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Ever since Camille let it slip that she had feelings for me, I’ve been beset by hesitation and doubt. I’ve been obsessed with that piece of bad news. The one thing I’ve learned about life is that feelings are never good news. To help Camille nip hers in the bud—as I’m sure she’d like to—I’ve been distant and cold.
And yet… Every night I wondered if I should knock on her door. Every sleepless hour was spent hoping she’d knock on mine.
Neither of us did in the end. Reason beat lust, which is good. Very good. I’m pleased with that. Given the nature of our marriage, it is best we avoid sex. Camille knows it as well as I do. Regretfully, we already breached that deal on two occasions. Both times, I found myself way too aroused to call it off. Both times, it was Camille’s aversion to taking her clothes off that ruined everything.
As far as hang-ups go, that one isn’t just bizarre. It’s a nonstarter. In bed, I’m as visual as I am tactile. The ability to feast my eyes on the woman I’m making love to is a vital need, an essential aspect of my sexuality. It’s something I can’t forgo. Especially not with Camille! I had suspected it for a while, and now I know, thanks to the evening gown she wore, that she has the exact body type that floats my boat. She is built from head to toe in the way that pleases me most. It’s intolerable that I’m not allowed to look at her when we make love. Which is another reason why we won’t anymore.
The doctor comes into the salon. “I didn’t detect any signs of concussion. No broken bones, either. Just some light bruising.”
“See?” Camille says to me, stepping in. “I told you it was nothing to worry about.”
The doctor turns to me. “I suggest, however, that you sleep light tonight and monitor your wife’s breathing. Just to be on the safe side.”
“You aren’t completely ruling out concussion then?” I ask.
He hesitates for a second. “Not until tomorrow.”
Camille begins to protest that she’s perfectly fine, but my deeper voice easily overrides hers. “I’ll keep watch. Thank you, Doctor!”
After he leaves, we eat in silence.
It’s a shame, because this is the first time that all five of us have sat down around the dinner table together. I’m paying a talented chef to cook dinners for five and have them delivered to the residence in separate portions. Camille usually eats with Marianne. I dine either alone or with Angie or Rudy, who always finds a way to lighten the mood.
But tonight even the always upbeat Rudy is quiet.
I keep glancing at my phone because Mother said she’d call. But even that bit of normalcy is denied me. As if the ambiance wasn’t gloomy enough, the call that never comes makes it outright depressing. It catapults me straight into that shitty Saturday when I was a child that I spent not daring to leave my room.
Serafina begged me to step out. Jacques threatened to tell the duke. But I wouldn’t budge and I couldn’t tell them why. Mother had promised me at dinnertime the day before that she would come to my room after breakfast with an ancient grimoire she’d found in the attic. I was to tell no one about it. Together we’d test the magical spells one by one to see which ones worked.
It was going to be the best day of my life.
I couldn’t go out looking for her because her phone was off every time I called. So I had to stay put, waiting, worrying, and imagining scary scenarios of her accidentally getting sucked into the grimoire. I skipped lunch. I had a tantrum that sent the History tutor away, and then I missed my tennis class and my martial arts practice.
An hour before dinner, Jacques called me with good news. He’d found Mother. Nothing bad had happened to her. She was healthy and happy, having coffee with a friend in the blue gazebo. I refused to believe him. He turned on the video on his phone and live streamed Mother seated next to that gossipy friend of hers in the blue gazebo. They were chatting away, laughing, and dunking madeleines into their coffee cups.
Something broke inside me that day. I’m not even sure what it was.
And I have no idea why I’m thinking about it now.
CHAPTER26
LOUIS
Isend Angie and Rudy to their apartments for the night.
Marianne begins to clear the dinner table.
I throw a warning glance at Camille. She used to try and help not only her lady’s maid but also the cleaning lady that comes by daily. By doing so she put both in an uncomfortable position. I ended up asking her if she thought their work was good enough. They worked like a charm.
My lips twitch with a secret half smile as I realize that I’m figuring out the wild thing Grandpa made me marry. She remains a mystery in many ways, but sometimes I can predict what she’ll think, what will please her, and what will peeve her. Behind all her nonconformism and snark, hides a pussycat that secretly longs for a belly rub.
And I don’t mean it sexually. Well, not only.
Once I started paying attention, I saw multiple cracks in her shell. Through those cracks, I’ve caught glimpses of a deficiency that Camille works hard to hide from the world. In anyone else, that would repel me. But with her, it’s more complex. It riles me, for sure. Sometimes it exasperates me. But it also makes me want to… give her that belly rub. And take care of her.
The truth is, I’ve grown protective of Camille. No idea when it started, no clue when it will stop. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before and I struggle to get my bearings.
Camille lingers in the drawing room while I watch a late-night show. My guess is she feels guilty about keeping me out of the loop. If she offers to clue me in about what she’s been up to these past few days, I’ll be happy to hear her story. But not just yet.
