THE WORDS on Camilla’s laptop seemed to be bleeding together the longer she stared at them. She blinked, and when that didn’t work, she rubbed the heels of her palms into her eyes just for good measure.
It also did nothing.
The words were there, sure. Black strokes in Times New Roman font against a white backdrop. Her essay due on the correlation of lack of available healthcare to women living below the poverty line, and inadequate maternal care leading to premature births. She had been given the assignment a month ago, and should have had it done already.
This was one of the areas she excelled in. This was a topic she could discuss for days and days. She knew the ups and downs, and exactly how she wanted to handle the posturing of the essay. It should have been done already, yet here she was, still looking at the damn thing and wondering what else she could write into the opening paragraph.
It was due in …
Camilla checked the date at the right hand, lower corner of the laptop’s screen.
One week.
It was due in a fucking week.
She tipped her head to one side, trying to stare at the words from a different angle. Then, she tipped her head to the other side.
She probably looked like an idiot.
August confirmed it. “What are you, a bird?”
Camilla straightened on the couch. “No.”
“Why are you looking at your screen like that?”
Knowing she wasn’t going to get anything done going on like she was, Camilla sighed and closed the laptop screen. She set the computer on the coffee table, leaned back on the couch, and rubbed at her temples.
“You okay?” August asked.
The scents of bergamot and chamomile wafted through the apartment. Compliments of a chamomile tea August had brewed from loose leaves, and a bergamot oil she had put in a diffuser. Apparently, Camilla’s stress wasn’t only visible to herself, but also to her best friend.
August’s way of helping was tea and oil, and quiet.
Lots of quiet.
Except now, her friend seemed ready to talk.
Camilla didn’t know if she was ready, too.
“I don’t know what I am anymore,” Camilla whispered.
She didn’t even know if August had heard her, but she felt slightly better the moment she let the words slip past her lips. It was the first time she had admitted them out loud. It was the first time since Tommaso walked out of her place a month ago that she told someone else in her life that she was hurting.
August had heard her.
Loud and clear.
Camilla wasn’t all too surprised.
This is what best friends were for.
August came to sit on the edge of the coffee table. She moved Camilla’s laptop further away, and picked up the chamomile tea that had long gone cold. Peering into the almost-full mug, her friend let out a heavy exhale.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not sure what to say,” Camilla replied.
“Well, anything you haven’t told me would be a great start.”
Camilla laughed, but it came out strained and bitter. It even left behind a bad taste in her mouth. Fuck everything because she couldn’t even laugh lately without it being something awful, too. So was the way of her life, it seemed.
“You were trying to talk to me earlier, weren’t you?” Camilla asked.
Maybe she wasn’t ready to talk about Tommaso, or what happened. Maybe she wasn’t ready to admit out loud that she had purposely hurt him, and then forced herself not to call him for a whole month despite every single part of her wanting to hear his voice.
Maybe Camilla just wasn’t ready to say she had been wrong.
Old habits died hard.
Hers died even harder.
“It wasn’t anything important,” August murmured. “I was just telling you about a spread I got to help with for Bared Brand’s magazine.”
Camilla stared at her friend.
Heaviness weighed down her heart.
Regret filled her stomach.
Sadness clenched around her lungs.
“Aug,” Camilla said quietly, “that’s fucking amazing, and you know it is.”
August shrugged. “It’s nothing big.”
“No, it is. It really is. And you were trying to tell me about it, but I was just over here off in my own world.”
“So you’ve got a lot going on.”
“No, I’m just being a shitty friend lately.”
August gave her a look. “Cam, you’re not being a shitty friend. I think you’ve just got some stuff to figure out in your head, that’s all. We all go through that stuff sometimes.”
“Not me.”
“Well, maybe you don’t usually go through it with a guy.”
And there her friend went …
Calling her out.
Without actually saying Tommaso’s name, of course.
