Chapter 15 Camille
FIFTEEN
CAMILLE
Camille curled her bare feet beneath her on the wicker chaise lounge, the soft silk of her pajamas whispering against her skin.
The morning sun warmed her face, and the rhythmic whisper of the bay against the shore filled the quiet air.
She cradled a steaming mug of tea between her palms, but the real warmth came from within—a deep, humming contentment that had everything to do with the bond humming just beneath her skin.
Thirty-six hours, she thought, a secret smile touching her lips.
Just a day and a half since the mate bond had clicked into place with a finality that still sent shivers through her. She’d known with absolute certainty she wanted it, wanted him, but nothing could have prepared her for the reality of the connection.
It was a constant, gentle hum in her body—not intrusive, but intimate.
When Leander felt a flicker of protective satisfaction, she tasted it on her tongue.
When he woke up next to her, his morning desire for her had echoed in her own body.
It wasn’t scary. It was… profound. It was the feeling of a door she hadn’t known was locked swinging open to a room flooded with light.
The empty, emotionally-deprived spaces inside her—the hollow places carved by years of performing for an audience that never truly saw her—were filled now.
Not just filled, but overflowing. She felt seen in her entirety.
And instead of feeling exposed, she felt cherished.
Friday night replayed in her mind like a favorite film.
After their bond completion, he’d led her to a private cove, a blanket spread over sand still warm from the day.
Under a sky dusted with a million stars, they’d shared a picnic.
But the food was soon forgotten. The only thing that mattered was the invisible cord between them, thrumming with shared emotion and a desire so deep it felt ancient.
Making love under that endless sky, with the bond amplifying every touch, every sigh, and every peak…
it hadn’t just been physical. It had been a soul-deep awakening.
He’d told her afterward that the bond would only grow stronger.
Stronger?
Camille took a sip of tea, her body humming at the mere memory. She could hardly comprehend more. The intensity was already a live wire in her body. If it grew any more potent, she might just dissolve into pure sensation.
Saturday had been a gentle, sun-drenched contrast. Hours spent with Leander’s mother Helena, who had welcomed her with an open, perceptive warmth that felt nothing like her own mother’s calculated affection.
They’d talked about gardens, architecture, and the subtle politics of the pride.
Helena’s insights were sharp, her empathy genuine, and Camille found herself confessing her fears about the upcoming welcome party with an ease that startled her.
“They’ll love you,” Helena had said, patting her hand. “Not because you’re his fated mate, but because you’re you. You challenge him. You see him. The pride respects that.”
The idea of a party in her honor—a celebration of her joining this lion family—still felt surreal.
In her old world, acceptance was a transaction.
Here, it was being offered as a gift. She almost wished they could stay forever in this protective bubble on the pride lands, where the only expectations were to be happy and safe.
A familiar possessive warmth blossomed in her chest, followed by a flicker of amusement. She didn’t need to turn around.
“You’re thinking too loudly,” Leander’s voice rumbled from the doorway behind her, rich with sleep and alpha satisfaction. “I could feel the whirlwind all the way upstairs.”
She smiled into her tea. “Is that a complaint?”
The sound of his bare feet on the stone tiles preceded him.
He came to stand behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders, his thumbs stroking the base of her neck.
His touch sent a cascade of pleasure through the bond, confirming the connection.
He was wearing only low-slung pajama pants, and the heat of him seeped through her thin silk top.
“Never,” he murmured, bending to press a kiss to her head. His scent—spice, cedar, and pure male—wrapped around her. “But you should be thinking about what you’re wearing to your party today. Not about living here forever.”
She leaned back into his solid chest, a laugh escaping her. “You felt that too?”
“I can feel everything, remember?” he said, his voice lowering to a possessive growl by her ear.
“I can feel your wish to stay. The flicker of nerves about the party. The way your body responds when I touch you.” He demonstrated, his hands sliding down her arms, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Especially that.”
“It’s intense,” she admitted, tilting her head. “It’s more than I ever let myself dream of.”
One hand came up to cup her jaw, turning her face toward his. His green eyes were serious, the morning light catching gold flecks in their depths. “You deserve more than dreams, Camille. You deserve the world.”
He leaned down and kissed her, slow and deep, and the bond between them lit up like a circuit completing. It wasn’t just his desire she felt, but a ferocious, tender love.
Mine. My mate. My future.
When he pulled back, his expression had shifted to that of a CEO reviewing a critical plan.
“The party’s at noon. We still have hours.
Your first priority is enjoying the rest of your tea.
Your second is deciding if you want to wear the emerald dress or the silver one.
Your third…” He traced her lower lip with his thumb, his gaze turning molten.
“Well, let’s wait until after breakfast for the third priority. ”
“Is that an order, Alpha?” she teased.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “It’s a strong suggestion. You might need some energy for the third priority.” He straightened, his hands leaving her shoulders. “I’m going to make breakfast now.”
He disappeared into the house, and Camille let out a contented sigh. The warmth he left behind lingered, both on her skin and in her soul. She looked out at the bay, the water sparkling under the sun, and let the truth settle into her bones.
This was her life now. Not a performance. Not a transaction. A connection so deep it rewired her very understanding of intimacy and belonging. She took another sip of tea, the warmth spreading through her, inside and out.
Breakfast on the sun-drenched veranda was a study in easy contentment. Helena passed a bowl of fresh berries across the linen-clad table, her green eyes alight with maternal anticipation.
“Everything’s prepared. The caterers will be here soon, and the garden looks magnificent. Are you feeling excited for today, Camille? Noon can’t come soon enough for me.”
