18. Jacob
Eighteen
Jacob
We approach a group of people, several of whom are on my board of directors.
“Gentlemen, this is Camryn Fontaine,” I say, keeping my tone smooth, neutral. I don’t offer a label or an explanation for who she is.
It’s a sea of curious smiles, eyes flickering with surprise, with interest. Richard Langley, a man I’ve known for the past ten years, extends his hand.
“A pleasure, Miss Fontaine. You…must be new? To the Toronto social scene?” I don’t think he means it to come out as a question, but he can’t seem to disguise is curiosity.
Camryn shakes his hand, her smile a little shy but not lacking in warmth. “Not exactly new, no. I did grow up in Toronto. I’ve just never been to something like this before.” She gestures around us with her champagne glass.
“Ah,” says Langley. He’s staring at my girl’s tits. I’ll have to fire him, won’t I? I shift my weight and clear my throat, watching as Langley’s eyes dart back up to Camryn’s face. “Well, you’re a welcome addition.” He shoots me a look that falls just short of contrite.
I contemplate breaking his fingers.
But I don’t. I drink my champagne and introduce Camryn to the others.
Once we’ve spent an appropriate amount of time on tedious small talk, we move on to another group of people, this one primarily made up of women who happen to be the wives and girlfriends of many of the men we were just speaking to.
The reception we get here is different. The smiles are cold, the interest far more calculating.
One of them, a blonde with sharp cheekbones and angular shoulders gives Camryn a once over that drops the air temperature a solid ten degrees.
“Camryn, this is Eleanor Whitmore. She and her husband own half of the commercial real estate in the city.”
Eleanor’s lips curl in what I think is supposed to be a smile, but veers more towards sneer. She doesn’t say hello. Doesn’t offer her hand. She stares at Camryn. “And what do you do?”
Camryn stands up straighter, not flinching away from Eleanor’s icy appraisal. “I’m currently at U of T, doing my MBA.”
Eleanor lets out a high pitched noise that I think is supposed to be a haughty laugh of some kind. “A student. I see. Although I suppose at your age, what else could you possibly be?” Eleanor sips her champagne.
Camryn just tilts her head. “I guess time will tell, won’t it?” she asks sweetly, and I swear my cock thickens at how she’s handling this. I love her confidence. I love that she’s not wilting under the attention. I love that she’s here, on my arm, not taking this rich bitch’s shit.
Eleanor stares icily at Camryn, who just sips her champagne as though she’s thoroughly enjoying this conversation. Then, her lips purse. “What did you say your last name was?” she asks.
“I didn’t. It’s Fontaine.”
Eleanor’s eyebrow arches. She and Sylvie were friends when she and I were married. I wish I’d remembered that tidbit before steering us over here.
“Any relation to a Sylvie Fontaine?” she asks, eyes bouncing back and forth between us. My palms prickle with the threat of sweat.
Camryn’s lips roll inward and I watch all of her earlier confidence drain out of her. “Um, yes. Uh.” She glances over at me, eyes wide, cheeks pale.
“Camryn is Sylvie’s daughter,” I say easily, resting a hand on the small of her back.
Eleanor’s eyes flash and she sits up straighter. “I wouldn’t have expected that of you, Jacob. Very poor taste.” She says each word as though it’s the most delicious thing she’s ever tasted. I can feel the tension radiating off of Camryn as she stands stock still beside me.
“Hardly,” I say, keeping my voice casual, almost disinterested. I want things out in the open, so I have to show Camryn that we can navigate these situations. “Sylvie and I divorced years ago. Camryn came back into my life very recently, and we found we had a connection.”
“I’m sure you did,” she says, eating this up.
“Nice seeing you, Eleanor,” I say, leading Camryn away.
But before we can discuss what just happened, I get pulled into a conversation with a potential investor, some tech billionaire from Silicon Valley who wants to pick my brain about expanding into the Canadian market.
I keep Camryn close, my hand never leaving the small of her back.
But as I humour the tech bro, the crowd shifts, people move, and suddenly she’s a few feet away from me.
I’m not even pretending to listen as I watch three men, all far younger than me, all dressed in expensive suits, stare at my girl with open hunger.
One of them says something that pulls a laugh from Camryn, and I watch the emeralds glint against her skin as she tips her head back slightly.
I clench my jaw and nod, making non-committal noises as I pretend to listen.
Off to the side, I see Eleanor holding court, her eyes gleaming as she tells a group of rapt listeners all about how Jacob Brooks is fucking his former stepdaughter. Every once in a while, her eyes cut towards Camryn, then me, then back to the gossip mongers.
