Chapter 12
ASHTON
“ T hank you for the news.” With the phone to my ear, I glance at Camille. She’s sitting in a sunbeam with a forkful of blackened rockfish halfway to her lips. “I appreciate you keeping me apprised of the situation.”
As soon as I put down the phone, Camille pounces. “Is it over? The pilots’ strike? What did they say?”
“You’re very eager to escape.” I pick up my fork and twirl it through thick strands of clam linguine.
Crystal Bliss won’t reopen for two days, or possibly longer if the strike precludes guests from arriving.
But several key staffers with their own private boats have returned from vacation, including the head chef at Halcyon.
“Sorry to disappoint you, but that wasn’t the airline exec on the phone. ”
“Oh.” Camille makes a face. “For the record, I’m in no hurry to leave. I can do telehealth therapy from anywhere in the world, and I’m rather enjoying my time here.”
This news delights me more than it should. That’s something I’ll need to control. “To answer your question, that was the head of my legal team with the answer to a question I posed in yesterday’s meeting.”
“I see.” She stabs another bite of fish. “Sorry to be nosy.”
“It’s fine.” Funny how it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been a private man for as long as I can recall. It’s the reason you won’t find one word of my marriage or fatherhood online. Power and money buy silence. That part of my life is something I’d rather keep all to myself.
For the past twenty years, I’ve lived for control.
Control of my public profile.
Control of the world around me.
Control of my own urges.
I’m not saying I’ve lived as a monk for two decades, but the death of my young child and wife substantially diminished my desire.
But something shifted the day Camille showed up.
Something bigger shifted between us in her room yesterday morning.
It’s been twenty-nine hours since I flew back from Negril, and we’ve had more than our share of toe-curling sex.
But we’ve talked a lot, too; about goals and mistakes and wrong turns. Both of us bared our feelings. I’m honestly hard pressed to say which I’ve loved more.
Feelings aren’t part of the equation.
It’s getting harder and harder to live by that rule.
“Ash?” Camille touches my hand. “I really am sorry about listening in on your chat with the lawyer.”
“I’m not brooding about that.” To be honest, I’d already forgotten. “I accepted a phone call sitting two feet from you. I hardly had an expectation of privacy.”
But now that she mentioned the lawyers again, I do have a question.
“I wanted to ask you about something.” I pick up my phone and scroll to the email the law firm just sent. “Holyfield Properties is represented by Olaf McMahon in all legal matters. One of the top five law firms in the world.”
Camille wipes her mouth with a napkin. “Are you suing me for trespassing?”
“Indecent exposure,” I deadpan, just as I locate the email I’m seeking. “They’re in the process of merging with a law firm from the Pacific Northwest. I wondered if you’d heard of them.”
“Do you know the name?”
I squint at the email. “Steele Marx?”
Camille drops her fork. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I can tell by her face something’s wrong. “I presume your impression isn’t favorable?”
“Of the firm? It’s fine. Of one attorney in particular?—”
“Your former fiancé?” Now I recall she told me the man is a lawyer.
“Yep.” Camille shakes her head. “For the record, Hayden’s a fine attorney. An excellent attorney.”
“So excellent he prioritizes work over his own wedding?”
“Bingo.” She nibbles her lip. “You’re not working directly with him, are you?”
“Is that a problem?” I’ve got a call scheduled later this week with key members of the legal team. Perhaps I could ask that her ex not be present.
“It’s fine,” Camille says, looking out at the sea. “Just—maybe don’t mention we’re sleeping together.”
“That’s not typically something I’d broach in a business discussion.” I twirl my fork in a pile of linguine, curious why she’d think it might be. “Where does he think you are now?”
“He knows I cashed in the honeymoon and went on a trip by myself.” She frowns at the sea, watching a bright pair of toucans dip and weave. “Given he couldn’t be bothered to show up for our wedding, I kinda doubt he’s looked into it any further than that.”
“Rest assured, I have no reason to inform him of your whereabouts.”
“I’m not keeping it a secret. I’ll tell him, eventually.” She nibbles her lip. “Know what’s silly?”
“The platypus. The fact that Hawaii has an interstate.” So many other things. “Not what you meant?”
Still chewing her lip, she looks down at her plate. “I’ve spoken with Hayden several times since I got here. Always about the logistics of dividing our assets, the process of uncoupling, and it’s been amicable.”
“I don’t think that’s silly.”
“I hadn’t gotten to the silly part yet.” She pokes at a cherry tomato on the edge of her plate.
