Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
TALLY
Welp, Cameron was not kidding when he said that his family's mountain retreat is a chalet, not a cabin.
The massive structure looms against the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains, all gleaming cedar and floor-to-ceiling windows that catch the alpenglow at sunset.
Mammoth's powdery slopes rise in the distance—a skier's paradise built on the sleeping giant of a volcano that last spewed lava seven centuries ago.
The Kensington retreat sprawls across three levels, with ten bedrooms decked out in plush fur throws and rustic-luxe furniture that probably costs more than my Jeep and tattoo equipment combined.
Since it’s August, there’s no actual skiing or snowboarding—just a lakeside house and a weekend full of boating, waterskiing, kayaking, and whatever other fresh hell awaits.
My only goal is to make it through without wanting to punch one of the Kensington brothers, though I’m sure each of them will give me ample reason.
First up is Roman, the most likely culprit.
He’s toned down since marrying Lilith—maybe her psychic powers really did soften him—but a leopard never changes its spots entirely.
I have a hunch we’ll be at each other’s throats before the weekend’s over.
He’s fiercely loyal to Cameron, so at least his asshole behavior will feel justified.
Next is Max. I never warmed to him after how he treated Celeste when she first moved in—she was practically hired to marry him and desperately needed the money, yet he behaved as if she didn’t belong in their own home.
I haven’t forgotten, and now I’ve given him solid reason to be pissed at me, so he’s another prime candidate for conflict.
Then there’s Silas, CEO of a major jewelry empire who regularly deals with royalty. Full of sarcasm, cold superiority, and convinced he’s better than everyone else, he’ll relish calling me every name in the book.
The rest should be manageable. Connor, despite being an Oscar-winning A-List actor, is apparently shy and insecure—a real sweetheart, according to Celeste.
Kalen, the pop star, is always daydreaming, so he won’t cause trouble.
Ansel is more like a loyal puppy: all energy and little bite, so he’ll back off but will probably rib me.
And Asher? He’d sooner psychoanalyze me than shout insults—and since we both love art, we might actually have something worthwhile to talk about.
I check my phone for the fifth time in an hour.
No missed calls from Mom. This weekend marks her first time alone in the house since moving in with me, and my stomach's in knots.
She's been religious about her meds—that little chiming alarm on her phone going off like clockwork.
The pills have worked miracles. Gone is the woman who'd ditch me for whatever loser bought her drinks, who'd pop pills like candy, who'd forget I existed when a new man came around.
But what if she walks out that door while I'm gone?
What if that alarm doesn't go off? Or worse—what if she hears it and ignores it?
Two missed doses and she could spiral, and just like that, I'd lose her all over again.
My hands won't stop shaking at the thought.
So, yeah, this should be a relaxing weekend on the lake, but it seems full of landmines for me.
When I step inside, I spot the biggest landmine of all.
Silas—ever the sneaky bastard—either missed the memo that Cameron’s now living with his baby’s mother, or he noticed and just didn’t care.
Or maybe he simply enjoys stirring shit.
Whatever the case, he’s invited some woman named Dr. Willow Rosewood to spend the weekend with us.
And the way he zeroes in on Cameron for an introduction tells me he’s plotting a classic setup.
“Cameron!” Silas calls as Brinley squirms in the sling on my chest and Cameron hauls our mountain of gear through the doorway—not just suitcases but all the baby essentials: diaper bag, high chair, travel crib, toys.
He’s pulling it all on a red wagon. Silas meets my eyes and gives me that look—like he’s already penciling in how to piss me off before brunch.
Forget Roman. Silas is now the prime candidate for the guy who’ll make me want to cut a bitch by Sunday.
“So good to see you. You remember Dr. Rosewood, right?”
Of course Cameron remembers her. And of course Dr. Willow Rosewood is the human embodiment of every nightmare I’ve ever had about pretty, perfect women.
She’s at least 5’10”, with huge blue eyes, thick chestnut hair so glossy it makes me want to shriek, and a face so symmetrical it hurts.
Legs for days, flawless smile—she could be the poster child for Natural Beauty skincare.
I glance at her, then down at myself, and ugh.
My breasts are still swollen from nursing and my stomach a soft Buddha pouch, thanks to zero workouts since the baby arrived.
I haven’t had the energy for Pilates or P90X in months.
Next to Willow, I feel like a soggy sandwich.
I can’t help resenting her perfect flat stomach and perky ass and perkier breasts.
She’s a doctor too—probably a Yalie or Hopkins grad like Cameron. Sure enough, Cameron wraps her in a hug, pecks her cheek, and they launch into memories of med school at Hopkins.
I need Celeste. Now. I have to learn everything I can about this Willow Rosewood.
And Celeste apparently brought her nanny along, Esmé, so I can have some alone time with my friend this weekend. As long as she doesn’t mind that Brinley will be ever-present in her little sling on my chest this weekend.
Boy, I envied Celeste having a nanny when it was just Mom and me tag-teaming Brinley. Now that Cameron’s in the mix, though, he’s better than any nanny, mainly because he’s so easy on the eyes and, yes, I still fantasize about him all the time.
I spot Celeste by the sliding glass window that opens onto the deck and yank her outside by the arm.
