Chapter Eleven
Camille
After everything that had been going on, I had to know the truth. I decided the only way I was going to get the truth about Preston was to drop by his house unexpectedly. Not very cool and was likely to result in somebody being pissed off, but it seemed like the only way I was going to get some straight answers, since he wasn't giving them to me. I knew he was hiding something and I deserved to know what it was.
It was a bright, sunny Saturday and I had my trusty Google Maps out and ready to roll. I'd found his address thanks to a quick Google search. Yeah, it was a bit stalkerish maybe, but desperate times, and all that. Of course, there was a chance the info was outdated, but what else was I going to do besides sit at home, stew and obsess about everything in minute detail. When I was done with that part of the program, I'd move straight into feeling sorry for myself about everything going on, and how my life had been turned completely upside down, all because I was surrounded by shady men.
I knew me and knew that was the road I was headed down if I didn't force myself out of my house and onto a path of action.
My GPS guided me to an affluent Hollywood Hills neighborhood, which seemed right based on where he worked and conversations we'd had. I kept an eye out for his car, though I had a feeling, he likely had a garage or some private parking spot, because hey, it was Hollywood Hills and people were rich out there. “Your destination is on the right in 200 feet,” the electronic voice said.
My heart jumped into my throat and my pulse raced at the sound of the voice. I looked to the right and saw that there was a two-story home with a white facade. It was more modern than I’d expected, considering the fact that Preston always had a more classic, refined air to him. But, then, Hollywood Hills had a mix of modern, square homes, more classic architecture, and everything in between.
The house on the right – what I was assuming was Preston's house – had a nice, large front yard that was bright green, even though we were suffering through yet another drought in Southern California. All the houses in the neighborhood had green lawns, as a matter of fact. Apparently, being rich meant you could afford a nice, lush lawn. A palm tree was out in front of Preston's place, providing just a touch of shade to the lawn – a lawn that happened to be occupied as I pulled to a stop.
From my vantage point, I was able to make out a little boy on a bike and a woman, standing off to the side, watching him. I double checked the addresses, thinking maybe I was off a house or two, but no, according to my Google search, that was the right place. The address was listed on the mailbox.
At first, there was no sign of Preston and I almost gave up, thinking that maybe the information was outdated after all. But, as the little boy pulled into a wheelie, I saw a man – a tall, blonde man – rush forward. I squinted my eyes and tried to convince myself that it wasn't Preston. The woman in the front yard was totally not his sister, I knew that much. Preston's real sister was five-foot-eight, and thin. She'd been a model once upon a time, built for the runway. This woman was tiny. The man turned toward me but wasn't looking directly at me. He lifted the boy into his arms and swung him around. I caught a glimpse of his face, and my heart dropped into my belly. I suddenly felt very ill as I tasted the bile rushing up into my throat. I started my car and having no opportunity to turn around without looking suspicious, I continued driving down the street, praying that Preston didn't turn and see me through my tinted windows as I passed by.
I could see them, though. I saw them and they all looked very happy. The little boy looked just like him, and there was no denying Preston was his dad. The woman was pretty and was made even prettier by her giant smile. They all looked so content. So happy. So goddamn All-American.
Tears burned at my eyes as I drove past, and I resisted the urge to drive by again. Part of me wanted to find a reason not to believe that Preston had lied to me – or rather, hadn't told me the entire truth. “Good for you, Preston,” I muttered sarcastically, as I wiped the tears from my eyes. “I guess at least one of us can be happy.”
The fact that he'd cheated on his wife – with me – despite knowing what I had been through with Stephen made my stomach churn even harder. I regretted everything I ate that day and had to pull over and throw the door open. I heaved and heaved, finally throwing up in the gutter on the side of the road. It wasn't the first time I'd thrown up since all this drama had happened, and surely it wouldn't be the last. My body never really handled stress well.
Finding out I was the other woman, well, I'd say that was pretty damn stressful.
***
Stephen, we need to talk, I texted him that night. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes as I waited for a response from my ex. God, I couldn't believe I was doing this.
The phone rang, which made me jump out of my skin. Stephen had never been a big fan of texting. He was one of those people who preferred talking on the phone. I wasn't. As soon as I picked up, he started in on me, his tone openly hostile.
“I'm not selling my stakes in Zesta, Camille,” he said. “So, if that's what you want to talk about, then–”
“No, actually. I wanted to talk to you about your proposal.”
There was a silence from both of us that was long, drawn out, and positively pregnant with anticipation. Finally, Stephen spoke up.
“Camille, are you serious? That's great!” he said. “I'll be right over.”
“Tonight?” I asked, looking at the clock.
It wasn't that late, but still, I hadn't really prepared to see him face-to-face tonight. My heart dropped, and my stomach churned once more.
“Of course, sweetie,” he said. “To celebrate us getting back together.”
Before I'd made the call, I thought long and hard about everything. I knew what I was getting into – and that meant getting back together with Stephen. Because as they say, the devil you know is better than the devil you don't.
In the case of one Preston Winters, I had been totally unprepared for him being married and having a family. While he hadn't exactly lied to me, he hadn't been honest with me either. I really didn't want to go through that again. At least with Stephen, I knew what I was getting into. I knew he was a liar and a cheat – and as long as I knew the lay of the land going in, it was something I could work with. Something I could plan for and deal with.
We'd have an agreement in place. An understanding. Something written down and notarized, making it all legal-like. Then, it wouldn't be cheating because I'd know about it. Sure. That would work, right?
“I'm not feeling up for celebrating tonight, I think I have a stomach bug.”
More like, I'm stressed out beyond belief, sick to my stomach that I'm about to sell my soul, and my body can't take it anymore. “But there's one more thing I'd like to ask of you first, if you don't mind,” I said.
“Sure, what's that?” he asked, his voice eager.
“Well, I think if we're going to do this, we should both get tested. Not just for STD's, which we'll need to do that too, but I also want to check into the whole fertility thing. Get some professional help and see if maybe there's not something we can do to, you know, have our own kids one day.”
“Oh Cammy,” he said, pity heavy in his voice. “Would that make you feel better? If we at least tried that route?”
I swallowed down all the doubts coursing through my body, not to mention the swell of anger that was rising in me.
“Yes, it would,” I said, my tone even and measured. “I've already been scheduled for a few tests, I just haven't gone through with them yet. From there, we can talk to Dr. Garcia and see what our options might be.”
He was quiet for a long time before answering. “Sure, if it makes you feel better, we'll do it. But don't get your hopes up, Camille,” he said. “And, it's no big deal. These things happen to people all the time, baby.”
“I won't,” I said quietly.
Another lesson I learned in the wake of the fallout from the Preston situation – never get your hopes up for anything, ever again. Because just when things appear to be going well, the Universe finds a way to tear you right back down again.
“And thank you, Stephen.”
“Of course, Camille,” he said. “You and I really do make a wonderful team, and my short time with Jessica has only made me realize there's only one woman for me.”
“I'll make the appointments and send you the information,” I said. “Goodnight, Stephen.”
“Goodnight, Camille. I love you.”
I hesitated, wanting to say the words back because I felt like a jerk for not reciprocating, but instead, I let it go. I hung up the phone and put it away, crawling underneath my covers, hiding myself away from the world and all of the lies.
You couldn't trust anyone apparently. Sadly, it was a lesson I'd had to learn that the hard way.