“Hayden wouldn’t judge me for coming here.
The man has his faults, but sex shaming isn’t one of them.
He’d never think less of me for sleeping with someone so soon after our split. He wouldn’t get jealous at all.”
“That sounds…fair.” I’m still not hearing the silly part.
“It does, and that’s why I’m embarrassed.
” Camille lifts her eyes and I’m struck by the heartache I see there.
“Some silly little insecure part of me wants to believe that the man I lived with—the man I loved and was ready to marry—would feel something about his former fiancée moving on so quickly.” She must be self-conscious about this admission, since she hurries to fill the short silence.
“I don’t want Hayden to suffer. But I want to be someone he cared about enough to have feelings about our breakup.
I just—” She looks up at the sky, searching for words.
“I want to be wanted . And I never really felt that with him.”
I study her face. This woman, who’s so fucking kind and so generous with her feelings. Does she know how much I want her? I have my own faults, but I like to believe that I’ve spent this past week proving over and over just how desirable I find her.
“That makes sense,” I say softly. “We all want to be wanted.”
“Right, but—” She pokes the tomato again. “It’s ego, I know. And I guess I just don’t want to feel the sting of telling Hayden I’ve spent the past week having the best sex of my life and hearing him say, ‘that’s nice,’ and segue into dividing our water bill.”
My ego swells at the detail she buried in that statement. The best sex of her life? No doubt it’s the same for me, but I wasn’t aware Camille felt likewise.
Focus.
I clear my throat. “I hear what you’re saying,” I tell her. “Having a partner whose passion doesn’t match your own can be terribly painful.” I don’t want to make this about me, but I’m all too familiar with that feeling. “I’m sorry you’ve felt that way in your relationship.”
“That’s the thing, though.” Camille sets down her fork and picks up her water glass. “It never bothered me before. I thought having a no-nonsense, pragmatic partnership was the safest way to forge the lifelong bond of a relationship.”
For once in my life, my mind serves me the exact right thing to say. “Maybe safe isn’t the same thing as happy .”
“You’re right,” she says, dabbing her eyes with a napkin. I didn’t even notice she’d started to cry. “Some fucking therapist I am, huh? That’s such an obvious thing. I can’t believe it never fucking occurred to me.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” I put a hand over hers and feel how her fingers are trembling. “A very wise therapist once told me that everyone makes mistakes.”
Camille sniffles and gives me a watery smile. “She sounds like a real bitch.”
“She’s the kindest, most thoughtful woman I’ve ever met.” I look in her eyes as I say it, so she knows I’m not lying. “Unless, of course, she feels the need to tell her former fiancée that the best sex of her life wasn’t with him. That’s just cruel.”
She laughs and picks up her fork again, drawing her hand out from under mine. “I promise I wouldn’t really say that. I was exaggerating to make a point.”
“I know.” And I love her for that.
Love?
All the blood drains out of my brain.
Of course not love . Just like she said, I’m exaggerating in my mind to make a point.
But now that I’ve thought it, I can’t unthink it.
Am I starting to feel things for Camille?
My palms start to sweat as my brain bangs alarm bells. I pick up my fork, clearing my throat as I try to refocus on lunch. “This linguine is exquisite.”
Camille laughs again, spearing her last bite of rockfish. “You used that word to describe my breasts when we first met. Which do you find more exquisite?”
“No contest,” I say, twirling my noodles through a puddle of sauce. “Your breasts covered in linguine.”
She laughs and lays down her fork on the edge of her plate. “Thanks, Ash Hole.” She crumples her napkin on top of it. “That was delicious. Almost as good as the meals you’ve had Lars dropping off for me.”
“You liked yesterday’s tofu and cous cous with mango dressing?”
“Amazing. He must have made you the same thing?”
“I’ll see if I can get you the recipe.”
“I wish I could thank him myself, but he just leaves the food at the door.”
“I’ve requested he not disturb you.” Clearing my throat, I twist up my last bite of pasta. “I need to tell you something.”
“Oh?” A shimmer of worry shines in her eyes. “Sounds serious.”
“A little.” I still can’t believe that describing my infidelity didn’t send her screaming for the hills. Perhaps this will do it. “I haven’t been honest with you.”
Her posture goes rigid, though she’s trying so hard to look cool. “About?”
“It’s true I’ve been speaking with airline executives about the strike.” I did make an effort, at least. “But I could have tried harder.”
“Ash, you’ve gone above and beyond?—”