Chapter 6
SIX
Camilla reviewed a quote from a glazing company and tried to keep her breathing even. This was a blip, nothing more. Yesterday, the bakery had been so busy she’d made enough to pay for the materials, so all she had to do was come up with the money for the labor and the new decal, and she’d have a brand-new window. No big deal.
Or rather, it wouldn’t be a big deal if she didn’t have a ten-thousand-dollar blade hanging above her neck.
Hyperventilating wouldn’t solve any problems, but it sure was tempting to do it anyway.
Then the bakery’s office phone rang.
“The Sweetest Thing, how may I help you?”
“Camilla Fox?” The voice on the other side of the line was gruff.
“This is she.”
“Fred Goodhew here. Nadia and I are interested in ordering a cake for our wedding. We need enough cake to feed five hundred people, and the wedding is in four weeks, on the first weekend of December.”
The date made Camilla jerk. That’s when she had to pay her late fee or lose her business.
Fred continued: “I know it’s short notice, and I apologize. Can you manage that?”
Could she manage that? Camilla just about jumped so high her head hit the ceiling out of sheer excitement. She blocked the mouthpiece of the phone and silently cheered, alone in her office. Then, composing herself, she put the phone to her ear and said, “That shouldn’t be a problem. Did you have a particular design in mind?”
“I’ll put Nadia on. One moment.” There was a rustle, then his fiancée’s voice said, “Camilla? You can do it? I know it’s last-minute, but our cake decorator just fell through the day before yesterday, and?—”
“It’s no problem at all. Would you and Fred like to come in for a consultation and a tasting? If we nail down the flavors and the design, I can give you a detailed quote. And just to let you know, I do require a fifty percent deposit up front, with the other fifty percent required before the day of the event. Is that acceptable to you?”
Nadia let out a little squeal of delight. “Yes! And yes, I would love a consultation. When can we come in?”
“How about Friday this week?” Camilla was smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. They set the appointment, she hung up the phone and then hopped on the spot for a full minute. This was exactly what she needed! A little bit of good luck to offset the bad.
Five hundred people! Cakes to feed five hundred people ! That would nearly pay for a third of her late fee. Maybe she could upsell the Goodhews to a full dessert table. That way, she could fix the window, get the decal, and have all the money set aside for her debt payoff. Normal bakery operations could more than cover the rest, and she’d be able to pay for her living expenses too. Hope bloomed in her chest, stretching her lips into a bright smile. She burst into the kitchen and threw her arms around a confused and sweaty Daniel. He patted her back as best he could while she had his arms pinned, then shook his head.
“You nutcase.”
“Hey. I’m the one who signs your paychecks, remember.”
“You adorable nutcase.”
Laughing, Camilla went back into the office and pulled out a notebook to start jotting out ideas. Fillings, frostings, flavors—they all got written down as she sketched ideas for decorations. This was going to be great .
Camilla loved baking, but she had a special place in her heart for cake decorating. It was just as precise as baking, but it required a whole other level of artistry. Now that she’d hired Daniel to take over the bulk of the first shift and another daytime baker to replenish stock in the morning, these were the types of projects she could take on.
Big, audacious projects that commanded big, audacious price tags.
She was so excited, she felt like she was going to burst. Needing to share this news with someone, Camilla didn’t even realize she was dialing Marlon’s number until her cell phone was at her ear and the line was already ringing. Jerking the phone away from her ear, she smashed her finger on the screen until the call disconnected.
Why would she call him? What was going through her head? They didn’t have that kind of relationship!
Sister Camilla of the Order of the Sexless Roommates didn’t confide in big, burly men. Not even when she meant it completely platonically. She glanced around the room for the wimple she’d obviously misplaced.
Shaking herself, Camilla scrolled through her contacts and dialed Lucy. “Hey, girl,” she said when her friend picked up. “I just got amazing news. Remember Fred Goodhew?”
“Hello, hello!” Lucy’s voice was bright and cheery. “Of course I do.”
“Well. He just called me!” Camilla shared her good news and was rewarded with Lucy’s excitement. Then Lucy insisted on rushing from her apartment to Scarlett’s florist shop around the corner, and she put Camilla on speakerphone so the three of them could talk.
Leaning back in her office chair, Camilla spoke to her friends for another few minutes, then begged off to get back to work. When she hung up, she let out a deep breath. That had been exactly what she needed to center herself: a bit of connection with people she loved who could celebrate her wins with her.
Why had her first urge been to look for that in Marlon? It made no sense. They were only roommates—and temporary ones at that. Camilla couldn’t get attached to him, no matter how much he enjoyed swooping to her rescue.
Shaking her head, Camilla got back to work planning the tasting. She’d tell Marlon about her good news tonight when they saw each other if he asked her about her day. Like a normal roommate would. Then she’d broach the subject of staying at his place longer than anticipated.
It wasn’t until after closing time that Camilla remembered she already had plans for dinner, and she couldn’t rush back to the beautiful gingerbread-trimmed house that was quickly beginning to feel like home.
Sighing, she leaned back in her chair and watched her computer shut down, then dragged herself up to her feet.
