Chapter 28
Tristan
"Mr. Vale," my assistant's voice carries a note of apology. "Your sister is here. I tried to tell her you're in the middle of—"
The door swings open before she can finish. Kate strides in, all five-foot-nine of her radiating the particular brand of authority that makes her one of Manhattan's most feared attorneys. Her tailored suit is a battle armor she never removes, even for a surprise visit to her little brother.
"It's fine, Angela," I tell my assistant, who hovers in the doorway looking genuinely distressed. Not many people can steamroll past her. Kate is the exception. "Hold my calls, please."
Kate waits for the door to close before she turns to me, arms crossed. "Working hard or hardly working?" Her tone is light, but her eyes scan the papers on my desk with professional assessment.
"To what do I owe this surprise?" I ask, leaning back in my chair.
She drops into the seat across from me, crossing her legs. "Can't I check in without an agenda?"
I raise an eyebrow. "You don't take mid-afternoon breaks without an agenda. Especially not to come all the way downtown."
"Fine." She tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear. A rare nervous gesture from my usually unshakeable sister. "I wanted to pick up our conversation where we left off. You shut me down but I've been hearing things, Tris."
My stomach tightens. Fuck. Back to this again. "Things?" I say tersely.
"About you. And Julian. And some young blonde interior designer you're both supposedly dating." She watches my face carefully. "Please tell me it's just twisted gossip."
I keep my expression neutral, though my hands twitch with the urge to fidget. "Since when do you listen to gossip?"
"When it's about my brother being manipulated by some child who's barely out of college? That's the kind of gossip I pay attention to." Her voice hardens. "Is it true?"
I take a slow, measured breath. "Her name is Camille. And she's not manipulating anyone."
Kate's eyes widen slightly, surprise flickering across her face. She wasn't expecting confirmation. "Jesus Christ, Tristan. What are you thinking? Both of you?"
"It's not what you're thinking."
"No? Because what I'm imagining is some opportunistic little gold-digger who's managed to hook not one but two very wealthy men. Do you have any idea how this looks?"
Heat rises to my face. "I don't give a damn how it looks. And Camille isn't like that."
"They never are, until they are." Kate leans forward, her voice softening with sisterly concern. "You've worked too hard to build your reputation. People are talking, Tris. Not just society gossips, but business contacts. Potential investors."
"Let them talk." I stand, needing the physical space. "My personal life is exactly that. Personal."
Kate watches me pace, her lawyer's eyes taking in details I'm not even aware I'm revealing. "I've never seen you like this about anyone."
"Like what?"
"Defensive. Protective." Her head tilts. "Is this serious? Not just some... arrangement?"
I pause by the window, looking out at the city spread below us. The question catches me off-guard. Is it serious? The way my chest tightens when Camille smiles. The way I wake up reaching for her. The fierce protectiveness I feel about her and the baby...
"Yes," I admit quietly. "It's serious."
Kate is silent for so long that I turn back to face her. Her expression has shifted from concern to something more calculating.
"I need to meet her," she says finally.
"Kate—"
"No arguments." She stands, smoothing her already perfect skirt. "If this woman is important to you, I need to see for myself what she's about. Tonight. Dinner at my place."
I exhale slowly, considering my options. Kate in this mood is immovable. She's been my only family since our parents died, and despite her often overwhelming protectiveness, everything she does comes from love.
"Fine," I concede. "But Julian comes too."
"Oh, I'm counting on it." The corner of her mouth twitches. "I want to understand exactly what's happening here."
"It's not a deposition, Kate. It's dinner."
"Of course not." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Just a friendly meal with my brother, his best friend, and the woman they're both sleeping with. Perfectly normal family gathering."
I wince at her bluntness. "Could you at least try to be open-minded? Camille's had a rough time lately."
"Haven't we all." Kate steps closer, reaching up to straighten my tie with the automatic gesture of someone who's been trying to “fix” things for me my entire life. "Seven o'clock. Don't be late."
After she leaves, I sink back into my chair, pulling out my phone. I need to let Camille and Julian know. My thumbs hover over the screen as I debate how much to say. Should I prepare Camille for Kate's inevitable interrogation? Or would that just make her more nervous?
I settle for directness:
Change of plans for tonight. Dinner at my sister's. She wants to meet Camille. I'll pick you both up at 6:30. Sorry about this.