August cleared her throat, and stood up from the coffee table. “Do you know when I figured out something was up with you after last month?”
“When?”
“You had an appointment to get your hair done up in those mermaid colors you wanted, and you totally flaked. You’ve been talking about that style for months now.”
Camilla blinked. “Shit, is Chilla—”
“She’s fine with you missing one appointment, Cam. I might have mentioned you were a little out of it lately.”
“So my missed hair appointment clued you in, huh?”
August laughed. “You don’t miss those. I saw you go to one once when you had the Norovirus.”
Camilla made a face. “I did do that once, didn’t I?”
“Puke everywhere, Cam.”
Yeah, Chilla was not pleased about that. Not that Camilla blamed the woman.
“Hey, my hair looked good, though,” Camilla pointed out.
“That was about the only thing you had going for you.”
Camilla smiled, and for the first time in a month, it didn’t feel forced. Still, as quickly as it had come, it faded. Just like that, her moment of happiness was gone. It was far too easy for her to lose happiness lately than it was to keep it.
August didn’t miss Camilla’s sudden change in mood again. Her friend bent down, patted a hand against her cheek, and made Camilla look at her. Familiar russet eyes told her shit was rough, but it could get better.
One of the many reasons she loved her friend.
“What happened when he came down to visit last month?”
Camilla shrugged. “Things felt too serious, I guess.”
“And you bolted?”
“Like a baby deer.”
August cocked an eyebrow. “You do know there’s nothing wrong with … falling in love, right? Being with one person. Whatever.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because I don’t know that you do, Cam.”
“I know I freaked out a little.” Camilla made a noise under her breath, and stood from the couch. It made August take a couple of steps back to give Camilla room to move. “But he knew I was like this anyway—I didn’t want serious, Aug, I wanted fun.”
“I think you’re trying to convince yourself of something that no longer applies, Cam.”
“I—”
“And maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt, too.”
Camilla glanced at her friend, confused. “What?”
“Tommaso—give him the benefit of the doubt. You said it, Cam. He knew you were kind of a little crazy when it came to commitment and relationships. Like you’re fucking allergic or something. Some part of him probably expected this to happen, or something like it. He might be a guy, but he still protects himself from getting hurt. Walls, you know?”
“We all have them,” Camilla filled in what her friend didn’t say.
August shrugged. “Yep.”
Well, all things considered, Camila figured it was too little, too late now.
“It’s been a month,” she told her friend. “I haven’t called, or texted. He hasn’t made any effort to contact me. I think we can safely say I fucked up, and it’s done.”
“Mmm, I don’t think it is. At least not for you.”
“I’m not him.”
August nodded. “Nope, but he waited six long months for your crazy ass the first time. What’s one more month, Camilla?”
“Who even says I want to see him or whatever? Maybe I want to go back to doing what I did before I met him.”
“I say it,” August deadpanned.
“Yeah, but—”
“Staying in a comfortable place isn’t courageous, it’s easy.”
“Sure, but—”
“Take a risk, Cam. One that doesn’t involve some stranger you seduced in a club.”
“Hey.”
August waved a hand. “Just saying.”
“Again—”
“Don’t make me tell you that you can’t be helped,” August interjected with a severe look. “Don’t open your mouth and make me say that, Cam.”
She laughed again.
It didn’t taste so bitter that time.
“Cam,” Emma said, her smile growing wider at the sight of her daughter in the kitchen entryway. “I didn’t know you were coming over today.”
Camilla fiddled with her nails, acutely aware that they needed a good manicure. It was easier than looking at her mom. If she stared too long at Emma, her mother would know something was wrong. She didn’t want her mom to worry.
“I was in the neighborhood, Ma.”
“Didn’t you have classes today? It’s Tuesday.”
“I took a day off.”
“That’s not like you.”
Shit.
Camilla chose the wrong words. She could hear the concern in her mother’s tone already. It wasn’t that she didn’t think her mother could help her, or make her feel better, but this was something she wanted to do alone.
