The rest of Friday is surprisingly fun. Both Cameron and I are determined not to talk about the past; that path will only lead to bitterness. We stick to the present, talking about music and books. Cameron bitches about the hole-filled plot of a thriller he’s just finished; I wax eloquent about the sci-fi series I’m reading. He teases me about becoming a fan of the Calgary Flames, which I deny hotly. As futile as it might be, I’ll remain a Leafs fan for life.

He’s helpful with shopping. His driver takes us to a trendy Yorkville boutique that I’d never have the nerve to walk in on my own. There, Cameron turns me over to a saleswoman. “Jasmine will take care of you,” he assures me, giving the grey-haired woman a smile that sets her swooning. “Jaz, my fiancée and I are heading to Port Carling for a week. She needs casual clothes, and a few dressier things to wear in the evening. And a swimsuit, of course.”

His hand is wrapped around me in a proprietary gesture. It’s just for the sales lady, I tell myself, trying not to melt with pleasure at his touch on my hip.

The sales woman’s eyes widen when Cameron refers to me as his fiancée, and her eyes dart immediately to my left hand. “Of course, Mr. Drake,” she says deferentially, giving me a curious look. Then she bustles into action. In less than an hour, she picks out shorts, t-shirts, cotton shirts, and some pretty dresses for the evening. When she catches a glance at my plain underwear, she clucks her tongue and adds a handful of lacy bras and panties. “Men are visual creatures,” she chides. She convinces me to buy two swimsuits, a deep purple one-piece with flattering ruching at the sides, and a hot pink bikini.

I go along with all of it, pretending this is happening to someone else. My head spins with confusion.

I don’t know what to make of Cameron.

This morning, when he poured my coffee, he remembered the way I take it. Nine years ago, the first time we’d gone out for breakfast together after making love all night, I’d ordered bacon and eggs and Cameron had teased me about my voracious appetite. This morning, he’d made the same meal. Coincidence? I don’t know.

On the way back from the airport, he seemed surprised when I told him he’d broken my heart. I don’t understand why he’s confused. His father had confronted me and made me feel like I was using Cameron for his money. Unable to take it, I’d left Cameron a note explaining that I couldn’t stay the entire week, and I’d fled back to Toronto.

And Cameron had chosen to let me go. He never contacted me. Naive me--I thought the worst that could happen was that we’d fight about my decision to leave. It had taken me days to realize he wasn’t going to reach out to me.  

“Nice swimsuit.” Cameron’s eyes darken with heat as I model the pink suit for him. I grin and twirl around, acutely aware that the saleswoman is watching us avidly. “We’ll take it, Jaz.” He hands her his credit card without taking his eyes off me.

She takes it and moves to the front register. “I should pay,” I protest, though my attempt is pretty half-hearted. I caught a glimpse of a price tag on one of the sundresses, and nearly fainted. Six hundred and eighty-five dollars for a cotton dress.  

“I thought we were deferring this fight,” Cam replies, his gaze hungry. “Remember? Only on a full stomach?”

“Then take me to lunch. I’m starving.”

“Me too,” he murmurs. “Though it’s not food that’s going to satisfy my appetite.”

“Cam…” Don’t do this. I can’t resist you. I’ve never been able to resist you. “We can’t do this.”

I’m almost at the point of tears. Something in my tone must alert him, because he nods. “You’re right,” he agrees easily. “Sorry, Maddie. I blame the swimsuit.” He grins. “Go get changed, and I’ll take you to this great Italian place I know, okay?”

After a very late lunch, Cameron locks himself in his office to work for a couple of hours. “I have to,” he explains with an apologetic shrug. “Either I suck it up now, or I’ll field calls and emails from my team all week.”

“I have a book to read,” I tell him. “I can entertain myself. And once I digest this meal, I’m going to give in to temptation and swim in your pool. If that’s okay?”  

“My house is yours, Maddie,” he tells me, an odd look on his face.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks almost wistful.

Once Cameron retreats into his upstairs office, I try reading for a while, but I’m unable to focus. Instead, I get up and walk around, taking in Cam’s house.

