Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
As the friendly housekeeper headed off home, silence settled between Camille and Ryan. In the quiet it dawned on her that she and Ryan had spent the better part of three weeks working and living together at her design studio. To all intents and purposes they were already co-existing in their own private bubble.
And now we are doing the same only here at the beach.
She refused to question why she liked the idea of it just being her and Ryan so much. Fearing that if she did, there were some home truths she might have to face. Truths she wasn’t yet ready to uncover.
Camille’s cell buzzed, breaking the silence. She saw the name on the screen and immediately answered it. “Hi Bryce.”
“Hey you. Are you ok? Have you arrived on the island?”
Why does he sound so worried? Oh Merde. I sent him that email.
Following their visit to the event space, Camille had fired off an email to Bryce. It was only after she’d pressed send that it had occurred to her, she’d been a little hasty. Her message might have sounded too much like she was in a heated panic. Telling her cousin that she had to get out of New York City, or she would go mad, hadn’t been the smartest thing she’d done this year.
Camille puffed out her cheeks. I should have called him.
But Bryce in his wisdom had waited a couple of days before responding to her message. He had given her time to decide if she was in dire need of his help or just letting off steam. No doubt Sheila would have kept her boss appraised of all pertinent developments.
“Yeah, I’m alright. I had a bit of a moment of self-doubt, and I didn’t know what to do. Ryan and I have just arrived at Trade Winds , and we’re going to be staying here for the next couple of weeks. Hopefully during that time I can come up with some magic to make my show sparkle. If not, I’m screwed.”
A contemplative silence followed. Bryce was used to dealing with major projects and the problems which could suddenly come out of nowhere. Her cousin was a man of answers, but he also knew how to manage people, and to let others find their own solutions.
“Ok, that sounds like a plan. What do you need from me?”
She’d been sitting on the floor of her design studio last night packing up a box of muslin fabric, in preparation for making toiles, when the reality of what she might be able to achieve in the next two weeks had hit her. The basic career and day wear pieces in the collection would have to remain as they were, which only left room for her to add one or two statement pieces. Pieces which needed to speak to the Cinderella in the City theme.
As soon as she got back to NYC, she’d have to deliver those pinned up muslin toiles to her sample maker and hope he could deliver the fully made up pieces back to her in record time. Then she would have to arrange a meeting with the store buyers for Saks and get their approval to add them to the collection. And then pray really hard that the manufacturers could squeeze those extra pieces into their production schedule.
Camille swallowed deep. And in amongst all of that she had to try and stay sane.
“I’ve paid for the hire of the event space and all the other current fees. Now I just need to get on with clearing my head and coming up with new designs. Along with a show concept. I have Ryan with me; and I can use him to bounce ideas off.”
“Are you getting an event designer for the staging? If you need some help with that, I can always call in some favors.”
She smiled at his words. Bryce was the most connected person she’d ever met. He knew everyone.
An event designer would likely come loaded with their own opinions about the runway show. And while it was a tempting idea. Her heart said no. She wouldn’t run the risk of working with someone like her father.
This is my creative work. I have to own it.
She also knew herself. Knew that being a creative, she found comfort in control. If Ryan could handle the logistics, she would manage the rest.
“Thanks for offering Bryce, I really appreciate it. I’m going to focus on a couple of things over the next two weeks, then look at what else we might need.”
Ending the call, Camille set her phone on the kitchen counter.
“You and Bryce are close, aren’t you?” asked Ryan.
Camille was close to all her cousins, but her American relatives had always seemed to understand her better than anyone else. “Yes, we are. He’s the one person who had my back when I left France.”
“That must make things awkward between his father and yours.”
“No, they have an understanding. It’s my mother who is always trying to get Edward to pressure me into going home. But he knows better than to let his cousin tell him what to do.”
Ryan’s face was a study of confusion, and Camille held back a smile. She knew exactly why he was perplexed. If Bryce’s father was a Royal and her mother who was his cousin was also a Royal, and Camille’s father was a Royal, then how did that all work?
“Um…”
“Let me clear things up for you, Ryan. When someone marries into the Royal family, they change their last name to Royal. Male or female, it doesn’t matter. So when my father married my mother, he became Francois Royal. Don’t ask why, it’s just how things have always worked in our family. I suppose it’s the one sure way to ensure the wealth remains within the Royal name.”
She could imagine what Ryan was thinking right now. Something about the super wealthy and their strange traditions.
I wonder if he thinks I’m also a bit odd.
She’d be crushed if he thought he could never fall for someone like her. That their different backgrounds set them too far apart.
Perhaps this time on the island was the perfect opportunity for her and Ryan to find a way to meet in the middle. She’d work to get him more comfortable with having nice things. While she’d ask him how to read a recipe and make a meal.
Picking up her glass, Camille downed the last of her lemonade. The day had gotten warm. “I think I’ll go upstairs and change.”
“Good idea. I might do the same.”
When they reached the second floor of the house, Paul’s earlier words to Ryan about privacy and hearts being revealed suddenly all made sense. The well-meaning house keeper had put both their bags in the master bedroom.
Yep, he did figure we were a couple.
“Ah, let me take this,” said Ryan, picking up his well-travelled suitcase. “I don’t know where Paul got the idea that you and I would be sharing a room from. I didn’t say anything to him.”
You and I keep stealing glances at one another so it wouldn’t have been a great leap of the imagination.
He went to move toward the door. She should let him go. But the universe. Fate. Call it whatever you like, compelled her to act. “Don’t go.”
Ryan met her gaze. The hunger in his eyes had to match that which she sensed burned brightly in her own. “Camille,” he whispered, setting down his suitcase.
This was dangerous. Reckless. It could all end in heart break and disaster. But apart from breathing, the only thing she needed right now was him.
“Just tell me no, and that will be the end of it,” she said.
A pulse began between her legs as he moved closer. “And what if I don’t want it to be a no, Camille? What if it’s been yes since the very first day we met? What if despite all the sensible words and thoughts in the world, it will always be yes between you and me.”
“Then kiss me.”
A warm hand brushed over her cheek, followed by his soft lips. She trembled at his gentle yet manly touch. Ryan cupped her face and lowered his lips to hers. Camille let out a groan of unsated need.
And then he claimed her mouth. A deep kiss which had her arching her back, pressing her body against his. Their mouths tangled together, messy, greedy. Weeks of pent up desire threatened to engulf her.
Oh god, please. Let this be happening.
His hand gripped her ass as he pulled her hard to him. His firm erection pressed into her belly. Any moment now, and the last shreds of her sanity would be ripped away and Camille would beg Ryan to take her. To lower her to the bed and claim every inch of her body.
A loud bash on the front door broke the haze of lust between them. Ryan pulled back from the kiss. Whoever was downstairs was mighty keen to get their attention.
“Wait here,” said Ryan.
He disappeared out the bedroom door, and his footsteps echoed in the hallway as he headed downstairs to answer the door.
Male voices drifted up from down below. Whoever had been knocking was now coming into the house.
Camille took a moment to gather her scattered thoughts. The visitor had interrupted her and Ryan’s passionate kiss. And maybe, despite her aching unsated need, that wasn’t a bad thing. Because if they hadn’t been interrupted, there was every chance that right now she’d be tearing at Ryan’s clothes and telling him in no uncertain terms that she wanted to fuck him.
After that he’d be getting a lesson in all the filthiest sexy French words.