Chapter 38
Camille
The Italian sun warms my skin as I stretch out on the yacht's deck, my eyes closed against the brightness. It’s an unseasonably warm fall day and I want to soak up every ray of sunshine.
For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can truly breathe.
No photographers lurking, no tabloid headlines screaming about my personal life, no Fiona poisoning the well with her lies.
Just this—the gentle rock of the boat, the murmur of my men's voices nearby, and the impossible blue of Lake Como stretching before us.
"You look peaceful," Alex says, his shadow falling over me as he offers a glass of sparkling water.
I open my eyes to find him watching me, his usual intense gaze softened by something that might be contentment. It's a new look for him, one I've only started seeing since we arrived at his villa yesterday—a sprawling stone masterpiece tucked into the hillside with stunning views.
"I feel peaceful," I admit, taking the glass from him. My hand automatically moves to my belly, now prominently rounded at twenty-six weeks. "We both do."
The decision to come here was spontaneous—or as spontaneous as anything can be with all four of our schedules.
After the confrontation with Fiona last week, we all felt the need to escape, to celebrate our victory in private.
Julian suggested a trip and Alex said, "My place in Lake Como is perfect this time of year.
" Twenty-four hours later, we were on his private jet.
"God, what a beautiful day," Julian calls from the stern where he's adjusting the music coming from hidden speakers. He's wearing jeans and a t-shirt that hugs his muscular chest.
Tristan appears from below deck, his tablet tucked under his arm. “It couldn’t be more perfect.”
Alex moves to the side of the boat, leaning against the railing with casual grace. "The cafe I mentioned is just around that bend. We have a reservation in an hour."
"Always the responsible one," I tease, pushing myself up to sitting.
The corners of his mouth twitch. "Someone has to be."
Julian drops down beside me on the padded bench, his arm finding its way around my shoulders. "Forgive him, he can't help himself. Once a control freak, always a control freak."
"Says the man who spent forty-five minutes arranging a perfect playlist for today," Tristan observes dryly, settling into a chair across from us.
Julian grins, unrepentant. "Ambiance is important."
I lean into his side, soaking in his warmth and the easy banter between my three men.
The yacht cuts smoothly through the water, guided by the captain Alex hired for the day.
The shoreline of Lake Como reveals itself like pages in a storybook—clusters of sherbet-colored buildings clinging to the hills, grand villas with manicured gardens, ancient churches whose bells occasionally ring.
"I could get used to this," I say to no one in particular.
"To what?" Tristan asks, his blue eyes fixed on me with that intense focus that still makes my heart skip.
"All of it. This place. This feeling." I gesture vaguely at the surrounding beauty, at the four of us together without stress or scandal. "Just being us without the world watching and judging."
Alex's expression softens further. "We could stay longer than a week, you know. Or come back whenever you want."
The thought lingers, a pleasant daydream as we approach a small marina attached to what appears to be a restaurant perched right at the water's edge.
Terracotta pots overflowing with bright flowers line stone steps that lead up from the dock, and tables with crisp white cloths are arranged on a patio overlooking the lake.
The captain expertly maneuvers the yacht into a spot, and a young man hurries down to secure the lines. Alex exchanges a few words in surprisingly fluent Italian while Julian helps me step carefully from the boat to the dock.
"You've been holding out on me," I tell Alex when he joins us. "I didn't know you spoke Italian."
"There are still a few things about me you don't know," he replies, his hand finding mine as we walk up the stone steps.
"You gotta keep her guessing, right?" Julian winks at him over my head.
"Something like that," Alex agrees, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips.
The maitre d' greets us warmly, kissing Alex on both cheeks before leading us to a prime table on the patio. I catch a few curious glances from other diners—not hostile or judgmental, just interested in the unusual grouping of a visibly pregnant woman with three attentive men.
"They're just jealous," Julian murmurs in my ear, having noticed my awareness of the looks.
"Actually," Tristan says quietly as we take our seats, "I don't think anyone here cares much at all."
He's right, I realize. The glances are fleeting, without the lingering stares or whispered comments we've grown accustomed to in New York. People notice, then return to their own meals, their own conversations.