Besides, just coming to her parents’ home and being close to them was a huge help to Camilla’s mess of emotions. Her childhood home, and all the good memories it had, soothed her without barely trying at all.
That’s why she had come today.
Just to be here.
Looking up from her nails, Camilla tried to shrug it all off for her mother’s benefit. “We all need a day or two to recharge sometimes, right?”
“Sure,” Emma said. “Is that what it is, though?”
“Yeah, Ma. That’s what it is.”
“Are you going to stay for lunch?”
“I could eat.”
“Just like your brother—neither of you refuse food,” Emma teased.
“Well, we don’t refuse yours.”
Emma smiled, proud as could be. “That’s very true. By the way, your brother is here. He’s in talking to your father.”
“Where?”
“The office.”
Camilla nodded.
This was a good change. It allowed her to get out of her mother’s sights without Emma prying for too long, and figuring out what was wrong.
“I’ll go say hi,” Camilla said.
“Do that,” Emma called from behind her, “and make sure to talk to your father about whatever’s up with you, too. Don’t think I can’t see it, Camilla Emma Donati.”
And there her mother went using her full name.
Camilla winced, but kept walking.
She should have known better.
Her parents always knew.
Camila had been fooling herself thinking she could come here just to be comforted by a familiar place, and nothing more. But maybe that was exactly why she felt drawn to her parents from the second she woke up that morning.
“Well, look who came all the way to Newport today,” her father said when she walked into his office.
Sure enough, both her father and brother were there. Calisto, sitting behind his large desk as he usually did. Cross, on the other hand, was sitting on the corner of the desk, and looking over something inside a folder.
Camilla opted to throw herself down on the leather couch against the far wall. “Thought I should come over and say hello before you forgot what my face looked like.”
Calisto scoffed. “I can’t forget what your face looks like—not when I stare at your mother every single day.”
Cross chuckled. “She does look like Ma.”
“Darker hair.”
“Donati eyes.”
“Acts like her, too.”
“Jesus, have you seen how clean her place is? What nineteen-year-old girl keeps that clean of an apartment? Just like Ma.”
“Okay, we all know I look and act just like my mother, thank you,” Camilla grumbled. “Let’s not make it into a speech or something.”
Two pairs of eyes darted her way.
Her father’s brow shot up at her attitude.
Cross’s gaze narrowed.
Camilla looked away.
Fuck.
So maybe she was in a mood today, too.
It wasn’t unusual for her family to tease her about the likeness she shared with Emma. In fact, it was a regular thing that got brought up almost every dinner, or occasion. Camilla didn’t typically mind it.
It was no surprise that her brother and father picked up on her attitude, and thought it strange, considering.
“Just … don’t ask,” Camilla said.
She rested back on the couch, and used her arm as a shield to cover her eyes. That way, she didn’t have to see her father and brother staring at her.
No, she only had to feel their eyes burning into her.
“Someone’s in a mood,” Calisto muttered.
“Sounds like it,” Cross agreed.
“Any idea why?”
Camilla pointed a finger wildly in her brother and father’s direction. “Don’t even start. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sure you don’t,” Cross deadpanned, “because we all know to come here to this house when we don’t want to talk about our feelings.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Calisto grumbled.
“Sometimes, people just don’t want to talk, Papa.”
“Yeah, well, then don’t come here. You know how your mother is. She’s a fixer. She likes to talk.”
About everything, Camilla added silently.
“I guess we’re going to pretend like you didn’t make us sit opposite to one another and talk about why we were mad, or offended, or got our feelings hurt, and how it made us feel when we were growing up, huh?”
“Don’t be a smartass, son.”
“You did do that,” Camilla pointed out.
“Yes, and now look at the two of you. I actually have children that don’t want to kill each other every time they’re in the same room. Don’t act like how I raised you two was a bad thing.”
“Didn’t say it was,” Cross said.
