Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
CAMILLE
“Aw, look at that,” Isabelle said wistfully as she came to stand beside Camille, who had been watching Sophie from across the room, ready to pounce on Gabriel at a moment’s notice should the need arise.
Camille pursed her lips. “I don’t know. I can’t help but worry.”
Isabelle didn’t bother to hide her smile. “Of course you can’t.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Camille asked, turning to give her sister her full attention.
“I mean that you care about our sister,” Isabelle said simply.
This time it was Camille who smiled. “I do. I just wish it hadn’t taken me so long to figure that out.”
She wished it hadn’t taken her so long to figure a lot of things out, she thought sadly, stuffing a piece of cheese into her mouth. She’d probably need to go on a diet once she was home, but then, why bother? The man she loved was dating Maisie now. Maybe he’d marry her.
Maybe, given how her life was going, she’d be asked to stand up at their wedding, give a toast and everything. Maybe she’d even like Maisie. They’d be an even bigger unconventional family. Maybe she’d even manage to convince herself she was happy. That it was enough.
Oh, who was she kidding?
“But you don’t need to worry about Sophie,” Isabelle promised her. “She’s going to be just fine. We all will.”
Camille wished she could be certain, but now, just like when they were still children, she hung on to her sister’s words, needing the reassurance, holding on to the confidence in Isabelle’s tone.
“How can you be so sure?” she asked in a small voice. “After everything you’ve been through? How can you still believe in a happy ending?”
Isabelle pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because of tonight. Because of this. Because of you worrying about Sophie when for years you couldn’t even stand to hear her name. Because of you being here in Paris when you swore you would never come back. Don’t you see, Camille? Anything is possible.”
Camille laughed in spite of herself and leaned her head on Isabelle’s shoulder for a second before lifting it again, stiffening when she saw the door open.
“It’s Papa!” she hissed.
Isabelle, however, didn’t look surprised. “Of course it is. I invited him.”
“Yes, but—” But she didn’t think he cared enough to actually come.
Camille blinked rapidly but Isabelle was already weaving her way through the crowd to greet their father, who was standing near the doorway in a rumpled linen suit, looking a little dazed.
His face lit up when he spotted his oldest daughter, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek.
Camille hung back, clutching her wineglass, then glanced at Sophie across the room, wishing that she could catch her attention, her unexpected ally in this strained family dynamic. But alas, it was too late. Isabelle was dragging a rather reluctant Papa by the arm, pausing here and there so he could greet a familiar face, because this was their scene, of course, their world. The very one that Camille had shunned for her cozy little attic studio and her happy little animal watercolors.
Her safe place.
Her happy place.
She felt her eyes well up with tears when she realized just how much she missed it. As much as she’d enjoyed this time with her sisters, she ached to be back at home with Flora.
And Rupert.
“Camille.” Papa stood before her, looking hesitant and almost repentant, if she didn’t know better. She eyed him suspiciously, thinking of how they’d left things off after that awful dinner, and how they’d left things off after every fleeting interaction in the years prior.
With silence. And distance. Until the next brief chance meeting.
And she thought of Sophie. And the time lost. And the family gained. And how her heart had never felt so full, yet had never ached for more.
And for the first time since she was a little girl, living in this very city without a care, believing that this world was a safe space and that the people she loved would never let her down or hurt or disappoint her, she dared to take a risk.
“ Bon soir , Papa,” she said, giving him a small smile at first, which turned bigger, warmer, and more genuine when she saw first the surprise in his eyes, and then, the love.
It had been there all along, she supposed. But like her, Papa just hadn’t quite known what to do with it.
She’d learned more than how to hold a paintbrush from this man, it would seem.
When she looked back on this moment, she wouldn’t remember who opened their arms first, but she also knew that it didn’t matter. The past was finally in the past, and the future, for perhaps the first time in her entire life, was wide open.
“ Je t’aime , Camille,” her father said. I love you .
Camille nodded but then stopped herself. Those were words she had been capable of saying only to her daughter all this time. Not to her mother, who never said it either, and not to Isabelle, who knew she loved her without words.
Not to any man. Not even to Rupert.
“ Je t’aime , Papa,” she whispered, feeling the tears fill her eyes. She looked up to see Sophie standing beside Isabelle now, and Papa pulled back only to greet his youngest daughter, who accepted his arms, his words, and his unspoken apology a little more easily than Camille.
“This was a surprise,” Camille muttered to Isabelle, wiping her eyes quickly. Really, she wasn’t that much of a sap. She was still her mother’s daughter, stiff upper lip and all. This trip hadn’t changed her that much.
“That’s not the only one,” Isabelle said. She jutted her chin over Camille’s shoulder. “Look.”
Frowning, Camille turned, her mouth falling open when she saw Rupert and Flora standing in the doorway, looking shyly at the family drama unfolding.
“Flora!” Camille exclaimed, thrusting her wineglass at Isabelle before rushing over to her daughter, who didn’t seem embarrassed about greeting her mum in public for once. She held her daughter to her chest and stared at the man before her who looked even more handsome than she remembered him with his lopsided grin and kind eyes that were so familiar her heart hurt.
She missed him, even though he was right here, she’d never felt further away from him.
Her childhood family was just behind her, but the family she’d made, the family she loved, was right here. Just the three of them.
“Rupert! I…I…” She didn’t even know where to begin. Or if it was too late.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he said.
“ Mind ?” she said. “How could I ever mind?”
Only that wasn’t true, was it? Because she’d come here to get away from him, to get space and clarity, and oh, had she gotten it.
“Rupert, I—” Need to fight for what I want , she thought. If she wasn’t too late.
