10. Camille
— ? —
Camille
I show Nathan the text in the morning.
He reads it twice, his expression shifting from confusion to cold fury. When he looks up, his jaw is set in a hard line.
“He’s bluffing.”
“Is he?” I pull my knees to my chest, suddenly feeling exposed despite the sheets wrapped around me. “He’s desperate, Nathan. Desperate people do desperate things. And if he convinces enough people that we were having an affair before the divorce-”
“Then what? People will gossip? They’re already gossiping.” Nathan sets down my phone and cups my face in his hands. “Listen to me. We know the truth. Everyone who matters knows the truth. I never touched you while you were married. Never even let myself consider it.”
“But you wanted to.”
“Wanting isn’t the same as doing. And wanting someone isn’t a crime.” His thumbs trace my cheekbones. “Jared is sitting in his apartment with an ankle monitor, facing felony charges, watching his whole life collapse. He’s got nothing left except trying to drag us down with him. Don’t let him.”
“So what do we do?”
“We live our lives.” Nathan’s voice is fierce. “We refuse to hide. We refuse to act like we’ve done something wrong. And we let him choke on his own poison.”
***
The hospital charity gala is two weeks away.
Nathan brings it up casually over dinner - terrible coffee in hand, because some things never change - but I can see the calculation behind his eyes.
“It’s black tie. The whole hospital board will be there, plus donors, plus half the social elite of the city.” He pauses. “I want you to come with me.”
“As your date?”
“As the woman I’m in love with.” He sets down his mug. “Publicly. Proudly. No more hiding, no more sneaking around like we have something to be ashamed of.”
“Nathan, if Jared’s planning to spread rumors-”
“Then let’s beat him to it. Let’s walk into that gala together and show everyone exactly who we are. Not the cheaters he wants to paint us as. Just two people who found each other after a lot of pain and aren’t going to apologize for being happy.”
The idea terrifies me. And exhilarates me.
“People will stare.”
“Let them.”
“They’ll talk.”
“They were always going to talk.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “But they’ll also see a woman who survived betrayal and came out stronger. A woman who refused to let her ex-husband’s lies define her. A woman who is absolutely fucking stunning in formal wear.”
A surprised laugh escapes me. “You don’t even know what I’m going to wear.”
“Doesn’t matter. You could show up in a burlap sack and still be the most beautiful woman in the room.” His thumb traces circles on my palm. “Come with me, Camille. Let’s give them something to really talk about.”
***
The dress is emerald green.
I find it in a boutique downtown, tucked between more conventional options in black and navy. The moment I see it, something clicks into place.
Backless. Floor-length. A neckline that hints without revealing. The kind of dress that says I am not hiding. I am not ashamed. I am here, and you will remember me.
Maya comes over to help me get ready, armed with champagne and a professional-grade makeup kit she claims she “borrowed” from a friend.
“Holy shit.” She stops dead when she sees the dress laid out on the bed. “That is a statement.”
“Too much?”
“It’s perfect.” She grins, popping the champagne cork. “Jared’s going to lose his mind when he sees photos of you in this.”
“I don’t care what Jared thinks.”
“Sure you don’t.” But she’s smiling as she pours. “That’s why you picked the most fuck-you dress in the entire city.”
I can’t argue with that.
***
Nathan’s reaction when I emerge from the bedroom makes the whole thing worth it.
He’s standing by the front door in a classic black tux, checking his phone, and when he looks up, his jaw literally drops. The phone slips from his fingers. He doesn’t even notice.
“Jesus Christ, Camille.”
“Good Jesus Christ or bad Jesus Christ?”
“The kind of Jesus Christ that makes me want to skip the gala entirely and spend the next six hours worshiping every inch of you.” He crosses to me in three strides, his hands finding my waist, pulling me close. “You’re breathtaking.”
“You clean up pretty well yourself, Dr. Cole.”
“I’m serious.” His eyes roam over me, the dress, the diamonds at my throat (his gift, delivered that morning with a note that said For the woman who brought me back to life), the careful makeup Maya spent an hour perfecting. “I’m going to spend the whole night watching other men want you.”