Julian responds almost immediately: Your sister? Christ. This should be fun.
Camille's reply takes longer: Of course. Looking forward to meeting her!
Camille has no idea what’s she’s in for. Nobody looks forward to meeting Kate, especially not under these circumstances. I send back a heart emoji, a simple gesture that feels inadequate for the storm I might be sending her into.
Kate has always been protective to a fault.
After our parents died, she put her own grief aside to become both mother and father to me.
She postponed her career, adjusted her life, made sure I never felt alone.
I owe her everything. But this—Camille, Julian, the unorthodox relationship we're building—this is mine.
And I'm not sure I'm ready to have it dissected under Kate's unforgiving gaze.
Kate's brownstone stands like a fortress at the end of the tree-lined street, its windows glowing amber in the early evening light.
In the back seat of the car, Camille's hands twist in her lap, the only outward sign of her anxiety.
She's wearing a simple navy dress that somehow manages to conceal her pregnancy.
Julian sits beside her, his usual easy demeanor replaced with a tightness around his mouth that tells me he's already bracing for battle.
"Your sister lives alone in this entire brownstone?" Camille asks, her voice soft with awe as we pull up to the curb.
"Kate doesn't do anything halfway," I reply, trying to keep my tone light. "Including hosting intimidating dinner parties."
Julian snorts. "She's going to try to eat you alive, Cami."
"Julian," I warn, throwing him a sharp look.
"What? I'm just being honest." He turns to Camille, his expression softening. "Kate Vale is brilliant, terrifying, and has made grown men cry in courtrooms across Manhattan. But," he adds with a wink, "we’ve got your back, babe."
Camille takes a deep breath. "I can handle it. I'm not afraid of strong women."
But I notice how she fidgets with her dress after we climb out of the car, the nervous gesture betraying her confidence. I place my hand on her back, a silent reassurance as we approach the front steps.
"Remember," I murmur, "she's just protective. This isn't personal."
The door swings open before we can ring the bell. Kate stands in the entranceway, backlit by the warm glow of her foyer chandelier. She's changed from her usual work attire to an elegant black dress, but the effect is no less intimidating.
"Right on time," she says, stepping aside to let us in. Her eyes pass over Julian with familiar acknowledgment before landing on Camille. The assessment is quick but thorough, taking in everything from Camille's simple pearl earrings to her heels.
"You must be Camille," Kate says, extending her hand. "I've heard so much about you."
"All good things, I hope," Camille replies, shaking Kate's hand with admirable steadiness.
Kate's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Well, that would depend on who's doing the talking, wouldn't it?"
Julian steps forward, brushing a kiss against Kate's cheek. "Always a pleasure, Kate. Still terrorizing the New York bar association?"
"Only when necessary." She leads us through to the dining room, where the table has been set with our grandmother's china and crystal. "Wine, anyone? I've opened a lovely Bordeaux."
"None for me, thank you," Camille says quickly.
Kate raises an eyebrow. "Not a wine drinker? Or you just don’t like Bordeaux?"
"I'm... taking a break from alcohol," Camille says carefully.
"How responsible." Kate's tone gives nothing away as she pours wine for herself, Julian, and me. "Please, sit."
Dinner begins with forced pleasantries—comments about the unseasonably warm weather, compliments on Kate's recent legal victory in a high-profile divorce case. Her housekeeper serves the first course, a chilled asparagus soup that nobody seems particularly interested in eating.
"So, Camille," Kate says, setting down her spoon. "Tristan tells me you're an interior designer. How did you get into that field?"
Camille straightens slightly. "I started in college, actually. I redesigned our sorority house common areas, and it just grew from there. I launched my own company in my junior year."
"Ambitious," Kate notes. "And how old are you now? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?"
"Twenty-four," Camille confirms, her chin lifting slightly at the implied judgement.
"Hmm." Kate takes a deliberate sip of wine. "Tell me, in your business experience, have you found that clients sometimes underestimate you because of your youth?"
"Occasionally," Camille admits. "But my work speaks for itself."
"I'm sure it does." Kate's smile is razor-thin. "And how exactly did you meet my brother and Julian?"
Julian interjects before Camille can answer. "Actually, we met through Alexander Kingsley."
Kate's eyebrows rise. "Kingsley? The plot thickens."