Chapter 17
SEVENTEEN
Camilla’s parents lived in a big, stately house surrounded by a lawn and a garden that would probably be gorgeous come spring. Marlon’s stomach clenched as he turned onto the drive. His gaze caught on the yellow light spilling from the windows, shining on the expensive cars parked in front of the huge garages.
“My sister’s here,” Camilla announced, following his gaze to a silver Jaguar. Her body was tense, fingers clenched in her lap like she had to hold them tight to keep them still.
Marlon parked, then reached over and coaxed Camilla’s hand into his. He kissed her knuckles, then met her gaze. “We don’t have to go in there. Let’s grab some takeout and go home.”
Her breath caught on his last word, but she looked over at the house and took a bracing breath. “No. They clearly have something to say to me. If I avoid them, it’ll only make it worse.”
An animal instinct rose within Marlon, a long howl that called for him to take his woman and cart her home where things were safe. But Camilla didn’t need to be bound in bubble wrap and carried home. She needed quiet support while she proved to her horrible family that she was successful all on her own.
Marlon was proud of her. He ached with the need to protect her, but he wouldn’t force her to live a smaller life than she wanted. At the first whiff of trouble though, his inner caveman would come out.
They rang the doorbell and shuffled on the stoop to guard against the cold. A few moments passed before the door opened.
Camilla had prepped him with names and relations, so he knew it was her mother Georgina who opened the door. She sniffed at the sight of the two of them, then opened the door wider. “Well, come in,” she said on a long-suffering sigh, like she was doing them a favor by summoning them to her own home.
Marlon bristled.
He’d spent his entire adult life carefully guarding against close relationships. He’d never had to juggle toxic family ties—not since his mother had been alive, anyway—and he was circumspect about keeping work separate from his personal life. Only his few, old friends got past the walls he’d erected long ago.
Well, his friends and Camilla.
Now he had to navigate unfamiliar waters, where the currents were strong and the surface hid sharp rocks.
Camilla stepped over the threshold. “Hi Mom,” she said, leaning over to kiss the air next to her mother’s cheek. “Thanks for having us.”
Empty pleasantries that Marlon himself couldn’t muster. He shook Georgina’s hand, then pulled away and placed that same hand on Camilla’s lower back, as if the feel of her warmth could ease away his discomfort.
But he should be comforting her, not the other way around. It wasn’t until she leaned into him ever so slightly that he realized that was exactly what was happening. While he was drawing comfort from the feel of her warmth against his palm, she was doing the same. He’d never thought of the dual nature of his protectiveness. It soothed him while also helping Camilla.
Maybe that aspect of a personality could be a strength as well as a weakness if he allowed himself to indulge his need to care for others.
They unzipped their jackets, and Georgina looked Camilla over with a critical eye. “That bakery is doing your body no favors, Camilla. You must taste test everything you make! Look at you.”
“What did you just say?” Marlon asked, incredulous. He frowned at the older woman, then glanced at Camilla, who shook her head slightly.
Marlon had to physically bite his tongue to stop words from coming out. Had this woman just blatantly insulted Camilla’s body? As if that was a normal occurrence?
“I’m looking out for my daughter’s health,” Georgina answered primly, lifting her chin. “Follow me, please.”
In the living room, a young woman handed a fussy child over to a waiting nanny. Camilla’s father watched the crying child with a scowl on his brow, then turned to pick up his glass of liquor.
Instead of greeting any of the adults, Camilla turned to the child. “Hi there, Cole. Look at you!” The boy reached for her, and Camilla picked him up with a bright smile stretching over her lips. She bounced him on her hip and cooed at him, then turned to Marlon. “This is my nephew, Cole. Isn’t he gorgeous?”
“Hello, Cole,” Marlon said, solemn as he reached for a tiny hand with teeny tiny fingers. Cole wrapped his fingers around Marlon’s index finger, and they shook. Camilla laughed, and Marlon felt something unfurl in the pit of his stomach. Something deep and hidden that he’d never, ever, ever acknowledged.
The baby scrunched his fingers into her top, then made a mad grab for her earrings. Swooping in to save her, the nanny scooped the child up and the two women laughed and smothered him with attention and affection.