Camille swallowed a bite of perfectly ripe strawberry, the sweetness a contrast to the faint flutter in her stomach. “It’s… a lot. In a wonderful way. A party just for… this.” She gestured vaguely between herself and Leander, who sat at the head of the table.
Leander’s hand found her knee beneath the table, a warm, grounding weight.
“There is nothing to be nervous about.” His tone brooked no argument, a soft alpha command.
“Everyone will love you. They’ve waited a long time to see their Alpha claim his mate.
Today isn’t about scrutiny. It’s a celebration about family. ”
The word family resonated differently here. It didn’t feel like obligation or strategy. Through the bond, she felt the truth of his words—a steady, confident warmth that had no room for doubt. This wouldn’t be a gala of polished masks and whispered calculations. This would be authentic.
The realization was a liberation.
Hours later, after a breakfast that stretched into languid conversation and a shower that had been anything but languid—steam, slick skin, and Leander pinning her against cool tile with a growl that vibrated through the bond—Camille descended the grand staircase.
The emerald silk of her gown whispered around her legs, a column of liquid jade that made her eyes shine like deep water.
Beside her, Leander was a study in controlled power in a crisp white shirt, the top buttons undone to reveal a glimpse of his tanned throat and the stark line of his scar.
His black slacks were tailored to perfection, and his gaze as it swept over her was pure, unadulterated heat.
Helena waited at the bottom, a serene smile on her face. “The party is already lively outside. They’re very eager.”
Leander offered his arm, and Camille took it, her fingers curling into the solid muscle beneath his sleeve. He led her through the sprawling estate, the sound of laughter and music growing louder until they stepped through the French doors into the back gardens.
The scene stole her breath. A hundred people or more mingled under strings of lanterns that would glow at dusk.
Long tables groaned with food that smelled of herbs and smoke from a roasting pit.
Children darted between legs, and the laughter was full-throated, genuine.
It was chaos, but it was a warm, welcoming chaos.
As they entered, the crowd’s attention shifted as one. Camille instinctively braced for the assessing stares of her old life, the cold calculus of social valuation.
It never came.
Instead, faces broke into wide, unreserved smiles. Then the applause started—not polite, but robust and joyful, accompanied by whistles and cheers. The wave of acceptance was so tangible and so warm, it felt like stepping into sunlight after a lifetime in a cold and dark place.
This is what belonging feels like, she thought, a lump forming in her throat.
The next few hours were a blur of handshakes, hugs from formidable lionesses who squeezed her with surprising gentleness, and conversations that ranged from architecture to the best fishing spots on the bay.
No one asked about her family’s portfolio.
No one mentioned Damian Cross. They asked about her.
Her opinions, her experiences, and how she liked the Hamptons.
She never once reached for the polished, placating persona of Camille St. James.
She was simply Camille, Leander’s mate, and it was more than enough.
She was deep in conversation with Helena about restoring a vintage pergola when she felt him approach. A magnetic pull through the bond that had her turning before he touched her.
Leander stood there, his usual unshakable composure touched by a visible tension. The alpha stillness in him was pronounced, his green eyes blazing with an intensity that made her pulse skip.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her voice low.
He gave a single, sharp nod, but the nervous energy radiating from him was at odds with the gesture. He took her hand, and the crowd around them seemed to sense the shift in the air, conversations hushing into a curious silence.
Then, without a word, Leander went down on one knee on the soft grass.
The world narrowed to the space between them. The music faded. Camille’s breath caught, her free hand flying to her mouth. Helena’s soft gasp was the only other sound she registered.
He pulled a small, black velvet box from his pocket. When he opened it, the sunlight caught the central stone—a square-cut emerald, deep and flawless, flanked by glittering baguette diamonds. It was bold. Unapologetic. Perfect.
“Camille.” His voice, usually so commanding, was rough with emotion. “I know the world would call this fast. They deal in calendars. We operate on a different timeline. We have a bond that defies logic. A love that feels like my first full breath in twelve years.”
He held her gaze, his alpha certainty melding with a vulnerable honesty that made her heart ache.
“You are my fated mate, my equal, the brilliant, breathtaking woman who looked at my damaged soul and saw a man worth loving. I don’t want to wait.
I want every day, every challenge, every victory, with you at my side. As my partner. As my wife.”
He took the ring from the box, the green stone glowing. “Will you marry me? Share my life, my pride, and every single tomorrow with me?”
Tears spilled over Camille’s lashes, hot and unchecked.
The old fears of recklessness with her heart and of love being a trap were utterly incinerated in this moment, in the absolute rightness screaming through the bond and her own heart.
This wasn’t a transaction. It was a claiming, and a surrender, and a promise, all offered freely by the one man who had never asked her to be anything but herself.
She didn’t hesitate. She was done hesitating.
“Yes.” The word was a sob and a laugh. “Yes, Leander. A thousand times, yes.”
The gardens erupted. The cheer was deafening, a roar of approval that shook the lanterns above them.
But Camille barely heard it. Leander was on his feet now, sliding the cool, heavy ring onto her finger, and then his arms were around her.
He kissed her, deep and consuming, a brand of possession and devotion that she felt in her very bones.
She kissed him back with equal fervor, her arms locked around his neck, tasting her own tears and his fierce love.
She knew with every fiber of her being that this proposal was the most brilliantly, perfectly right thing that had ever happened to her. The future wasn’t a daunting blank page anymore. It was a dazzling infinite canvas, and she couldn’t wait to paint it with him.