It should be peaceful out here—I can hear bullfrogs croaking, whippoorwills calling, and beyond the trees a deer and a flock of wild turkeys meander through the underbrush.
The lake is glass-smooth at dusk, with only a handful of boats still out, though tomorrow morning it’ll be crowded again, I’m sure. Despite the calm, my heart is pounding.
Because I’m the idiot who convinced Cameron we weren’t a couple.
I’m the one who pushed him to date other people.
And now, looking back into the living room at Cameron and Dr. Willow deep in conversation—probably medical talk, or more Hopkins hijinks, though what kind of hijinks happens in med school, I have no idea—I realize he looks perfect next to her.
If anyone could be Daddy’s money all grown up, with a mansion in the Hamptons and another in Ojai or Big Sur, it’s Willow.
Celeste squeezes me in a hug. “I’m so glad you made it. Max didn’t think you would.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mutter. “What’s the deal with Dr. Willow?”
Her eyes go wide. “Oh—Silas decided Cameron’s been in mourning long enough and, well, invited Willow.
” She makes a face. “Silas knew Willow back when he was an undergrad at Harvard—they lived down the hall from each other. When Cameron came to visit Silas in those days, Willow had this massive crush, but Cam was with Alecia, so nothing happened. Later, Silas ran into Willow at an art opening, and that gave him the bright idea to set her up with Cameron for the weekend.”
“And they already knew each other from Johns Hopkins?”
“Right. She was a couple years behind him, and he became her mentor during her first year.”
I roll my eyes. Of course: this beautiful, wealthy doctor has liked Cameron forever, and that sneaky Silas thought it’d be great to throw them together in front of his baby mama.
“Tal,” Celeste says softly. “This is what you wanted, right? For Cameron to be happy with someone? You told me?—”
“I know what I said.” I hunch my shoulders and stare back through the window at Cameron and Willow, still talking, still laughing. “I meant it. I’m not right for him. He deserves happiness. But damn, it hurts to watch him with the woman who might finally give him that.”
Celeste slips an arm around me as I lean over the railing, my hands gripping the smooth wood.
Brinley is asleep on my chest—any second she’ll wake up crying, and I’ll have to feed her, rock her.
But for now, I’ll take this time. I’ll dig up every scrap I can about Willow Rosewood.
After all, if I truly love Cameron—and I do, more than anything—then Willow might be the one to bring him the joy he deserves.
Even if, in my darker moments, I’ll probably imagine plunging a knife into those perfect eyes.
I twist a strand of my jet-black hair around my finger until the tip turns purple. "So Silas knows Brinley is Cam's?"
Celeste's emerald eyes narrow to slits. "Oh, he knows.
That's why he ambushed you with Willow this weekend.
He saw you and Cam were attending together and thought, perfect setup for revenge.
" She leans forward, her coffee breath mingling with the cloying scent of her vanilla perfume.
"Silas is the one with the grudge. He thinks what you did—passing off Cam's baby as some random hookup's kid—was unforgivable.
In his book, you're officially Bad News with a capital B. "
"So he's playing matchmaker." My fingernails—hot pink nail polish and all—dig crescents into my palm. People always think they know the whole goddamn story. Sure, hiding Brinley's paternity looks terrible on paper, like I'm some calculating bitch.
Was I wrong? Absolutely. But nobody saw me at 3 AM, staring at my ceiling fan's hypnotic circles, replaying that moment I almost called him in Sicily, phone clutched so tight my knuckles went white.
Nobody understands what it's like growing up watching your mom trapped in relationships she never chose, her spirit dimming with each passing year.
I wanted Cameron in my bed, not making decisions about my life.
And what if my pregnancy had pulled his focus when those refugees—desperate faces pressed against chain-link fences—needed him more?
I bang my head softly against the textured wall, feeling each tiny bump against my skull.
Other women would've seen Cameron for the jackpot he is—those surgeon's hands with perfectly trimmed nails that save lives by day and work magic by night, that deep laugh that rumbles through his chest and makes you feel like the only person in the crowded room, the way he actually listens, head tilted slightly to the right.
And Jesus Christ, he can make me see stars in bed, constellations I didn't even know existed.
I get why Silas wants to "rescue" his brother from me. Doesn't mean I have to like it.
Celeste leans forward, her eyes serious. "Tally. Listen. If things changed with Cameron, you need to tell him. Before it's too late and you regret the whole arrangement. Do it now."
I shake my head so hard my earrings jangle.
"Commit to Cam? I can't even commit to a fucking tattoo design for longer than five minutes.
What right do I have getting territorial about him dating Willow?
That's just me being a selfish bitch." I shake my head again just as Brinley is waking up.
“No. He deserves someone who can give him what he needs, and that's not me. " My voice cracks on the last word.
Celeste's arm slides around my shoulders. "Tally," she says softly. "You love him, don't you?"
"Fuck." I swipe at my eyes with the back of my hand. "Yeah. I do. Love him so much it fucking hurts. Physically hurts. That's the whole goddamn problem. I love him enough to know when to walk away."
That old saying about setting someone free if you love them? It's bullshit. I don't want him coming back to me. I want him finding someone who isn't broken, who doesn't have my baggage. Someone who can make him happy.
And knowing that's not me? It feels like someone reached into my chest with a tattoo gun and inked "FAILURE" across my heart.