Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
CAMERON
After Tally slammed the door in my face, I drove straight back to Brentwood, white-knuckling the steering wheel the whole way.
My blood's still boiling—I can't remember the last time I felt this level of rage.
The absolute nerve of her. She practically shoved me at Willow, and now she's acting betrayed?
I've laid my heart bare for her. Told her I love her.
Told her she's it for me—the one I want to build a life with.
And not because of Brinley. Christ, I'd have put a ring on her finger even if there wasn't a baby in the picture.
If she doesn't see that by now, it's because she's deliberately looking the other way.
So this is how it goes? She gives me nothing, I try to move forward, and suddenly I'm the villain? She's kicking me out? That's a joke. A goddamn joke. Fuck this bullshit.
I pick up my phone and dial Willow's number.
Not because I'm looking for company in bed tonight, but because I can't stand another minute without making her my fiancée.
The ring box sits heavy in my pocket, practically burning a hole through the fabric.
When she arrives, I'll keep my distance—tell her I want to save ourselves for our wedding night.
The real reason gnaws at me: some foolish part of my heart is still holding out for Tally, and I can't bring myself to have sex with Willow while that door remains even slightly open.
God, listen to me. What kind of man proposes to one woman while pining for another?
But I know Willow will say yes when I drop to one knee.
Her emotions are transparent, honest—everything Tally's aren't. Willow's never been shy about wanting a future with me.
It's late, midnight, but I know that Willow does not work tomorrow. So, even though I apparently woke her up when I called her, she agrees to come over. “I've never been to your house, "she says. “I’m excited to see it.”
Yeah, this house is going to shock her after seeing the place I shared with Tally.
Tally’s bungalow has its charms—weathered oak floors that creaked with every step, those hand-painted Mexican tiles in the kitchen, and that wraparound porch where we'd watch fireflies dance around the century-old magnolias in the front yard.
But my Brentwood estate? It's another world.
Marble floors cool against bare feet, vaulted ceilings that make even whispers echo, floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the Hollywood Hills like living artwork.
The infinity pool seems to spill into the canyon below, and sometimes I'll spot Harrison Ford walking his dog or Clooney waving from his balcony.
I bought this 5,000-square-foot monument to success when I finished my residency for one reason - Alecia fell in love with it and really wanted to live here.
She gasped when she first saw the spiral staircase, trailing her fingers along the wrought iron railing.
After the accident, I couldn't bear to erase that memory, which is the only reason I haven’t sold it and bought something smaller.
Willow comes over, and I suggest we sit by the pool. Despite the winter chill, I switch on the heat lamps and we settle in. Then I pull out the small velvet box.
"Willow," I say, my voice oddly flat even to my own ears, "these past few months have been great. Will you marry me?"
The words hang in the air like unwelcome guests. I've said nothing about love or forever or any of that stuff people usually say. Probably the worst proposal in history, yet I feel strangely detached about it.
With Tally, it would've been different. For her, I'd have created something unforgettable.
Maybe composed a song, or enlisted Asher to help design something that spoke to her artistic soul.
I'd imagined a scavenger hunt across the city—each stop a gallery or mural or sculpture she loves—culminating in that perfect moment when I'd kneel and offer her the ring I've pictured a thousand times in my dreams.
Willow doesn't seem to notice how hastily I've cobbled this proposal together. She flings her arms around me, tears streaming down her face. "Yes, yes, oh, God, a thousand times yes!!!!"
That's that, then. I'm going to marry Willow, and I swear to God I'll make it work. Why shouldn't I? On paper, she's perfect—brilliant doctor, kind heart, gorgeous smile. We click. We talk for hours. The chemistry's there. She ticks every box. She'll be good for me, good for Brinley. She has to be.
I clear my throat. "I should call Asher about throwing us an engagement party.
We could do it here, or maybe at the Centurion—you know, that restaurant at The Patrician?
My family's belonged to that country club since practically the Stone Age.
" I tap my chin. "Fun fact: archaeologists found cave paintings of the first Kensingtons filling out their membership applications.
" She giggles at my lame attempt at humor, and I feel a twinge of something I can't quite name.
Willow's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning.
"Oh my god, I was hoping for this!" She bounces on her toes, her voice rising with each word.
"We fit so perfectly together, don't we?
I knew we were endgame." Her fingers lace through mine as she gazes around, already claiming the space.
"Just imagine—you, me, Brinley. Our little family.
" She gives a dreamy sigh. "And maybe two more little ones running around someday.
" Not once does she ask why I'm here instead of at Tally's.
Either it hasn't crossed her mind or she's deliberately avoiding the question.
She squeezes my arm, her smile dazzling. "So, Cam. Show me our new kingdom."
I take her hand and we go into the house.
