to the playroom to find Bree and her siblings, and I think how nice it must be to simply run away from this.

  It takes about an hour, but slowly the house empties out. Sylvia and Jackson come in to say goodbye, and I’m surprised that Damien isn’t with them, since Jackson was the last person I saw him talking to when I’d gone in search of him over forty minutes ago.

  “We talked for about twenty minutes,” he says when I ask. “Damien’s upset, no doubt. But I thought he would come to you.”

  “I haven’t seen him,” I say. “Any idea where he could be?”

  Jackson shakes his head. “My next guess would be Ryan but that’s apparently not the case,” he says, nodding toward the glass doors where I can see Ryan and Jamie headed our way.

  I grimace, then I start to pull out my phone, only to realize that I don’t have it because I was standing at an altar about to renew my vows. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to go get my phone and see if I can track him.”

  “I can do that,” Jackson says.

  He opens his phone and it takes only a moment before it finds his signal. “It looks like he’s driving.”

  Since the kidnapping, everyone in the family can track everyone else, and in our world family includes our close friends. It’s not a perfect system, but it’s one defense against the craziness that lurks in the world.

 
I take Jackson’s phone and look at the small dot moving through the canyons. I wait for the tinge of frustration, but it doesn’t come, because I know he’s not running from me. He’s just running. Moving.

  I’m certain I know why: Damien has finally done the math, and he realizes what I’ve already concluded—that Ashton Stone really is Damien’s son.

  I give him time, but when he hasn’t returned home by nine, I look at the tracking app again, and I’m shocked to find him at the Richter Tennis Center. Or what is now called the West Hollywood Tennis Center, the name having been changed after Damien spoke publicly about what Richter had done to him.

  I know he needs time to process, and I consider letting him stay there, periodically watching my phone until he decides to find his way home, but I can’t do it.

  Instead, I get into Coop and head toward my husband. Even after I’ve arrived, it takes me a while to find him. I check all the courts, both inside and out, then finally walk the stairs and comb the five floors, peering into all the workout rooms, handball courts, spa areas, and miscellaneous amenities.

  The place is mostly empty this late, and the few people I speak with haven’t seen him either, though the app assures me that he’s still on site.

  I’m about at my wit’s end, when I realize where I should have gone all along. After all, Richter fell from a roof back in Germany. And wasn’t his death a major link in this chain that has been forged around us?

  Sure enough, I find Damien sitting on the tar paper and gravel rooftop, his back leaning against some piece of mechanical equipment. I cross to him, and he looks up. For a moment, his face is entirely blank. Then his mouth curves in a sad smile, and he holds out a hand for me. I go to him, sitting on the roof as well, my hand resting on his leg as I sit facing him.

  “I should have seen it the first time I looked at him,” Damien says, his voice so low I have to strain to hear him. “But maybe I didn’t want to see it. Maybe I just never let myself think it was even possible.”