The tech billionaire drones on about interest rates, but I don’t hear a word.
My focus is on the way the tallest man in the group surrounding Camryn leans in, his hand brushing her arm as he gestures.
He pretends it’s accidental, but I know it’s not.
Not when his eyes dip to her cleavage immediately after.
Cammie’s smile falters and her eyes search me out.
That’s enough of that.
I clap the tech bro on the shoulder, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Feel free to call my office next week to set up a meeting.” I’m not interested, but it’s the easiest out, with the added bonus that it doesn’t make me look insane.
I step forward, my hand sliding around Camryn’s waist, and without a glance at the men leering at her, I pull her toward the dance floor. She leans into me, all warm and soft and mine.
“Jake,” she breathes, looking up at me.
“Dance with me.”
She blinks, her lips parting, and I already know what she’s going to say.
That it’s not a good idea, that we’ve already attracted too much attention, but I bend down and give her a quick, firm kiss on the lips to silence her argument.
I lead her to the center of the dance floor, where a few other couples sway to the slow, romantic jazz standard.
I pull her against me, one hand on the small of her back, the other cradling her hand against my chest.
She’s trembling slightly, and I can feel the weight of the evening pressing down on her. The stares, the whispers, Eleanor’s obvious (and correct) assumption about just who Cammie is to me.
“You’re shaking,” I say softly, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Are you okay?”
She lets out a rough exhale, then laughs softly. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I feel…on edge. Unnerved. Like I want to be here, with you, but I also don’t belong.”
“You feel like you don’t belong because you’re in a room full of vultures pretending to be civilized people, and you’re not like that.
It’s one of the many things I love about you.
” Electricity goes through me as I say the words.
They make me feel energized, alive. “And you handled Eleanor perfectly.”
Her fingers tighten around mine as we move to the music. “She was awful. And she totally knew. About us. About me.”
“If not this, Eleanor would’ve found something else to crucify us for.” My voice is low, firm. “She doesn’t get to decide what’s right or wrong for us.”
Camryn tilts her head back, her eyes searching mine. “But what if people think it’s wrong that your former stepdaughter is your girlfriend?”
“Stop.” I cut her off, squeezing her hand gently. “I don’t care what they think. I don’t care if they whisper or judge or call us names. The only thing I care about is you. The only thing that matters is how I feel when I’m with you.”
Her breath stutters and she bites her lip. “And how’s that?”
“Like I finally have something worth living for.” My hand slides up her back, my fingers tangling in the soft hair at the nape of her neck. “Like I’d burn the whole fucking world down just to have you. Keep you.”
Her eyes glisten as she looks up at me. “I love you, Jake. But I don’t want being your girlfriend to cost you—“
“What if you weren’t just my girlfriend?” The words spill out before I can stop them. “What if you were my wife?”
Her eyes widen, and her lips part in shock. “What?”
“I’m tired of secrets, Cammie.” I lift my hand, and my thumb brushes her cheekbone, tracing the rosy flush spreading across her skin. “I’ll buy you a ring tomorrow. I’ll stand in the middle of this goddamn ballroom and tell everyone you’re mine. No more hiding.”
She stares at me, her chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. “You can’t just—you can’t say things like that. Jake. You can’t mean it.”
“Why not?” I lean down, my forehead resting against hers. “It’s the truth.”
A shaky laugh escapes her, her fingers curling into the fabric of my jacket. “You’re insane.”
“Quite possibly. I often feel like I’m losing my mind around you.” I pull back just enough to meet her eyes. “But I’m serious.”
She doesn’t answer, not with words. Instead, she presses closer, her body melting against mine as we sway to the music. The emeralds at her throat catch the light with every movement, and my mind’s already whirling with what kind of ring I’m going to buy her.
I think back to the last time we danced like this, years ago in my living room.
She was just a girl then, heartbroken and lost, and I was the man who held her together.
I loved her then, in a way that was careful, controlled.
But this—this is different. This love hungry and possessive and all consuming.
“I want to marry you, Cammie. I want to give you everything I have. I want to have a family and a life with you. This isn’t the proposal I envisioned, but you need to know how I feel.
You’re not just some dirty fling. You’re not a taboo hookup, a secret I’m ashamed of.
I love you. And love doesn’t belong in the shadows.
It belongs out in the light, for everyone to see. ”
Now she’s crying in my arms, right in the middle of the dance floor, clinging to me, shaking, nodding.
“Yes, Jake. I’ll marry you. We’ll shock the world,” she adds with a small giggle.
“My little secret no longer.”
She shakes her head, her cheeks pink. “No. Just yours.”