“Nope,” Camilla agreed.
“Wait.”
Camilla stiffened on the couch. “What?”
“Is this about Tommaso?” her brother asked.
Her teeth gritted so hard that her jaw hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mmhmm, I bet you don’t.”
“What did I miss?” her father asked.
“I’m assuming,” Cross said, “but last month, Tom came down from Chicago. He didn’t go anywhere except Camilla’s place. He didn’t even call me when he was down, but he left a few days after he got here.”
“Three.” Camilla sighed, and rubbed at her eyes. “He left after three days.”
“I know he was here last month,” Calisto said. “He came here for dinner.”
“Bet you didn’t see him after that, though, did you?”
“Well, no.”
“Yeah, and come to think of it, he hasn’t answered any of my texts this month. I was hoping to get some information from him about something for work, and … silence.”
Camilla cleared her throat. “Just leave it alone, Cross.”
“Camilla.”
It was her father speaking that time—soft, caring, and yet still firm and sure. He used to use that tone on her when she was being particularly stubborn or difficult as a young child. Just like how it did back then, it made her move her arm and look at him.
Both her brother and father were still staring at her. Neither had moved an inch.
“What?” she asked.
“Did something happen that I need to know about?” Calisto asked.
She could see the unspoken question burning in her father’s eyes—did he hurt you?
Camilla shook her head. “It was me, Daddy, not him.”
Cross nodded like he now had some great understanding that Camilla didn’t know about. Her brother always had been a little too arrogant for his own good. She was pretty sure her father said more than once it would be Cross’s arrogance that killed him someday.
Who knew?
“Tom’s a good guy, Camilla,” her brother said.
She shot him a glare. “I know he is!”
“No, I mean … Tom’s a good guy. He’s not the kind of useless fuck that treats women like garbage, or uses them. He’s not really physical in his anger a lot of the time, and he’s level-headed. He’s clean about business, and about life. So when I say that he’s a good guy, I mean, he’s like a fucking unicorn in this business. It’s hard to find good men who do the kind of shit that we do.”
“That’s true,” her father said quietly.
“What about you—or Daddy, even?” Camilla asked. “Aren’t you both good men?”
Calisto chuckled. “Well, Cam, as long as we’re good to the women in our lives who matter, then that’s all we need to do.”
Cross was still looking at her, though. “Don’t mess with Tom in a way that plays with his head, Cam. He doesn’t deserve that, you know? He genuinely liked you. I mean, I only know one other person who has waited a long time to get a second chance with somebody they love, and it tells me that waiting means something.”
“Who?” Camilla asked.
Her brother shrugged, and glanced away. “Somebody. Point is, give it a chance. See what comes of it.”
“I did give it a chance.”
No, you didn’t.
Camilla ignored her inner voice.
“I agree with Cross,” her father said, joining the conversation again. “Tommaso is a good man, Camilla. I think any man that is willing to kill for a woman he barely knows at all says a lot about his character.”
She froze on the couch. “What did you just say?”
“Not a good time to bring that up, Papa,” Cross said out of the corner of his mouth. “Not when you’re goal is making her trust the guy.”
Camilla sat up straight on the couch, and stared hard at her father. “Tell me what you meant.”
“Cross can explain it better than me.”
“I told you that shit so you would know, not so that you could tell her,” Cross snapped. “You weren’t feeling well when it first happened, so I had Tom keep his mouth shut until you were better, and I could tell you myself. It wasn’t like you needed the extra stress at the time, considering you had another episode coming on. We agreed not to tell her.”
“Do you want to discuss how that makes you feel, son?”
Her brother gritted his teeth, and then turned to her. “The morning after you met Tom that first time, one of the guys that hung around with Zeke made a comment about you.”
“Which guy?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“What did he say?”
“Listen, he only did it because you probably rejected him before.”
“Not what I asked, Cross.”