For the first time in his life, Marlon admitted to himself that he wanted that—exactly that. He wanted a child of his own. He wanted Camilla’s face to light up when she cooed at it, and he wanted to be the one to wrap them in his arms and keep them safe. The desire swept through him so fast he staggered, catching himself on the edge of the wall as the nanny stepped out of the room.
This was all too much. She’d moved in mere weeks ago and now he was imagining her as the mother of his children. But…was that so bad? He hadn’t allowed himself to be himself in so long. Wouldn’t he make a good father?
No. No, Marlon wouldn’t. He was too closed off. His protective instincts were too strong. He couldn’t handle them when they caused him to burn out. Plus, he shouldn’t think about these things—especially not when he was here to support Camilla.
Camilla glanced after the nanny, then met Marlon’s gaze, then turned to the room. “So,” she said, all trace of her earlier worry erased from her features. “What’s the special occasion? Our usual dinner wasn’t supposed to be for another two weeks.”
“Camilla,” Dean said, waving a hand to the man in the armchair next to him. “This is Henry Blackstone’s son. The man I told you about last time. He was passing through town, so we decided to have a meal to introduce the two of you.”
“Nice to meet you, Henry Blackstone’s son,” Camilla said, a slight edge to her words. But her smile was firmly planted in place, and Marlon couldn’t help but admire her. Her spine was straight, her expression was smooth, and she wasn’t bowing to anyone.
“I’m Henry as well,” the man replied, getting up to shake her hand. He wore a crisp button-down and well-tailored pants. “Your father’s told me a lot about you. You enjoy baking, is it?”
Marlon could have been a floor lamp, for all the attention anyone was paying him. But that didn’t stop him from stiffening at the way this guy was looking at Camilla, like she was a prize sow at a pig auction. He stepped forward. “Camilla owns and operates the most popular bakery in Stirling,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The Sweetest Thing.”
Henry blinked, then glanced at Dean. “You never told me you’d gone into the restaurant business,” he said, laughing. “Any other investments you’ve got hidden up your sleeve?”
Camilla went stone-still beside Marlon, and he tamped down the need to rage. Did this guy not listen? Did he not hear Marlon say Camilla owned the damn business? Was it so impossible to believe that she would have done it herself?
“Unfortunately, Camilla’s family didn’t see the value of the investment,” Marlon said. “Camilla built the business on her own.”
“Well, don’t be ridiculous,” Georgina twittered, coming closer with a fresh drink for Henry and nothing for Marlon. “Of course we know our daughter is talented, and we’re very proud she’s kept herself busy all these years. Henry is going to take over from his father in the next couple of years, aren’t you, Henry?”
“How wonderful for him,” Marlon deadpanned, inserting himself once more where it was obvious he wasn’t wanted—but this time, he saw Camilla’s lips twitch. She shot him a glance that was half-reproach, half-gratitude.
“Who are you?” Henry finally said, a bit petulantly.
“Marlon St. James.” He put his arm around Camilla’s shoulders as she slung an arm around his waist. “Pleasure to meet you.”
Confusion flitted over Henry’s face as they stood there with their arms around each other, and Marlon almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But then he turned to Dean and said, “You told me she was single.”
Marlon tightened his hold on Camilla and almost couldn’t believe this guy’s gall. Camilla was standing in front of him, whole and intelligent, and instead of treating her like a person, he turned to her father and acted like she was chattel they’d already agreed to trade.
“I was single,” Camilla answered, drawing Henry’s gaze. Then she glanced at Marlon and smiled. “Now I’m not.”
Fire burned in Marlon’s gut. He stood in this horrible house, with these horrible people, and watched Camilla shine so bright it looked like she had sunlight woven into her skin. She was too good to spend another minute here. Too kind and pure and hard-working.
He needed to get her out of here, away from these people, away from the rot that had crept into the ties that bound this family together. The need grew and grew and grew until he couldn’t resist anymore. He bent at the knee, put his shoulder to Camilla’s stomach, and picked her up.
She let out a cute little yelp of outrage.
“We’re going,” Marlon announced.
Then Camilla laughed, bright and loud, and waved at her family as they stared. “Goodnight,” she called out as he walked out of the room and down the hall to the front door.
He didn’t put her down as he grabbed their jackets from the hooks on the wall, just bundled all their things under one arm and kept her steady with the other. Didn’t put her down as he wrestled with the front door, or when he made his way down the steps.