I show her everything—the state-of-the-art kitchen with its gleaming Wolf range and Sub-Zero refrigerator that cost more than my first car, the living room with its soaring twenty-foot ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows that frame the ocean like a living painting, the glass-walled atrium where morning light dapples through tropical plants, the temperature-controlled wine cellar stocked with vintages that would make a sommelier weep.
The master bedroom features a California king on a raised platform, and the bathroom which has a rainfall shower big enough for six people and a Japanese soaking tub carved from a single block of marble.
This house is an architect's dream, which is why I love it—and it's Asher-approved.
Ash is our resident art critic and architectural buff, the one who can spot a fake Eames chair from fifty paces, which is what he's chosen to focus his genius IQ on as opposed to science and physics, although if he did choose to focus on physics and chemistry, I have no doubt he'd have a Nobel Prize by now.
Willow's eyes widen as we finish the tour. "This place is incredible. And you traded all this for an attic bedroom just to be near your daughter?"
I rub the back of my neck, looking away from her searching gaze.
The mansion suddenly feels hollow around me, each echo bouncing off marble and hardwood a reminder of what's missing.
My throat tightens as I think about mornings with Tally's off-key humming drifting up through the floorboards, nights when I'd pass her door and pause, just to hear her breathing.
How Brinley's tiny fingers would curl around mine while Tally pretended not to watch us from the doorway.
This mansion with its perfect staging feels like a museum compared to the cramped, chaotic warmth of that little house.
"It wasn't really a sacrifice," I finally say, turning back to Willow with what I hope passes for a smile.
She clears her throat. "I mean, you were living with your daughter in Echo Park." She hesitates. "How will you manage visits now that you're back here?"
Brinley's face flashes in my mind. I stormed out so fast I didn't even think about visitation arrangements.
Tally might be furious about my engagement, but she'd never use our daughter as a weapon.
Even so, my fellowship barely leaves me time to breathe—twelve-hour days, six days a week.
Now I'll waste precious hours crawling through gridlock between here and Echo Park just to see my own child.
The thought makes my jaw clench. This whole situation is a disaster, but I didn't create it.
She did. I should probably be more understanding, but Christ. After everything I've done, I don't deserve to be jerked around like this.
I exhale slowly. "It's complicated. Tally and I aren't exactly on speaking terms right now. We need to sort things out."
Willow nods, her expression careful. I can tell she's curious but trying not to push. "I was afraid of this. I never wanted to come between you and your daughter." She squeezes my hand. "I hope you two can work through it."
"We will," I say, not entirely convinced.
Her fingers slide over mine. "What do you say we head upstairs and celebrate our engagement properly?" The suggestion in her voice is unmistakable.
Throughout our relationship, I've kept a careful distance—always a goodnight kiss at her door, never accepting her invitations for "nightcaps" that would inevitably lead to her bedroom.
At Tally's house, intimacy was never an option, which made visits there safe.
Now we're alone in my home with nothing stopping us except the image of Tally's face that appears whenever I close my eyes.
Something tells me crossing this line with Willow would permanently sever whatever remains between Tally and me.
Some bridges, once burned, stay ashes forever.
What kind of man was I becoming, obsessing over whether Tally and I could ever find our way back to each other? I pushed the thought away. Marriage to Willow would close that door forever anyway. Better to stick with my original plan.
"Uh, let's wait until after we're married, okay?" I say, then inspiration strikes. "After what happened with Tally—you know, the pregnancy—I'd rather not risk repeating history. It just seems smarter to wait."
The words hang between us, concealing my deeper fear: if Willow gets pregnant and our engagement falls apart, I'd be drowning in complications. One child with a woman I’m not married to is difficult enough.
Two children with two different women? The thought of juggling these relationships makes my stomach turn.
But I couldn't tell Willow that—she'd think I was already planning our failure.
She nods, her lips pressed together in that way people do when they're pretending to understand but don't. I can see the questions flickering behind her eyes.
Chemistry isn't our problem—my body responds to her like a tuning fork struck against stone.
But every time I lean in, Tally's face appears in my mind.
My rational side argues this is ridiculous; Tally and I aren't together, probably never will be.
Yet something in my chest tightens, refuses to budge.
Like trying to force a key into the wrong lock—it simply won't turn.
Willow's brows knit together. "Okay," she says, hesitating. "I just figured that you calling me this late at night... well, maybe I was reading too much into it."
I run my hand through my hair. She's right—who calls someone at midnight unless they want something?
This whole thing was impulsive. The second Tally shut me down, I called Willow, desperate to put a ring on her finger before I could think twice.
That's not me. I don't make life-altering decisions on a whim.
I should have waited, done this properly.
What if this proposal is just a reaction to Tally's rejection? If that's true, we're screwed from the start.
Hell, we probably are anyway.
No. I shake my head. I can't go into marriage already assuming failure. Think positive. Willow is perfect for me. She is.
She's perfect for me.
But she's not Tally.