Family dinners shouldn’t fill her with dread. It was a once-a-month commitment, and it was good to stay in touch with her parents and siblings.
Wasn’t she the one who’d reached out to reconnect? Wasn’t she the one who wanted a closer relationship with her family, now that she was older and less full of resentment?
She was lucky to have them live so close. They didn’t always see eye-to-eye, but Camilla had always dreamed of having a big family with regular, homey dinners. She should be grateful that they met up as often as they did.
But however many times she repeated those thoughts to herself, Camilla couldn’t help the sinking in her stomach when she finally locked up the bakery and got in her car to head to dinner.
Camilla’s parents lived on a beautiful, wooded estate to the west of town. The lawns were manicured, the house was gorgeous, and it made her feel utterly cold. She’d grown up in a different, smaller house until they had moved to this estate when she was halfway through high school. This place had never felt like home.
Parking in front of the eight-car garage, Camilla locked her vehicle and took a bracing breath. It was only family dinner. This kind of apprehension was absurd.
If she could face Frankie Smith, she could face Dean and Georgina Fox.
Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the front door and rang the bell. It opened a minute later to a harried-looking young woman with a child on her hip. “Camilla,” the nanny said. “Come in.”
“Hi Ali.” Camilla smiled at the eight-month-old boy held in the nanny’s arms. “And hello there, Cole. You’re looking as adorable as ever.”
The baby babbled and squeezed his fists at her, and Camilla laughed. Her nephew was the cutest.
“Well, look who decided to take time out of her busy life to grace us with her presence!”
Camilla froze, then glanced behind Ali to see her sister gliding down the hallway. Sophia wore loose, camel-colored trousers and a silk top. Her hair was in an elegant low bun, and her ears were adorned with smooth pearl studs. Sophia had always been the beautiful one. Her hair was a deep, rich auburn to Camilla’s bright orange. It shone instead of frizzing. Even only eight months postpartum, Sophia looked like she was ready for a catwalk—or a boardroom.
“Sophia,” Camilla said with a tight smile. “You’re looking great, as usual.”
Sophia’s eyes swept down Camilla’s body for a long moment, lingering around her midsection, then rose to meet her eyes again. “Thanks,” she said, and Camilla knew the lack of a compliment in return was meant as an insult.
It was a gift, truly, that Sophia could insult Camilla’s looks with nothing more than a look and the absence of a platitude. It shouldn’t sting, but it did.
Deep breaths , Camilla reminded herself. Family was important. She should be grateful for the one that she had. She wanted to be here. She wanted to be the bigger person. She wanted them to see her as the successful adult that she’d become.
“We were about to sit down to dinner. Didn’t know if you’d make it today. We know how busy you are with your little bakery.” Another barb, accompanied by a sharp smile. “But what would I know? I’m only the state’s top corporate litigation lawyer. Ali, bring Cole to the kitchen so he can eat dinner.”
“Yes, Ms. Fox.” The nanny hurried off with Sophia’s son, disappearing behind a door.
Camilla inhaled, painted a smile on her face, and stepped deeper into the home to face her family.
“Camilla, honey, how nice of you to join us, for once!” Camilla’s mother, Georgina, gave her a smile full of razor-sharp teeth, which was ridiculous because Camilla came to these lovely get-togethers every time she was summoned. “And look at you! Still eating your fill, I see. I’ve told you a thousand times, Camilla, carbs don’t agree with you.”
“She does bake cakes for a living,” Trent cut in, swirling his glass of wine. “If that’s what I did all day, I’d eat just as much.” Camilla’s older brother lifted his glass in her direction, his brow arched. “But we can’t all spend our days bustling around a kitchen, can we?”
“Of course not, honey,” Georgina said, patting her favorite child’s shoulder. “You belong in the boardroom. Just like your father did.”
“I didn’t work a hundred hours a week just to make a few cookies, that’s for sure,” Camilla’s father Dean agreed. “You don’t build an empire that way. And I would know.”
Her father had started in business as a car dealer. He’d been wildly successful as the first luxury car trader in the area and franchised his business into seventeen states before ultimately selling it and becoming a multi-millionaire many times over. He did have an empire, and he’d set Trent up with an executive position in the company before he sold it.
“Not everyone can be a success story, darling,” Georgina said, smiling at her husband. Sweet words covering up the hidden insult: Camilla wasn’t a success story by comparison.
Camilla wouldn’t let it bother her. She wouldn’t . Even though every sentence uttered in her presence was an insult. Even though her family hadn’t even tried to support her, or understand her, or even speak to her after she’d all but been kicked out of home as a teenager. No, the Foxes hadn’t given her a second of their time until she’d reached out and somehow found herself apologizing to them instead of the reverse.
“How’s the cake baking going, anyway?” Sophia took a seat next to her husband, who was busy tapping on his phone. Probably an important email that just couldn’t wait, because he was an important man. Just like Sophia, and Trent, and Georgina, and Dean. Very important people, who were so far above lowly bakers.
“The bakery is great,” Camilla said, dumping a hefty amount of wine into a glass on the sideboard. She ignored the pointed stare her mother gave her and smiled at her family and brother-in-law. “Actually, I just got a call today for a huge wedding. Five hundred people.”