He set her down just beside the passenger door of his car, and she stared up at him with shining eyes. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
“No?”
She bit her lip. “Okay. I can believe it a little bit.”
He kissed her. Couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. Then he pulled away and stroked her cheeks and felt three little words pressing against the inside of his lips.
They needed to get away from the shadow of this house, these people. He wanted nothing to do with them. He didn’t want them to be dimming Camilla’s achievements or pushing her to meet some dickhead who just wanted her for her connection to her father.
Sweeping her jacket over her shoulders, he helped her into the sleeves and zipped her up. Then he shoved a beanie on her head and unlocked the car door. The interior still held a few dregs of warmth, but he still rushed around to his side and turned the heat on full blast. Camilla’s cheeks were pink as he pulled out of the driveway and onto the road that would take them home.
She leaned her head back on the headrest and reached over to place her hand on his thigh. Rolling her head on the headrest to look at him, Camilla said, softly, “Thank you.”
“You don’t think I’m a caveman for carrying you out of there like that?”
“Of course I think you’re a caveman for carrying me out of there like that,” she answered, the smile evident in her voice even as Marlon kept his eyes on the road. “But I happen to like cavemen,” she said, then added quietly, “apparently.”
He laughed and took them back through Stirling toward their home. He knew now it was theirs , not his. She’d put her stamp on it, and from now on the house would forever remind him of Camilla. He wanted it to. He wanted her imprint to be in every room, on every inch. He wanted her to mark her territory like he had just marked his. He’d stuff her underwear between every couch cushion to make sure of it.
A new future unfurled before him in his mind’s eye. A wife, a baby—a family . Fresh paint and new furniture, home-cooked meals, coffee sipped in quiet companionship at the kitchen table. Wrinkles and gray hairs and grandchildren. Marlon’s heart thumped at the possibilities.
The town was quiet, with only a couple of restaurants bustling with people in the center of town. The cold had chased most people into their homes. Marlon drove steadily onward until he could finally turn into his own driveway and let out a breath.
“That bad, huh,” Camilla said in response to his sigh as he turned the engine off. “Now you know what I’ve been dealing with all these years.”
“I’m saying this as someone whose family was a complete mess: Your family sucks. No offense.”
She grinned. “None taken. You didn’t even meet my brother. He’s a carbon-copy of my father, with a sprinkling of mother’s favorite.”
“Why do you go there every month? Why put yourself through it?”
Camilla stared at him, frowning. Her chest moved slightly as she breathed in, out, in, out. Finally, she shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t have to go over there. You don’t have to listen to them put you down every time they talk to you.”
She blinked rapidly, eyes on the middle distance. “I guess I thought… I felt…” She shook her head. “They were family, so I felt like I should keep going. Keep trying.”
“They’re horrible to you.”
A huff. “Yeah.” She looked at the phone that had lit up with a silent call and pressed the side button to ignore it. Her mother hadn’t stopped calling since they’d left.
Marlon grabbed her hand, squeezed gently. “I hated hearing them speak about you that way.”
“They were worse to you. I can’t believe how rude everyone was. No one even acknowledged your existence.”
Marlon squeezed her hand again, drawing her gaze. “I don’t care. I don’t know them. Plus, the only reason they were treating me that way was to hurt you.”
She shivered, so Marlon took them inside. The house creaked and groaned around them in welcome, and they both let out long breaths in relief. Once their jackets were stripped off, they went to the kitchen like it drew them on instinct.
“Coffee or tea?” Marlon asked.
“Coffee. Decaf,” Camilla answered, and Marlon made his way to the coffee maker to get it started. They moved in a familiar rhythm, using the routine to wash the day away. They’d both been up since before four in the morning, and exhaustion was beginning to creep in.
Marlon made breakfast for dinner: eggs and toast with lots of butter. They had decaf coffee with it, as if they could reset the day with a familiar meal. By the time they were cleaning up, Camilla’s eyes were drifting shut on their own.
He carried her to bed. When he made to leave after tucking her in, Camilla made a noise of protest.
“Stay,” she mumbled, half-asleep.
Marlon paused, watching her as she reached a hand out over the blankets like she could hold him back, even in her sleep.
And how was he supposed to resist that?