“And?”
“And reminding myself that you’re coming home with me.”
I rise on my tiptoes to kiss him, careful not to smudge my lipstick. “Always.”
***
The gala is held at the Grand Meridian, a historic hotel downtown that’s been the site of society events for nearly a century. Crystal chandeliers. Marble floors. The kind of old-money elegance that makes you stand up straighter just walking through the door.
Heads turn the moment we enter.
Everyone knows who I am. Who Nathan is. What Jared did. The whispers start immediately, a low hum that follows us across the lobby and into the ballroom.
Nathan’s hand stays on my lower back the entire time. Warm. Steady. Claiming.
“People are staring,” I murmur.
“Let them.”
“They’re definitely talking.”
“Good. Saves us the trouble of making an announcement.”
A distinguished older man approaches, silver-haired, expensively dressed, with the confident bearing of someone used to being in charge. Nathan tenses slightly beside me.
“Dr. Cole.” The man extends his hand. “I don’t believe I’ve met your companion.”
“Dr. Morrison, this is Camille Harrison. Camille, Dr. Morrison is the Chief Medical Officer.”
“Ms. Harrison.” Dr. Morrison’s eyes crinkle with what looks like genuine warmth. “I’ve heard a great deal about you. Nathan’s been much happier these past few months, and I suspect you’re the reason.”
“I like to think I’ve contributed.”
“Modest as well as lovely.” He turns to Nathan. “Don’t let this one get away, Cole. They don’t make them like this anymore.”
“Trust me, sir. I know exactly what I have.”
The exchange sets the tone for the evening. Despite my fears, most of the interactions are positive, curious, certainly, but not hostile. People seem more interested in Nathan’s obvious happiness than in dissecting the scandal that preceded it.
It helps that I’m good at this. Five years of navigating Jared’s social world gave me a master class in working a room. By the end of the cocktail hour, I’ve collected business cards from three people interested in my event planning services and two gallery owners asking about my art.
Nathan watches me work with an expression I can’t quite read.
“What?” I ask, returning to his side with fresh champagne.
“You’re magnificent.” His voice is low, meant only for me. “Watching you out there, handling everyone - I forget sometimes how brilliant you are. How capable.”
“Jared never let me be capable. He wanted me ornamental.”
“Jared was a fool.” Nathan takes my champagne, sets it on a nearby table, and pulls me toward the dance floor. “Dance with me.”
***
The orchestra is playing something slow and romantic. Nathan holds me close, one hand on my lower back, the other clasped with mine, and we move together like we’ve been doing this for years.
“People are still watching,” I murmur against his shoulder.
“I know.”
“We’re giving them a show.”
“That’s the point.” He pulls back enough to look at me, and the heat in his eyes makes my breath catch. “I want everyone in this room to know exactly who you belong to.”
“Belong to? That’s very possessive of you, Dr. Cole.”
“I’m feeling possessive.” His hand slides lower on my back, fingers brushing the bare skin above my dress.
“I’ve been watching men stare at you all night.
Some of them I know. Some of them I operate on.
And all I can think about is taking you home and making you scream loud enough to forget anyone else exists. ”
Heat pools low in my belly. “Is that a promise?”
“It’s a guarantee.”
The song ends. Nathan dips me, slow and deliberate, and then - in front of everyone, in full view of the city’s elite - he kisses me.
Not a polite peck. A real kiss. The kind that leaves no doubt about our relationship, our passion, our complete lack of shame.
When he pulls me upright, the room is silent. Then a smattering of applause breaks out, started, I notice, by Dr. Morrison.
“Now they know,” Nathan says against my ear. “Now everyone knows. You’re mine. And I’m not hiding it anymore.”
***
We barely make it through the apartment door.
The gala energy - the claiming, the public declaration, the adrenaline of being seen - transforms into something urgent between us. Something uncontainable.
Nathan pins me against the wall, still in his tux, my dress crushed between us.
“I’ve been thinking about this all night.” His mouth trails fire down my neck. “Watching you charm every person in that room. Watching every man there wish he was me.”