Last night, when I told him his place suited him, I was remarking on the overall feel of the place, clean and bright and modern. Now, I take in the details. Large canvases of modern art hang on the white walls, adding color and personality. The couches, covered in dark brown leather, look weathered. A red and orange throw is neatly folded and draped across the back of the sectional.

I used to tease him that it was easy for him to be tidy--he had a bunch of maids picking up after him. But that was just me busting his chops. Cameron was always neat.

This is insane, I tell myself. I need to stop being nostalgic about the past. Misti needs money for college, and that’s the only reason I’m here.

We drive to the cottage the next morning. As I make my way to Cameron’s Porsche, dressed in a flower-printed shirt and linen shorts that Jasmine picked for me yesterday, I’m almost sick with nerves. Cameron’s family cottage in Muskoka was the setting of the most painful day of my life. If there was any way to avoid going…

“They don’t bite, you know.” Cam’s voice is gentle.

“I like your aunt.” Your father is a poisonous viper and your grandfather is a snooty jerk.

“And the rest of them are pretty awful. That’s okay, you can say it. I have no illusions about my family.” There’s an underlying grimness in his voice. “Tell you what, I’ll give you something to take your mind off the week.”

“If you whip your dick out…” I tease him, “I’m going to take a very dim view of it.” Okay, that’s a total lie. I’d love to see him naked.

He laughs out loud. “God, I’ve missed you, Madison Morland. No one else says the things you do.” He gives me a fond look. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to drive.”

“This car? The Porsche? You’re going to let me drive it?” My voice comes out in an astonished squeak.

In response, he holds his keys up to me. “Have at it, baby.”

I gleefully snatch them away from him. “I’m not going to wait for you to change your mind.” I get into the low-slung car, and pat the gearstick. “I’m going to take excellent care of you, baby,” I croon to the car. “You’re in good hands with me.”

Cameron laughs again as he gets in. “I forgot that you talked to your car,” he says. “I’m going to sound like a bit of a pussy, but please be careful.”

I slant him an amused look as the engine roars to life. “How expensive was this Porsche, Cam?” I tease him. “Couple hundred grand? Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

He snorts. “Think a million,” he retorts, then he winces. “Sorry. I just realized how that sounded. You must hate me.”

“For being rich?” I give him a surprised look. “Why would I hate you for that?”

He goes quiet. “You’re right,” he says, after a long pause. “Money never did seem to matter to you, one way or the other, until the cottage.”

I frown at him. What does he mean, until the cottage? I’m about to ask, then I decide not to. It’s a lovely summer day. The sun shines in the sky, and there’s not a cloud in sight. I don’t want to ruin it. Until we arrive at the cottage, I intend to enjoy myself.

Cameron leans forward to fiddle with the radio, and I smack his hand away. “You know the rules,” I tell him. “The driver gets to pick the station.”

He smiles at me. “The Edge is featuring Nirvana all morning,” he says. “What do you think, Maddie? For old times’ sake?”

He remembers the songs I used to listen to. Be still, my heart. I ease the car into first and back out of Cameron’s driveway.  Kurt Cobain’s voice fills the air, and I have to force myself not to be drawn into the past. It’s unproductive, and besides, I’m driving a very expensive car. I need to pay attention to the road.

Ninety minutes later, we approach Barrie, at the turn off for Route 11. “Is that burger place still in Orillia?” I ask Cameron. “The one with the crazy lines?”

“It’s more crowded than ever,” he confirms. “Get off the highway and we’ll stop there for lunch.”

Some of my best dreams are about the burgers and fries I had on the way to Cameron’s cottage. “You don’t mind?”

His hand covers mine. “Of course not, Maddie. I want you to be happy.”

“Well,” I quip, doing my level best to ignore the spark that’s coursing through my body at his touch, “I do love that burger.”

As Cameron predicts, there’s a long line outside the hamburger joint. “You need the bathroom, right?” he says indulgently. “Go ahead. I’ll order for you. Burger with Swiss cheese and sautéed mushrooms, half onion-rings, half fries on the side, and a Coke. Right?”