"Italians have a different relationship with love and family," Alex explains, unfolding his napkin with precise movements. "Less puritan than Americans."
"Plus, who has time to judge others when there's food this good?" Julian adds as a waiter arrives with a basket of warm bread and a plate of glistening olive oil.
We order a feast of fresh seafood, handmade pasta, and local vegetables.
The conversation flows as easily as the sparkling water that fills my glass and the wine that fills theirs.
We talk about everything and nothing—Julian's plans for a new youth sports program, Tristan's latest development project, the nursery design I've been working on for weeks now.
Halfway through our meal, I notice them—a stunning woman with olive skin and dark hair pulled into an elegant knot, surrounded by three equally attractive men.
They sit at a table close by, laughing and talking with the easy intimacy of people who know each other well.
The men take turns filling her wine glass, touching her hand, leaning in to whisper something that makes her smile.
"Look," I say quietly, nodding in their direction. "Seems we're not as unusual as we thought."
My men follow my gaze, each with different reactions. Julian grins appreciatively, Tristan observes with calm interest, and Alex's eyes narrow slightly with recognition.
"The man on the right is Philippe Moreau. He owns half the luxury hotels in Monaco,” Alex says.
"You know him?" I ask, surprised though I don’t know why–Alex knows everybody.
"We've crossed paths." Alex takes a sip of his wine. "I don’t know the others though."
"They're not getting any weird looks either," I note, watching as a waiter delivers dessert to their table with the same professional courtesy he's shown us.
"It's like I said," Tristan comments, his voice thoughtful. "Different culture, different norms."
"Maybe we should move to Italy," I joke, though part of me wonders if life would be easier somewhere the raised eyebrows and scandalized whispers don't follow us.
"Or maybe," Julian says, covering my hand with his, "we just need to stop caring what anyone thinks."
"I stopped caring the moment I decided I wanted all three of you," I reply, feeling bold in this place where no one seems to bat an eye at our arrangement. This isn’t actually true, but I so want it to be.
Alex's eyes darken with something possessive and pleased. "To us," he says, raising his glass. "Exactly as we are."
"To us," we echo, our glasses meeting with gentle clinks.
As we finish our lunch, I catch the dark-haired woman looking our way. Our eyes meet and she smiles at me. I smile back, feeling a strange kinship with this woman I'll most likely never meet.
When we return to the villa, I kick off my shoes in the entryway, feeling the smooth tiles beneath my feet as my body feels like it’s still swaying from the time spent on the water.
The four of us move through the space with a comfortable rhythm—Alex heading to the wine cellar, Julian flopping onto the nearest couch, Tristan carefully placing our things from the boat trip in their proper places.
I find myself drawn to the massive windows that frame the lake like a painting, suddenly overcome with a feeling of intense happiness.
"What are you thinking about?" Tristan asks, coming to stand beside me. His fingers brush mine, a touch so light it could be accidental if I didn't know better.
"How perfect today has been," I answer honestly. "How perfect all of this is."
The sun hangs lower in the sky now, casting golden light across the water and through the villa's rooms. The place is ridiculously beautiful—ancient stone walls contrasting with sleek modern furniture, vaulted ceilings with exposed beams, art so beautiful it’s hard to look away.
Julian appears behind me, his arms wrapping around my waist, his chin resting on the top of my head. "What's the verdict on naps? Yay or nay?"
I lean back against him, feeling the solid warmth of his chest. "Depends on what kind of 'nap' you're suggesting."
His laugh vibrates against my back. "The kind that doesn't involve much sleeping."
Tristan's eyes meet mine, darkening slightly at Julian's words.
"I'd be amenable to that," Tristan says, his formal phrasing at odds with the heat in his gaze.
Alex returns with an open bottle of wine and three glasses, immediately reading the room's changed energy. "Starting without me?" he asks, setting everything on a nearby table.
"Never," I reply. "Just discussing afternoon plans."
Alex's eyebrow raises. "And what did you decide?"
Instead of answering, I cross to him and stretch up on my toes to press my lips to his. He responds immediately, one hand cupping my face while the other tangles in my hair.
He breaks the kiss. "Bedroom," he says simply. "Now."