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"Happy New Year, Lilly. What a way to start it."
"Together." We say in unison, our hands joined as we watch the fireworks out of the window. The fireworks feel like a sign that this is a moment to celebrate. That tonight is the beginning of something real and important. We’re making a memory we’ll look back on for a long time to come. It’s an amazing feeling.
After a few minutes, she sighs, "It's almost over. You need to go back." She says as she bends down to pick up her sweater. I jolt with a start as I remember that the fireworks also signal the end of the wedding reception. I was supposed to be standing with my parents when they were set off.
"Shit! Okay. But..." I look at her helplessly. I know I need to go. It's my brother's wedding. My mother is probably out of her mind with fury that I'm not there and, Camille. I groan.
"Let's go. I'll talk to Camille tonight."
"No, oh God. No. Wait. It's late and I don't want her or Freya to come try to kill me in my sleep." She says lightly but I can see the worry in her eyes.
"Tomorrow's fine. It's the wedding breakfast and I can wait until afterwards. Everyone will be so busy, she'll hardly even notice me." I straighten my tuxedo's lapels and she slips her sweater back on and wipes at her tear stains face. I'm glad the evening is over.
"You okay?" I ask her and she looks up at me, smiling.
"I am. Thank you." She squeezes my hand and then heads for the door. I switch off the lights and follow her out.
"Tomorrow,” I say as we step out into the frigid night. The smile she shoots over her shoulder at me is like a jolt of electricity.
"Yes."
When she says that, I want to snatch her back inside, kiss that sweet mouth until neither one of us can breathe and then make love to her. I know I can't, but God, I can't wait to.
29
Harry
One Week Later
"It's because of her, isn't it?" Camille says bitterly. Her facade of being the smiling, pleasant girl next door is completely shattered. "I saw you last night, this morning. All week. All the time. Watching her. And I knew. I've been on tender hooks all day, knowing this was coming because I was going home."
I suppress a groan at her last sentence and try to focus on why we're here. "No, it's not.. just Lilly, I knew it before she came. We're just...You and I...not...we're not looking for the same things." I say finally after stumbling and trying to find the right words "I'm sorry, Camille." My tone apologetic, but resolute.
I’ve brought her to catch her train back to London. It's been the most excruciating week. Lilly asked me to wait for everyone to leave to tell her. I agreed. Camille had booked her cottage for the entire week. And maybe I was
a chicken shit, but it was just one less piece of drama to deal with.
I shiver despite the heat pumping from my car's heater because the windows are down. I’ve just told her that things aren’t going to work out, and she stares at me dumbfounded before she finally responds.
"What are you looking for? I thought you were looking for a relationship,” she asks. Disappointment, frustration, annoyance all apparent in her tone.
"Then you were wrong. I wasn't looking for a relationship. Freya would like me to be in a relationship and she's overzealous about hooking me up with people, but that is not what I'm looking for." I'm speaking frankly, but I don't want to give her to blame this on Lilly.
"Oh, I see. This just an escape ghost so you can have all of the wild sex and drama that girl must come with. I thought you'd grown out of that stage, Harry." Her words drip with scorn.
I stare at her in bewilderment. "What? None of that even made any sense, Camille." I mimic her use of my name.
"Well, every man goes through that stage. But you're too old for that. You're in your thirties, you should--" she continues as if I hadn't spoken and my ire grows.
"How old are you, Camille?" I interrupt her.
"I'm twenty-nine." She says defensively as if I asked to see her bank balance.
"I'm thirty-three. We should know that about each other. We've know each other for a month, and there's so much we don't know about each other."
"Who cares?" She shrieks, tossing her head, her hair flying
I lean away from her in alarm.
