Margaux held everything close, not sharing pertinent details with them. He was guilty of the same but could at least claim professional duty. He didn’t like her prodding.
Emma chuckled, blushing as she righted herself and smoothed her hair behind her ears. “I need another bad coffee before I can handle any jump scares.”
“It’s not that bad,” he said, fighting the urge to wink. If he could rewind time or—better—get back to the companionable morning chat with Emma before Margaux joined, he would.
Hope stirred in his chest, warming him from the inside out, better than the lukewarm drink he held. If they got answers, they could have a second chance. He prayed for that opportunity and for peace if it never came.
“I haven’t spent enough time around a campfire if I’m rattled by a sudden burst,” he said, breathing deep as he extended his hands toward the heat.
“Yeah, same,” Emma added.
Margaux shrugged. “Oh, really? I love a fire. We have wood and gas burning fireplaces throughout our homes.”
Her casual delivery veered toward condescension.
A bird call overhead drew his gaze to the sky. From his vantage point, he couldn’t discern if the bird was predator or prey. But he could admire its beauty and determined direction.
As much as he hated to do so, and reveal his true feelings, he had to circle back to the conversation before the tiny explosion. He narrowed his gaze at Margaux, staring at her hard. “A life devoted to service is well-lived,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “You should know that, Margaux, considering your husband’s political career. Being his spouse must mean a certain amount of charity work.”
Margaux scoffed. “More like making empty promises and taking good pictures.”
Emma covered her gasp with a hand.
He considered Margaux’s unguarded response, unsure what to make of it. With more time at the camp, the less shy and reserved Margaux acted. Every social nicety dissolved to reveal a deeply unsatisfied person underneath. Trapped in a life and suddenly set free, she was almost dangerous in her desperation. Maybe she needed an outlet with peers that didn’t need or ask her for anything.
He liked the route offering grace. “What did you want to do with your life?”
“Before the politics?” Margaux asked.
He nodded. From the corner of his gaze, he studied Emma.
She sat stiff and still, barely moving. Perhaps she didn’t want to attract any attention for fear of plunging into the line of verbal fire again. He understood.
“I had a company,” Margaux said, her voice wistful. She crossed her legs and her arms, holding herself tight.
In his line of work, he’d had his fair chance of studying body language. Hers was closed off and defensive.
“During college, I built a whole career for myself based on my lifestyle,” she continued. “I was an early influencer. Back then I was a blogger. My sense of style and family connections snagged features in magazines and TV spots. My life was my brand, and I kept it going, transforming into a very successful business with six figures plus deals and promotions. I was sailing through the first years of my marriage…”
The crackling fire filled the silence.
Daniel could see the tension in Margaux’s brittle smile, and he feared what he’d spot in Emma’s expression. He wanted to shoot her a that explains a lot look of commiseration. But then the stress would boil over and sweep them up into the flames.
“But?” Daniel supplied, after another minute.
“Well, people start to own you. Control you. Want things from you,” Margaux said, holding out her hand and examining her ring. “I wasn’t having a baby fast enough for my audience. I never wanted kids, but this became a brand discussion. I was drowning under expectations from complete strangers. So…I told a few lies to stall and then got out of it. Sold the brand. Reinvented myself as a society wife. For a while, I took a backseat to him, and I was happy to do that.”
“And now?” Daniel asked.
Margaux laughed.
The sound was almost a cackle, in his opinion. Bloggers developed fandoms based on their storytelling abilities. The better showmen rose to the top. He wasn’t sure how much he believed of Margaux’s tale. But he was captivated. He’d hand her that.
“What was the lie?” Emma asked. “Is that what you’re being threatened over?”
“I doubt it. No one would care,” Margaux said, sniffing and rubbing a hand over her face. “It’s all forgotten. My family buried the story.”
What was it? If her secret didn’t matter, he couldn’t understand her continued attempts at distracting them from it. As far as he knew, she wasn’t a mother. Had she lied about infertility? That would definitely cool some people’s opinions about her. But if her family truly handled it then it wouldn’t have any teeth to sink into her now.
