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Her words sting. I try not to let them. I want to be above her pettiness, but she reminds me of the girls who bullied me in school and made fun of my secondhand clothes. I learned not to even bother defending myself. It only gives them the satisfaction of knowing their words hit the intended target.
I’m shaking as I turn and briskly exit the room.
Rather than return to the raucous, jovial crowd in the ballroom, I opt to roam the resort. I hate that I let Angelique’s vitriol get to me, but what I hate more is that I know it’s my own insecurity that allows her words to rile me.
The resort is gorgeous. Something I’d never be able to afford if I wasn’t here as Cam’s guest. As I walk somewhat robotically through the immaculately decorated corridors, I spot greenery through a heavy glass door, so I push it open and enter an atrium-like greenhouse.
It’s beautiful, with a peaked glass roof and a winding pathway through ornamental trees and lush foliage. There are even seating areas spaced throughout. As my feet leisurely stroll, my head falls back and I inhale a deep lungful of fresh, earthy scent.
“Lovely, isn’t it?” The voice startles me and my head swings to the left where I find Cameron’s grandfather seated on a nearby bench, his cane resting against his leg.
He pats the seat next to him, so I join him.
“Are you dodging your own party?” I tease playfully.
He chuckles. “Just needed a moment away from the revelry. I’m very glad my grandson finally got his head out of his backside and found himself a good woman.”
His words make me blush, probably because, again, I hate lying.
“Has Cameron told you how he came to live with my wife and me when he was a boy?”
The question catches me off guard. “Um, he mentioned he spent some time in foster care and group homes before you and his grandmother raised him.”
The old man nods. “We didn’t know he existed. I can only assume Preston was unaware he’d fathered a child. My son was killed in an automobile accident shortly after my grandson was conceived.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Cameron had a difficult childhood.”
I gathered as much from the little bit Cam told me, but I’m eager to learn more, so I wait for Mr. Steele to continue.
“When child protective services found him, young Cameron was malnourished and starving. His mother had abandoned him several days prior. Just took off and left him in a rat trap of a home with no supervision. He was seven.”
My hand flies to my heart. I hurt for the little boy who was treated so neglectfully.
“According to the report my wife and I obtained, the social worker had a hard time coaxing him to leave the house. He insisted his mother would return.” Frowning, he shakes his head. “She died of a drug overdose a few weeks later.”
She just left him? That explains Cameron’s relationships—or lack thereof. No wonder he’s so reticent to form attachments.
Mr. Steele continues. “We didn’t learn of his existence until he was twelve.” He strokes his long, white beard. “I’ll never forget meeting him. He was a godsend for us—my wife, Claire, and me—having lost our only child twelve years prior, but boy, was he full of piss and vinegar. Angry at the world, and understandably so.”
“I can only imagine,” I say.
“We smothered him in love and slowly, little by little, watched his anger fade as he entered his teens.”
“What was he like? I picture a teenage Cameron—uptight and cranky, wearing a three-piece suit as he scans theWall Street Journal.”
The old man throws his head back and guffaws. “Fearless. He was fearless. An adrenaline junkie.”
My surprise must show on my face because he says, “Oh yes. He was always getting into mischief and kept Claire and me busy trying to find outlets for all his energy. He and I fished and hunted quite often, but his favorite hobby was motorsports.”
“Motorsports?”
“Cam raced on the amateur circuit, and he was good. He could have gone pro, but chose instead to get involved in RJ Conglomerates. Of course, it was RJ Incorporated back then. Cameron was a quick study, and grilled me on every aspect of the company.” The man’s watery eyes fill with pride as he takes a walk down memory lane. “There’s one last lesson I have yet to teach him, though.”
My hackles rise. “Cameron’s done very well in the corporate world.” I don’t know why I feel the need to defend Cameron, but I do.
“He has, and I’m proud of his accomplishments.”
