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‘And what do you know of my brother’s body?’ Dylan asked.
‘Are you absolutely certain the two of you are related?’ she asked. ‘Because I just can’t see it.’
Dylan’s laughter rang in her ears, and she wondered how Adele, Meg and Dylan would be in a room together. Add Tabitha, and it would be such a riot she’d be able to charge admission.
Her chest expanded expectantly at the thought that, if things continued to go well, her friendship circle could triple overnight. And all because Cameron had chosen to include her.
The second she had the chance, Rosie sought him out. To her eyes he stood out like a lantern on a foggy night. His dinner jacket was open, his left hand in his trouser pocket, his right hand lifting and falling as he told a story which held the group enthralled. Though his eyes never once touched on his father, who stood quietly to the side focussed completely on his youngest son, she knew Cameron knew he was there.
Dylan was mistaken; Cameron hadn’t left her alone. She hadn’t been rendered invisible once her work was done. She’d kept herself away, giving him the space she knew he needed.
Right?
Cameron’s mind wandered, and not for the first time. Only once his gaze found Rosalind, and he knew she was being entertained—that she was smiling, happy and in safe hands—could he begin to relax.
Right now she was being entertained by Dylan, a guy he’d never been stupid enough to leave alone with a date even without the added benefit of trust issues. But seeing his brother with Rosalind…
Nothing.
It wasn’t ambivalence he was feeling. Quite the opposite. He knew Rosalind was with him even when she wasn’t with him. His trust in her was absolute. And, in a night filled with extraordinary moments, that was one of the more unexpected.
Dylan leant in close to her to point out something on the ceiling. The guy took the opportunity to place a hand on her waist, feigning a need for balance.
And in the blink of an eye Rosalind had hold of the offending hand, bending his fingers back ninety degrees, and his brother was begging for mercy.
Cameron’s first thought was, that’s my girl.
That was the moment he felt his father slide in beside him.
‘Nice girl,’ Quinn said—the first words that had been spoken directly to him by the man in years. He couldn’t have been less surprised.
‘Nice doesn’t even begin to cover it,’ Cameron said, turning to look his father in the eye.
He looked older. Thinner. In person there was the same air of gravitas and power about him that there had always been. But he couldn’t deny he’d seen what he’d seen, felt what he’d felt. There was no point in putting it off any longer.
‘You’re sick, aren’t you, Dad?’ His voice was dry. Emotionless. He had no idea how, as the words burned the inside of his throat as he said them.
‘Wherever did you get that idea?’ Quinn asked, smiling for his audience of hundreds.
‘Dad,’ Cameron pressed. ‘Come on. This is me you’re talking to—the one person on the planet who knows better than to fall for your line of bull. So tell me what’s wrong?’
Quinn blinked at him as though not only seeing him for the first time in a decade and a half, but really seeing him for the first time.
‘Nothing major. Just a couple of minor heart-attacks.’
Knowing had been one thing, having that thing confirmed was a whole other level of hell. Somehow he managed to keep his cool. ‘How minor?’
‘Minor enough I was able to call for Dr Carmichael myself when I felt them coming on. He brought me round both times without the need for anything so gauche as an ambulance. Just as well; those drivers would have sold some trumped up version of events to some shoddy paper within the hour.’
‘So you’ve had no treatment apart from Dr Carmichael?’
‘Not necessary.’
Cameron took a breath. ‘Dr Carmichael is ten years older than you, and barely strong enough to hold a syringe, much less resuscitate a man your size.’
‘Proving I was fine.’
‘He has no other job but keeping you well. The guy wouldn’t tell you it was serious for fear you’d fire him!’
‘Which I damn well would. The man has no idea what a health scare would do to KInG. You, on the other hand, are smart enough to figure it out. So I trust you’ll keep your concerns to yourself.’
Cameron scoffed. ‘I’ve heard those words before.’
His father’s face turned red, the kind of red that went with high blood pressure and too many whiskeys over too many years. Cameron’s fingers stretched out to touch his arm, to stay him, to make sure he was okay—but Quinn jerked away as though one show of vulnerability would be enough to let the crowd in on the truth.