Her brother sighed, clearly annoyed. “A slut, Cam. He said other shit, too—you’re not wife material, or whatever. Good for a fuck. You know, what people say sometimes.”
Those words didn’t sting Camilla like they used to. Now, she didn’t care. She was quite aware that society liked to stamp labels on her because they didn’t approve of her choices. A strong, independent woman was far easier to insult than to admire and praise.
It was what it was.
Men were even worse.
Except for men like Tommaso …
Men like her father.
Men like her brother.
“And what did Tom do?” Camilla demanded.
Cross arched a brow, and asked, “What do you think?”
A cold chill slipped down her spine.
Her father said it.
Killed a man.
Her gaze darted between her brother and father.
Learning that should have scared her; it should have bothered her deeply. It did, in some ways. It also didn’t bother her at all in other ways. It didn’t bother her because sitting across from her were two of the best men she had ever known. Her father and brother. Men who were criminals, and who often did bad things, yet loved with all they had.
Good men.
“But why?” Camilla asked. “He didn’t know me. He didn’t have to protect my honor or some shit. He didn’t have any reason to do that at all.”
If anything because she had spent the night with him after simply meeting him, Tommaso might have actually had reason to agree with the guy he killed.
Cross shook his head. “You don’t get it, Cam.”
“I think she does,” her father said, still staring at his daughter. “Answer your own question, Camilla. Why would Tommaso do something like that?”
Camilla’s throat tightened.
Her heart hurt again.
She still answered.
“Because he’s a good man.”
And she was a scared little girl.
Calisto and Cross had not been lying.
Camilla’s greatest pet peeve was dirt, dust, or clutter. Despite the mess she could be when it came to life and love, her apartment was not one. Cleanliness and tidiness in her personal spaces helped her to feel put together.
Even if it was just an illusion.
Plus, cleaning helped to keep her hands distracted. That way, she didn’t have the worst urge to grab her phone, and make a call to Tommaso.
She wasn’t quite ready to that.
She wanted to, sure.
Being ready was another story altogether.
Camilla heaved the clothes out of the dryer, and into the waiting basket. She had already swept and mopped every single floor in her apartment. She dusted every shelf, and corner. She rearranged the books on the shelves, and then reorganized a junk drawer that no longer had a lot of junk in it.
All she had left to do was one single basket of laundry to fold and put away. Then maybe she could get to work on the essay she had pushed aside a couple of days earlier. When—or if—she got that done for school, then she would consider calling Tommaso.
She was hoping to feel a bit calmer, then.
Less anxious.
Like maybe she would actually know what to say should he pick up the fucking phone.
But who was to say he would pick it up?
After what she did, she wouldn’t blame him for ignoring her altogether.
Camilla climbed two flights of stairs to get back to her apartment from where the laundry room was situated in the building. By the time she got back into her place and put the basket on the bed, her fingers were itching again.
Frustrated, she shoved her hands down into the clothes to grab something to fold. Another distraction for her.
What she brought out made her heart stop.
A simple black band T-shirt. The faded logo on the front teased her.
Tommaso had been wearing that on the second day he was in New York a month ago. She had been sort of struck by how relaxed he looked in jeans and a tee instead of his usual dress shirts and slacks, or even a suit.
He’d still looked good, though.
Damn good.
Camilla held the shirt up, and stared at it.
Fuck it.
She grabbed her phone, but didn’t make a call.
She checked flights instead.
Apparently, she could be in Chicago before supper time. A cancellation for a first class seat was now hers.
Booked.
Now, Camilla just had to figure out what she was going to do when she got to Chicago.
She did make a phone call that time.
“What, Cam?” her brother asked the second he picked up the call.
“I need some help.”
“For?”
“Chicago.”
Cross made an appreciative noise on the other end. “All right. Like what?”
“Anything. Everything. I mean, Tom I can handle. It’s where to go, and who to know … get what I mean?”
“Yeah, I do. Give me thirty minutes.”