“They can wish all they want.” I grab his lapels, pulling him closer. “I only want you.”
“Damn right you do.”
His hands find the hidden zipper at my side. The dress falls away, pooling at my feet in a whisper of emerald silk. I’m left in nothing but heels and the diamond necklace.
“Christ.” His voice is wrecked. “You weren’t wearing anything underneath?”
“The dress didn’t allow for it.”
“You walked into a room full of people completely naked under that dress?”
“Technically, the dress was covering-”
He silences me with a kiss so thorough it makes my knees buckle.
What follows is frantic, desperate, five years of wanting concentrated into a single night.
He takes me against the wall, my legs wrapped around his waist, his tux pants shoved down just enough.
Then on the dining table, scattering papers and mail neither of us cares about.
Then, finally, in bed, slower this time, more deliberate, his mouth mapping every inch of my body like he’s memorizing me for later.
Afterward, tangled in sheets, I trace the planes of his chest in the darkness.
“I never knew it could be like this,” I admit.
“Like what?”
“Equal. Passionate.” I search for the right words. “Like being wanted is a gift instead of a burden. Like I’m allowed to take up space.”
Nathan’s arm tightens around me. “You’re allowed to take up as much space as you want. I’ll always make room for you.”
“Jared used to make me feel small. Like I should be grateful he chose me. Like wanting things for myself was selfish.”
“Jared was a coward who needed to diminish you to feel big.” Nathan tips my chin up, forcing me to meet his eyes. “You’re not small, Camille. You never were. You were just trapped with someone too threatened by your light to let you shine.”
Tears prick my eyes. “How do you always know exactly what to say?”
“I pay attention.” He kisses my forehead, soft and sweet. “It’s easy to say the right thing when you actually see the person you’re talking to.”
***
The next morning, the tabloid article hits.
I find it while Nathan’s in the shower, scrolling through my phone with coffee in hand. The headline makes my stomach drop.
“Surgeon Steals Best Friend’s Wife: Inside the Scandalous Triangle Rocking High Society”
The article is vicious. Anonymous sources, obviously Jared, claim Nathan and I were having an affair for “months, possibly years” before I filed for divorce.
That Jared’s infidelity was justified retaliation for discovering us together.
That I’m a gold-digger who jumped from one wealthy man to the next.
There are photos from the gala. Me in the emerald dress. Nathan’s hand on my back. The kiss on the dance floor.
“Camille?” Nathan emerges from the bathroom, towel around his waist, and stops when he sees my expression. “What’s wrong?”
I hand him the phone without a word.
He reads. His jaw tightens. When he looks up, his eyes are blazing.
“This is complete fabrication.”
“I know.”
“We could sue. Defamation, libel - Diane would have a field day.”
“Would it matter?” My voice is tired. “The story’s already out. People are already reading it. By the time any lawsuit made it through the courts, the damage would be done.”
“Then what do we do?”
I think about everything I’ve survived in the past year. The betrayal. The divorce. The trial. My family choosing Alexis over me.
This is nothing. This is just noise.
“We live our lives,” I say finally. “Just like you said. We refuse to hide. We refuse to act like we’ve done something wrong. And we let the people who know us, who actually matter, see the truth.”
Nathan crosses to me, pulling me into his arms.
“Have I mentioned lately that you’re extraordinary?”
“You could mention it more often.”
“You’re extraordinary.” He kisses my temple. “You’re brave and brilliant and I love you more every single day.”
“I love you too.” I lean into him, letting his warmth steady me. “Even if you’re apparently a ‘home-wrecking surgeon with a history of predatory behavior.’”
“They called me predatory?”
“Paragraph four.”
“Wow. That’s almost impressive.” He pulls back, grinning. “Want to know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think Jared just handed us a gift. Everyone who reads that article is going to wonder what’s true. And when they see us together - happy, stable, obviously in love - they’re going to realize the answer is ‘none of it.’”
“You’re very optimistic.”
“I’m realistic.” His gaze doesn’t waver. “The truth always comes out eventually. All we have to do is keep being us.”