I give him an exasperated look. That’s exactly what I want. “How do you do that?” I ask him. “Can you read my mind?”

He laughs. “It’s what you got last time. Now go. You’re hopping from one foot to the other, and there might be a line for the washroom.”

In the bathroom stall, I sit with my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands and heave an enormous sigh. Cameron and I have stopped sniping at each other. He’s being a perfect gentleman, and he’s keeping his hands off me. I should be happy.  

I’m not happy. Every nice thing Cameron does reminds me how much we used to love each other. When he gave me the car keys, my insides fluttered. When he remembered my burger order, my knees grew weak.

You still have feelings for him.

I quell that wayward thought. It’s been a long time since I was with a man. Maybe the reason I’m drawn to Cameron is sexual chemistry, nothing else.

Of course, I’m fooling myself. If this was just about physical attraction, my heart wouldn’t have melted when he offered to help me buy the right clothes to wear to his family vacation. If this was just lust, I wouldn’t have been touched that he remembered the way I took my coffee.

One month, I tell myself firmly. This is a business deal. Don’t embarrass yourself by mooning over Cameron.

Nine years ago, he didn’t care enough to come for me. Why would things be different now?

When we finally reach the cottage, there’s a handful of cars parked among the trees. “Everyone’s here, I see,” Cameron says, his voice as bleak as a cold and rainy day. “Ready to go face the family, Mads?”

Cameron will take a very dim view if I throw up in his car. I take a deep, steadying breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I lie.

“Hey.” His voice softens. “This won’t be hard, I promise. No one will have any reason to doubt our relationship. Everyone here knows I was crazy about you.” He takes my hand in his, turns it and kisses my palm gently. “I want the cottage,” he says. “But I’m not going to throw you to the wolves, Maddie.”

Everyone knows I was crazy about you.

As we get out, the front door opens and a man with salt-and-pepper hair comes out, an older version of the man at my side. My stomach plummets. I’d hoped to be able to settle in before being forced to deal with Joseph Drake, but that’s not to be.

“Hello father,” Cameron greets the man coolly. “You remember Maddie, don’t you?”

Cameron’s father is shocked at my reappearance in his son’s life. He recoils instinctively, before collecting himself. “How can I forget Maddie?” he replies coldly, shaking my hand briefly before dropping it as if I’m carrying a contagious virus. “You’re late. I thought you’d be here for lunch.”

Ignoring the rebuke, Cameron pops the trunk open and gets our luggage. “Where’s everyone?” he asks.

“On the dock,” he replies. “Cameron, you need to say hello to your family. I’m sure Maddie will excuse you for an hour.”

“The greetings will keep.” Cameron laces his hand in mine. “Maddie and I are going to get settled in, unpack and find a cold beer first.”

Warmth fills me at Cameron’s gesture of support. But when I meet Joseph Drake’s icy glare, I suppress a shiver. Nine years ago, Cameron’s dad hated the sight of me, and nothing’s changed in the intervening years.

I will never belong here, and I can’t allow myself to forget that.

“Hey,” Cameron nudges me with his shoulder as his father disappears from view. “You okay?”

No, I’m not okay. I’m thrown back to the past. I’m in the bedroom I’m sharing with Cameron, dressed in a cheap polyester dress, and Joseph Drake is eying me with barely concealed contempt. Your mother’s a junkie, and your father is a two-bit crook who’s serving his second jail term, he sneers. It’s obvious you’re with my son for his money.

“What does it matter?” I reply bitterly. “This is a business deal between us, Cam. I pretend to be your fiancée for five hundred thousand dollars. Let’s not make this something it isn’t, shall we?”

I tell myself that I don’t care about the way Cameron stiffens and draws away from me, a shuttered look on his face. I tell myself that he’s just pretending to give a damn about me to get what he wants.

But there’s a sinking feeling in my heart that tells me I’m wrong, and I can’t shake off the sense that I’ve damaged something between us.