“You know, Isabella Rossi’s daughter had six hundred and twelve people at her wedding,” Georgina said, taking a seat on an overstuffed armchair, her back rod straight. “Of course, we didn’t get an invitation, but I wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway. I hear it was a gaudy event.”
“Completely trashy,” Sophia agreed. “I saw pictures of it online.”
Camilla sipped her wine and realized she’d already drunk half the glass. She willed herself to slow down. She only had to endure an hour or two of this, and then she could go home.
The conversation flowed around her, and Camilla tried not to feel like a bag of stinky dog poo in the presence of her family, who were shiny and taut and expensive. But by the time they sat down for dinner and her mother eyed the basket of bread that Camilla reached for, she was completely worn down. She put the basket down without taking a roll and instead served herself a small portion of meat and vegetables. She drank water and stayed quiet, nibbling her food like a good little mouse.
It was easier not to make waves. Easier not to invite the criticism she knew would come. Easier to pretend that her family’s comments didn’t sting.
She wondered for the millionth time why she still bothered to come here. She’d moved out at seventeen and carved her own path because these people didn’t seem to care about her. But Camilla couldn’t quite let go of the dream of a home and a big family and a picture-perfect Christmas card.
While her family moved to the living room for a drink after dinner, she found her nephew in the family room off the kitchen and showered him with attention. He was a giggly, wide-eyed boy, and Camilla hoped he’d turn out better than any of the rest of the Fox clan.
In her twenties, she’d dreamed of having kids of her own. Now she knew it probably wouldn’t happen for her. But that was okay—she wouldn’t trade her independence for anything.
“Camilla.”
She turned to see her father leaning against the family room doorway. “Hi, Dad.”
“Can I talk to you?”
Nodding, she followed her father to his study and sat down in one of the armchairs across from his desk. Instead of sitting next to her, he circled the desk and sat behind it, tenting his fingers in front of his chest as he watched her. It always made her feel like a misbehaving child when he brought her into this room. No doubt it was on purpose.
“What’s up?” Camilla tried not to fidget. She was thirty-four years old. She was a business owner with seven employees. She didn’t make as much money as her siblings or parents, but she’d accomplished it all on her own. She hadn’t had any help to pay for culinary school. She hadn’t had a college fund or a down payment for a house or the thousands of pats on the back her siblings got. She’d had to get herself out of a bad relationship, start over, and make hard decisions.
Still, she’d succeeded , all due to her own hard work and a very stupid loan. Camilla was independent and strong and intelligent.
But in this house, she felt small and fat and unworthy.
“Your mother and I are worried about you, Camilla.”
She bit back the huff that wanted to come out. “Oh?” It was best not to react too much, not to say more than she needed. This, she’d learned a long time ago.
“How long are you going to keep chasing this baking project? I drove by today and I saw the window, Camilla. It looks like you’re running a drug den. Is that really the image you want to present to this town?”
A slap across the face would have hurt less. From her mother, she expected insults. From her father, she expected nothing. His criticisms were worse than his usual apathy.
“Excuse me?”
“Camilla, be serious. What are you doing with your life? You’re a Fox. You should be aiming higher than selling a few cakes. Serving people. Cooking for them.” He spat the words.
“What, so serving and cooking for people isn’t a valid pursuit?” The words felt hot as they rose up her throat. She clenched her hands into fists. They’d had this argument a thousand times, and she knew there was no point in rehashing it. But she couldn’t help the words from coming out of her mouth. “I fail to see the problem, Dad.”
Her father’s jaw clenched. He took a deep breath, then spread his hands. “Look. If you enjoy spending time in a kitchen, that’s fine. But do it at home , at least. One of my old associates has a son. He just started his own law firm, and?—”
“No.” She stood up. “Are you serious right now? My business isn’t prestigious enough for you, so you’re trying to marry me off to one of your friends’ kids?”
She wanted a family, but not like that . Not as some consolation prize for a failed life of her own.
“You can’t possibly call what you do a business, Camilla.”
“I make money, don’t I? The Sweetest Thing is registered with the state, isn’t it?” Anger wound through her chest. “I do payroll every week. I pay taxes. I have a five-year lease on the building zoned for commercial use. If that isn’t a business, what would you call it?”
“You don’t even have a home , Camilla. I would call it a hobby, and it’s time for you to grow up. I made over two hundred thousand dollars in my first year of business. How long does it take you to bring that much money in for yourself, Camilla? You’ve been doing this for over a decade. It’s time to give it up.”
“You sold luxury cars with a sticker price that cost as much as a down payment on a house,” she said through clenched teeth. “I sell cinnamon buns.”
Her father spread his hands. “That’s precisely my point, Camilla.”
She would not cry in front of her family. Not today. Not after the lows of the broken window and Frankie’s visit, not after the high of Fred and Nadia’s call. Not when she’d have to go home and face Marlon with a blotchy face if she gave in to the urge to shed her tears.
“Goodnight, Dad,” she clipped, then walked right out the door and drove away.