Page 23 of The Malibu Secret

Celeste’s eyebrows flick up. “So you’ll let Max lend you his private plane?”

I stare. “You don’t know me at all, do you? Hell no. You think I’ll torch thousands of gallons of jet fuel just for my ass to fly solo? And you offered it without even asking him! He might need it himself—now get this through your head. I’ll fly Delta coach to Rome, then I’ll catch a puddle jumper to Sicily.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. "Thirteen hours trapped in coach with a baby doing gymnastics on my bladder? Just strap me to a medieval torture rack and be done with it. Might be more fun."

Her deflated sigh is almost tangible. “Okay. But—” She shakes her head. “You’re right. You’d never squander that much gas just for yourself.”

I lean back. “And neither would you. We’re both tree-hugging, planet-saving maniacs, remember?”

My chest tightens. Mom… she’s been killing it holding down the fort, but can I really trust her for days while I’m staring down Cameron in Sicily? What if I come back and she’s vanished?

Celeste scans me, cool and sharp. “Don’t fret about your mother. If she’s stable, she can bunk with us. Rosa’s got that gorgeous ADU by the pool—the one with hardwood floors, a fireplace, a Jacuzzi tub—she’ll keep an eye on her.”

ADU my ass. That “tiny house” behind Max’s pool is a full-blown mansion: at least a thousand square feet of luxury. Hell, once the kid’s here, I wouldn’t mind moving in there myself.

I glance between Celeste and Olivia. "Thanks, you guys."

"What for?" Celeste tilts her head.

I hitch one shoulder up. "Thought you'd want to murder me when I dropped the Cameron bomb."

Celeste's brow furrows. "Why on earth would that upset me?"

"Come on. We both know I'm relationship kryptonite, and Cam's...well, Cam. I half expected you to shove me through the nearest window for corrupting your precious brother-in-law.”

She lets out a little laugh. "Oh, Tally. Please. You two are literally two of my favorite humans. Seeing you together is just—" She presses her fingers to her lips and makes a kissing sound. "Perfection. And besides, you both deserve so much happiness. I mean, Cameron, what he’s gone through these past few years? I kind of love that you’ll be the one healing his heart. And I know you can.”

Liv leans forward, eyes sparkling. "Okay, but spill. What's he like?" She fans herself dramatically. "That man is grade-A gorgeous. Always thought he was the best-looking Kensington. Something about that whole saving-the-world vibe that makes the pretty package even better."

"Oh my god," I say, rolling my eyes so hard they practically hit the back of my skull. Just thinking of Cam in that way sends a flush of heat across my cheeks. "He's amazing in bed. I won't go into details, but the man knows exactly where to touch, when to be gentle and when... not to be. He really likes women. And not in a sleazy womanizer way, but in that rare 'actually listens and pays attention' feminist way. And you know how generous he is with his time? All those late nights at the refugee center?"

"Yeah, and he feeds the homeless, too, once a month at St. Mary's," Celeste says, twirling a strand of her rust-colored hair. "Rain or shine, even during that torrential rainstorm last winter."

Of course he does. I'd expect nothing less from Cameron with his perfect jawline and those sapphire eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles.

"Well," I say, leaning forward until our foreheads are nearly touching. "Let's just say that he's generous like that across the board." I raise my eyebrows until they practically disappear into my hairline. "Yes, it's exactly what you're thinking—the man gives and gives until your toes curl. But also, he taught me to cook that lemon risotto everyone raved about at dinner. He helped me recover from my accident, massaging my back and applying cold and warm compresses, and helping me get around the apartment when I couldn’t really move. And we talk for hours about anything and everything, just like best friends, and goddamn, he listens when I speak. I know this is true because he gives me advice and knows when I don’t really need advice but just need to laugh. And we have the same sense of humor - dark. He's..." I sigh, my breath catching slightly. "Damn perfect, is what he is. Too good to be true."

Olivia sighs, her diamond tennis bracelet catching the light as she lifts her champagne flute. "Oh. You're so lucky to snag Cameron." Her lips, glossed to perfection, curve into a wistful smile as she drapes her toned arm across Celeste's bare shoulder. "And you're so lucky to have Max. Not as lucky as Tally is to have Cameron,” she adds, twirling a strand of her honey-blonde hair, "just because I have a thing for those broad-shouldered doctor types who spend their entire lives saving others, but you're damn lucky, too, Celeste.”

We stay, laughing and eating until 10 and then I drive home.

The streetlights blur as I drive, my fingers drumming the wheel in rhythm with the radio. What was I so worked up about? Celeste's face when I finally spilled—that knowing smile, the way she rolled her eyes like, "About damn time." Of course she'd be in our corner. That woman has seen me through three catastrophic breakups, two career changes, and that time I tried to cut my own bangs after too many tequila shots. If anyone was going to champion this relationship, it would be her.

I get home and Mom is waiting for me, sitting on the couch, watching a show while knitting. Just a normal mother in a cramped two-bedroom with her daughter. Crazy. After growing up in one foster family after another, it seems surreal to see her there.

Mom glances up from her knitting. "How are the girls doing?"

"Great. Celeste thinks I should fly to Sicily and tell Cameron about the baby in person." I roll my eyes. "Like I want to haul my pregnant ass on a plane while this kid practices kickboxing on my bladder. But maybe she's right."

Mom's needles stop clicking. "Tally, honey, you can't just drop in on a refugee camp. There are protocols. He probably couldn't even step away from his duties to see you."

"Since when are you the refugee camp expert?"

She shrugs, resuming her steady rhythm. "YouTube. I've been watching documentaries. Those doctors have it rough—working non-stop in overcrowded camps, swatting mosquitoes all night, barely sleeping. It's chaos. And you'd need a pharmacy's worth of vaccines just to visit."

I sigh. Trust Mom to be the voice of reason when Celeste and I are being ridiculous. Besides, the thought of squeezing into an airplane seat for sixteen hours straight makes my back hurt just thinking about it.

So. Not like I can FedEx a pregnancy test to some refugee camp in Sicily with "Surprise, Cameron!” scrawled on it. Guess I'm stuck waiting for him to get back. Shit. Why did I lie about the baby? What the hell was I thinking? Not exactly my finest hour.

I collapse onto my bed, staring at the water stain on my ceiling that sorta looks like Australia. What am I doing? In a few months, there'll be an actual human being that I'm responsible for. Looking around my disaster zone of a bedroom—yeah, I'm so not ready. My chest constricts like someone's tightening a vice around my ribs. Fuck. A panic attack. Been years since the last one. Heart hammering, room spinning, can't catch my breath.