Chapter 11 #3
“No, no,” she interrupted, and Cameron was thankful she couldn’t see him rolling his eyes. “I like that you’re getting out, making new friends, and spending lots of time mooning over your fated mate. I’m just complaining,” Shay said, her voice filled with sisterly warmth.
“You’ve always been as busy, if not busier than I am now, and you made time for our calls for years,” Cameron pushed, curling up in his usual phone conversation position, but this time on Emory’s couch.
He had been spending more and more evenings at Emory’s place, oftentimes doing his own thing on the couch while Emory worked his disgustingly long hours in his office.
Sometimes Ronan would come up and join him, or Christopher would stop by to discuss something with Emory, and he’d watch an episode or play a video game with Cameron.
Shay sucked her teeth in a dismissive way. “Yeah, but I wasn’t basically moved in with a significant other. Once you two are married, I’m sure we’ll up our weekly calls to twice a week or more, but for now, it’s all good.”
Married. Yeah, that was something Cameron had been thinking more about and discussing with Shay in bits and pieces.
“I’ve talked about it once or twice with Emory, but you know as well as I do it’s not a sure thing.”
“You’d better be talking about the ceremonial act of getting married, not about you two in general, because I am not going to hash this out with you again. I’d much rather tell you about my new grant to study jaguar feces.”
Cameron kicked his feet up on the side of the couch, something he never would have dared do even a month before. After he and Emory had defiled the couch for the eighth time, though, he finally felt comfortable enough to disrespect the pricey furniture with his fuzzy socks.
“I’d love to hear about your research. Please, truly, let’s talk about anything that’s not me.”
“Well, my hypothesis is that we can predict when a wild jaguar is going to go into heat almost three weeks in advance based on this one marker in their feces!” Shay said proudly, and Cameron buckled in for a long download on heat-predicting technology.
Shay waited until right before Cameron hung up to announce, “Oh, and remember that professional boxer? It turns out she was just really anxious, and she tends to talk over people when she’s anxious.
It’s sweet, really. She slid back into my DMs and apologized profusely, and even sent me roses.
I hate roses, but that’s beside the point. ”
“And the point is…?”
“Oh, that we’re fucking. I think I’ve decided I'm demisexual. Romantic inclination still TBD.”
Cameron nearly choked on the tea Emory had made for him halfway through Shay’s thesis on elusive heat indicators in panda bears.
“Shay! That’s amazing! Your self-discovery, I mean. Or, well…I’m hoping the professional boxer is amazing, too?”
“She is!” Shay said, her voice lighting up the same way it did when she talked about tiger pheromones. “She’s really funny when she relaxes a bit, and she’s teaching me some boxing moves.”
Cameron watched as Emory approached him with a slice of takeout pizza on an expensive-looking plate. Cameron waited until he caught Emory’s eye before saying, “So just to be clear, you double checked all the closets for aquariums?”
He smiled to himself as his fated mate burst out laughing and his sister hung up on him.
He hadn’t gotten to do his weekly panicked tirade with her about his upcoming trip to meet Emory’s family, but they’d spent far too much time talking about him over the years.
He was more than happy to let Shay off the hook for the night.
“I’ll be right next door if you need anything. Either of you,” Ronan said, squeezing Cameron’s shoulder as they walked up the path to Emory’s family estate.
Saying anything was “right next door” seemed a bit generous.
The estate spanned approximately two city blocks, holding not just his mother’s mansion but also six smaller–but still giant by usual standards–houses where the aunts and uncles lived.
Ronan’s family lived on the other side of a large stone wall that sectioned off the property.
“I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” Cameron murmured, not wanting to alert Emory to how anxious he was. He was currently walking ahead of them, finishing up a business call.
“It probably is going to be stressful. I know you know that and have been preparing for that, but remember that whatever happens, it’s just words.
They have no power over you and Emory’s relationships, not even Emory’s mother does.
Besides, from everything Emory’s said, she’s thrilled to meet you.
