Page 80 of Chasing Clouds

It’s funny, when I first met her, I would have never guessed she loved being outside. Her appearance and apparent upper-class upbringing gave off the impression that she would be more high-maintenance than laid back. But, he’s right—as I got to know her and she relaxed some, she did transition and spent a lot of time outside. Deep down, though, I loved both sides of her, because they’re part of who she is.

“My Camille,” he says gently, interrupting my thoughts. “She’s always had this inner strength her sister never had. Clare loved this life, our life, because it was easy and it was handed to her. She was that child who was always content just sitting inside and playing with one of her toys, because that was what she was expected to do. Don’t get me wrong, she had her own ambitions, but they revolved around making those around her happier than she made herself. Not Camille, though. She never needed approval from someone else to be happy, because she found happiness within. From the moment she was born, everything was an adventure, and everything became a challenge. Recipes were meant to be created, not followed. Music was best loved by making it, loudly, not listening to it. She couldn’t just climb a tree, it was how high can I go? And don’t get me started when it comes to her free will versus my son’s determination to break her.”

Images of Camille losing herself while working on the mirror, dancing on the beach, and cooking me dinner with food smudged on her clothes flash through my mind. When she wasn’t feeling pressured or confined, she was adventurous and spread her wings. She surprised me, but in the best way. Of course, she also surprised me in the worst.

“Please, come sit with an old man.” He gestures to the chair perpendicular to him.

I sit, he stares at me, and then he lets out a deep sigh while frowning.

“Patrick told me what he did.”

My brows furrow with displeasure at his name and I cross my arms over my chest.

“I’m really sorry you were injured because of it.” His gaze travels over my face. The road rash has faded, the stitches are gone, and I’ve taken my sling off. The only thing visibly remaining is the cast on my lower arm.

“He didn’t do anything. I walked in front of the car—the accident is all on me.”

“I don’t think he sees it that way.”

Turning my head, I look away as my jaw tightens. “With all due respect, sir, I don’t care how he sees it.”

“Patrick isn’t a bad guy.” He throws one arm out across the back of my couch. I look back at him and raise one eyebrow in question, and he chuckles.

“Please tell me you didn’t drive down here just to tell me that.”

“I didn’t drive here, I flew, and my plane is waiting for me when we’re done.”

Of course he has his own plane. Then it hits me why he’s here, and my heart falls into my stomach. I knew eventually I’d have to give it back, know it’s not mine to keep, but for some stupid reason, I still wanted to.

Getting up, I go retrieve his wedding ring from the top drawer of my nightstand.

For weeks, this ring was stuck on my finger. I was certain I’d need the Jaws of Life to remove it, but the day after Camille left, I was in the shower and it slid right off. I was so surprised I dropped it on the floor. Even now, just holding it, it feels warm and familiar, and it hurts to know it’s no longer going to be mine, just another piece of me that’s about to walk out that door.

“Here, I think this is what you’re looking for.” I hand him the ring and he frowns as he looks at it in the palm of his hand.

“No, son. This is yours now.” He pinches it between his thumb and forefinger, raising it to hand it back to me, but I take a step back, away from him. Reality is, it was never truly mine.

“We’re divorced. It’s yours, and it should go back to you.” I sit back in my chair, and we both wordlessly eye each other. He’s impeccably dressed in a suit and tie, and I’m wearing a Tarpons T-shirt and pajama pants.

“Yeah, about that,” he says, placing the ring on the coffee table in front of him, sliding it toward me and then shifting uncomfortably on the couch.

My hands ball up in my lap as I feel my face dip into a scowl.

His gaze finds mine. There’s zero expression on his face, and the only hint of remorse evident is in the way the muscles twitch around his eyes. “She doesn’t know you’re divorced.”

“Yes, she does. She signed the papers,” I immediately respond.

“No, she didn’t.” He lets out a long, embarrassed sigh. “My son—her father—had the papers drawn up, and Camille’s mother forged her signature.”

What?

Sitting up straight, I pause and take a minute to gather myself.

Anger slowly builds and begins coursing through me, and not even for myself, but for Camille. She may not be my favorite person right now, but my immediate response is to lash out in her defense.

“She can’t do that. That’s illegal.” My voice is raised, but he doesn’t flinch.

“Well, she did, and in his typical controlling way, he convinced Patrick he had to deliver them and persuade you to sign them, aggressively if necessary. You should know, the papers have been filed. You and Camille are divorced.”