Complete Me (The Stark Trilogy) Read Online Free PDF Page B

saying.
    His eyes lock on mine. “I know,” he says. “Now put the jacket on.”
    I nod, understanding the unspoken message: No matter what, he will never stop looking out for me. I can’t argue with him about that; after all, I feel the same way.
    I climb out of the car and stand up, my Public Nikki smile plastered across my face because reporters surround us, representing all of Europe and the States and even Asia. I’m practiced enough at hiding my emotions that I’m certain I look cool and confident. I’m not. I’m terrified. And from the way Damien grips my hand, I know that he realizes it. I wish I could be stronger, but it’s impossible, and I’m simply going to have to accept that. Until this is over—one way or the other—I’m going to be walking on a knife edge. I only hope that in the end, I can tumble into Damien’s arms, and not fall in the other direction where I am left to plummet into the abyss alone.
    “Herr Stark! Fräulein Fairchild! Nikki! Damien!”
    The voices surround us, some English, some German, some French. Other languages, too, that I do not recognize.
    Ever since I arrived in Munich, the press has been all over us. And not just about the trial. No, the tabloids are just as eager to analyze Damien’s love life. They are not—thank God—harping on endlessly about my portrait or the money Damien paid me. But they are gleefully digging through their morgues and running photos of Damien with the steady stream of other women who have been on his arm. Runway models. Actresses. Heiresses. Damien told me himself that he used to fuck a lot of women. And he told me that none of them were special. For him, there is only me.
    I believe him, but I still don’t like seeing those pictures on newsstands and all over the television and Internet.
    Right now, though, I’d be happy if the press’s only interest in us was who Damien was sleeping with. But that is not the focusof their attention today. Today, they’re out for blood, and murder is on the agenda.
    It isn’t until we cross the threshold and enter the building that I realize that I have forgotten to breathe. I glance at Damien and manage a wan smile. He shakes his head. “If I could have left you in the hotel today, I would have.”
    “I’d rather die than not be here with you.” Unfortunately, I think, being here may come close to killing me.
    The halls are bustling with attorneys and court personnel, all moving efficiently to wherever it is they are going. I barely notice them. Honestly, I barely notice anything, and it’s with a bit of surprise that a uniformed guard hands me my purse and I realize that we’ve stepped through security.
    A polished man in his midfifties with salt-and-pepper hair is hurrying toward us. This is Charles Maynard, the attorney who has represented Damien since he burst onto the tennis scene as a nine-year-old prodigy. He holds out his hand for Damien even as his eyes go to me. “Hello, Nikki. My staff will be in the row of seats immediately behind the witness stand. You’ll sit there too, of course.”
    I nod, grateful. If I can’t be beside Damien, at least I’ll be nearby.
    “We should talk before this begins,” he continues, his words directed to Damien. He glances at me. “You’ll excuse us?”
    I want to scream in protest, but instead I nod. I don’t try to speak, too afraid that my voice will shake and betray me.
    Damien reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Go on in,” he says. “I’ll see you shortly.”
    Once again, I nod assent, but I don’t move. Instead I stand dully in the hallway as Maynard leads Damien a few yards away and then through the doors of the small conference room that I know has been assigned to his team for use during the trial. I stand a moment longer, unwilling to go through the heavywooden doors that lead to the courtroom. Maybe if I never go in, the proceedings can never start.
    I’m still there, cursing my own foolishness, when I think I hear my name from