“Flora!” Isabelle said, coming over to greet her niece, who was all too excited to see her aunt. “And Rupert.” Isabelle gave him a friendly hug after Flora finally let her go.
Camille snapped out of her fog. Of course. There were introductions to be made. Conversations to be had. But not all of them here, perhaps. Not all of them tonight.
“Flora,” Camille said. “I want to properly introduce you. This is my other sister, Sophie.”
Sophie stepped forward and looked fondly at Flora, and it was only then that Camille saw the physical resemblance between the two. They both had the same dark hair and big, bright eyes. The same excitement for the world. A certain… joi de vivre , she supposed.
She looked from her daughter to her sister and gave Sophie a nod of encouragement.
“That makes her your aunt Sophie,” Camille said. “She’s American.”
“American?” Flora looked impressed. “Cool!”
At that moment, Papa shyly stepped forward. Camille saw Isabelle flash her a nervous look.
“And…this is your…grandfather,” Camille said stiffly.
Flora’s eyes went round. “I have a grandfather ?” Rupert’s father had passed away from a sudden heart attack when Rupert was in high school, and Flora had only ever known grandmothers until now.
Had Camille failed to even mention her father in front of Flora? It had been easier that way, she supposed. But what was easy wasn’t always right, was it? And sometimes it was downright empty.
“Of course you do,” Camille said lightly. “He just…travels a lot. He’s an artist. A very talented one. I learned from him, you see.”
She felt her father smile at her and looked up to see tears in his eyes.
“Why don’t you and your grandfather go get some snacks?” Camille suggested hastily before her emotions got the better of her, too. What was she thinking, getting all misty-eyed in public like this?
She watched as Flora took Papa’s hand and they wandered across the room together, a sight that she’d never thought she’d see, one that she’d tried to protect her child from, and now, one that filled her heart with more joy than she could have ever imagined.
“This was quite a surprise,” she finally said.
“Which part?” Rupert asked, widening his eyes.
Camille gave a small laugh. “All of it. You didn’t tell me that you’d be coming!”
“Flora missed you,” Rupert said with a shrug.
“Oh.” Camille felt her expression drop but she recovered quickly. Of course. Her child. Her daughter. She’d missed her. “Of course. Well, thank you for bringing her.”
“And…I missed you,” Rupert said, locking her gaze.
Camille felt her heart begin to thud against her chest. Not long ago, she would have made up some excuse, claimed the room was too hot (which it was), and run outside for some much-needed air. But she wasn’t running anymore. Not from her feelings. Not from her heart. Not from the places and people she loved most.
And not from what she wanted more than anything.
“I missed you, too,” she said breathlessly. “So much.”
But just as quickly she remembered Maisie and she felt her stomach drop like a stone.
“What is it?” Rupert frowned.
“But…” Camille blinked, wondering if she’d misunderstood this entire conversation. “What about Maisie?”
Rupert tilted his head. “Maisie?”
“Flora told me about her,” Camille explained. When Rupert didn’t take the bait, she added, “From the festival? Your girlfriend?”
Your super cool girlfriend , she thought miserably.
But Rupert’s frown just deepened before a huge smile split his face.
“Girlfriend?” He laughed. “Is that what Flora said?”
“She did,” Camille said, not finding any of this funny. She peered at Rupert, wondering what he was getting at. “Our daughter doesn’t keep secrets, you know.”
“And neither do I,” he said, growing serious. He took a deep breath and looked her in the eyes. “Camille, Maisie is my new neighbor. She was on her own for the weekend and feeling lonely because she doesn’t know a soul in town. She’s a really friendly girl. You’d like her. She’s young. Only twenty-one.”
Oh, great. It just got better and better.
“She’s loads of fun.”
Mm-hmm. Camille sipped her wine.
“And she’s married.”
Wait.
“To a woman.” Rupert raised an eyebrow. “And do I need to elaborate further?”
“Oh, so…not a girlfriend,” Camille said, too pleased to feel foolish. But then, she could never feel embarrassed around Rupert. She could only ever feel like herself.
Happy. Content. Safe.
“Definitely not a girlfriend,” Rupert said with a nod.
“But…you have had girlfriends,” Camille said slowly. “So you can understand why Flora jumped to the conclusion.”
Rupert nodded begrudgingly. “I have friends, and some of them are women, but that’s all any of them are, Camille. That’s all any of them can ever be. No one stands a chance of being anything more because none of them are you.”
Camille stared at him as the room around them grew quiet, and even though she knew that her entire family was within reach and that her daughter was only a few feet away, for one magical moment, it felt like she and Rupert were the only two people in the room.
His eyes didn’t waver, and for once, she didn’t want to look away. Or run away.
She just wanted to stay right where she was. With the man she loved. For now. For always.
Forever.
“Mum! You won’t believe how we got here,” Flora said as she came running back over to them. Forcing Camille’s attention away from Rupert. “We took the Chunnel. It’s a train that goes through a tunnel under the English Channel! Isn’t that super cool?”
Camille thought back to how terrifying she’d found that experience just a mere matter of days ago and could only look at her daughter’s shining eyes and smile. “It really is cool when you think about it.”
Terrifying, but rather cool. Like the ancient elevator in the apartment building.
Like falling in love.
“Paris is so close to London, Mum,” Flora went on. “And Aunt Isabelle lives here. And they have the best croissants and food. And people here speak French. And they’re so chic.”
Camille lifted an eyebrow at Rupert.
“Why haven’t we visited before?” Flora inquired.
Good question, Camille thought. And one without a very good answer.
“That’s going to change, honey,” Camille said as she slipped her hand into Rupert’s. She looked across the room and saw her sisters giving her a smile of encouragement. “A lot is going to change.”
And only for the better.