I know the whole ‘not wanting cubs’ thing is a sticking point for some of his relatives, but truly, his parents have always been relatively low-key about it,” Ronan said, kicking a loose rock off the path and onto the neatly manicured grass.
“After Emory’s dad died, his mother became pretty low-key about everything.
Emory might not see it that way, but I genuinely think her only priority is not losing Emory as well.
There’s no chance she would do something to compromise their relationship. ”
Cameron nodded, having already walked through these talking points with Christopher and Ronan multiple times.
He’d even gone over it with Shay at two am that morning when he’d called her in a panic.
She’d assured him it would all be worth it when he got to mate, marry, and live happily ever after with Emory.
She had, of course, said this in a falsetto voice which had done little to assuage Cameron’s nerves.
Everyone was convinced that Emory was in love with Cameron and that this week would move them to the next step of their relationship.
Cameron couldn’t be sure about Emory’s feelings, but as far as his own were concerned, he’d never felt more comfortable, safe, or anywhere near as happy as he did with Emory.
Not even with Shay. Even so, he couldn’t shake the niggling doubt that if this week went tits up, he could lose Emory and everything they’d been working towards.
He and Ronan walked in silence the rest of the way up to the house and parted ways with a quick hug. Emory pocketed his phone and gave Cameron one of his boardroom-winning smiles. He’d been doing that a lot lately, every time they talked about his cousin or visiting his family.
Cameron’s octopus squirmed, and Cameron couldn’t mask his grimace. Emory dumbed down the intensity, instead smiling one of his more private smiles for Cameron.
That did the trick. Cameron’s octopus melted into the floor, and Cameron took Emory’s hand in his.
Emory’s driver had offered to drive them up to the house, but Emory had needed a little more time to finish his call, so they’d opted to walk from the entrance gate up to the mansion.
His driver had gone on ahead, and as Emory led Cameron into the entry hall, he didn’t see any of their luggage.
Maybe it had already been brought up to their room?
What a strange thought. If Cameron arrived at his parents’ house and didn’t bring his things up to his room, they would stay there the entire trip.
Or, more likely, Shay would go through them, take out all his softest tops and snuggliest sweaters, and wear them instead of her own clothes for the rest of the trip.
Not that this had happened before.
Of course not.
A pair of butlers emerged from a hallway to their right. “You’re just in time for dinner, sirs. May we take your coats?”
Cameron’s insides roiled, unsure of how he felt about being lumped into a “sirs” category, but also unwilling to make a scene about it.
Instead, he found himself clinging to his light jacket, like maybe if he didn’t hand it over, he and his octopus could still make a break for it.
He could run all the way back to his lonely apartment…
or more likely, his fated mate’s apartment, whose family he was attempting to impress this week…
by not being a problem and clinging to his jacket in the entry hall.
Cameron ripped his jacket off but got a hold of himself enough to fold it neatly in half before handing it to one of the butlers. Emory peered down at him with blatant concern in his eyes. Cameron’s octopus was scuttling back and forth, just as unsettled as Cameron was.
Either unaware or choosing to ignore Cameron’s discomfort, the butlers parted to let Emory and Cameron through. They made their way into a kitchen that looked like it belonged in a five-star restaurant, and then into an ornately decorated dining hall.
Cameron’s octopus shrank back at the opulence, but thankfully, Emory continued walking into the next room, which was much smaller and felt more like a breakfast nook.
A moderately sized round table was set for three with a steaming pot of stew, fresh bread, and several bottles of wine placed in the center.
Emory’s mother was sitting at the table, looking like she was posing for another painting like the one in Emory’s office.
“Son,” his mother said in a voice that resonated through Cameron in a different way than Emory’s did. It felt like listening to a politician or news anchor speak. It made Cameron want to hang on her every word.
Emory and his mother met in the middle of the room in a surprisingly aggressive hug. She was nowhere near as muscular as Emory, but her shoulders looked solid, and her upper body was sturdy.
Oh gods, Cameron was so much smaller than Emory and even smaller than his mother. Was she going to hug him and think he was a feeble little waif, unworthy of being with her son?
“Cameron,” Emory’s mother said as she turned to face him.