Chapter 7
Camila
I was currently engaged in warfare with a piece of Spanx that was determined to cut off circulation to my vital organs, and I was losing.
"Just breathe," I whispered to my reflection in the full-length mirror of Cameron’s guest room. "Beauty is pain. And if you pass out, at least you’ll look snatched."
Tonight was The Date.
Not a fake date for the scouts. Not a study session disguised as torture. A real, honest-to-god date. Or at least, that’s what Cameron had called it when he left this morning.
“Be ready at seven. Wear something warm. We’re going out.”
He hadn't said where. He hadn't said why. He had just issued the command in that low, rumbly morning voice that made my toes curl, and then left for the rink.
I smoothed the fabric of my sweater dress—a cream cashmere number that hugged every curve and stopped mid-thigh. I paired it with sheer black tights and my favorite knee-high suede boots. I added a camel coat and a beanie with a faux-fur pompom.
I looked like a Hallmark movie heroine, if the heroine was secretly terrified she was falling in love with the Grinch.
I checked my phone. 6:58 PM.
Two minutes. Cameron Vance was never late.
I walked out into the living room. The penthouse was quiet. It always smelled like him now—clean, masculine, with that underlying note of sandalwood. It was a scent that had started to signal "safety" to my nervous system.
At exactly 7:00 PM, the front door unlocked.
Cameron walked in.
He stopped in the foyer, shaking snow off his shoulders. He was wearing dark jeans, heavy boots, and a black peacoat over a grey sweater. He looked devastatingly handsome and dangerously casual.
He looked up and saw me.
He froze. His hand paused on the scarf he was unwinding from his neck.
His eyes swept over me, starting at the pompom on my hat and traveling slowly down to my boots. It wasn't the lecherous look of the guys at the bar. It was a look of appreciation. Of ownership.
"You look..." He cleared his throat. " warm."
"Is that a compliment, Vance?" I teased, walking over to him. "Because usually you tell me I look like a safety hazard."
"You look beautiful, Mila," he said quietly.
The sincerity in his voice hit me like a physical blow. My breath hitched.
"Oh," I said eloquently. "Thanks. You look... okay. For a goalie."
He smirked—a real one, that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "Ready to go?"
"Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise," he said, opening the door for me. "But I promise, no textbooks are involved."
"Then lead the way," I smiled.
We walked to the elevator. He didn't take my hand, but he stood close enough that our arms brushed. The friction sent little sparks of electricity through my coat.
We got into the Range Rover. The heat was already blasting.
"Music?" he asked, holding up his phone.
"Surprise me," I said. "Let's see what the Ice King listens to."
He hit play.
I expected heavy metal. Or maybe classical to match his brooding.
Instead, the soft, melancholic chords of The National filled the car. Indie rock. Sad dad music.
I laughed. "No way. You listen to The National?"
"It's structured," he defended, pulling out into the snowy street. "The lyrics are complex. The composition is layered."
"It's emo," I corrected, grinning at him. "You're a secret softie, Vance. I knew it."
"Don't tell anyone," he warned, glancing at me. "I have a reputation to maintain."
"Your secret is safe with me," I said softly.
And I meant it. We had a lot of secrets now. The photos in the drawer. The kiss in the kitchen. The way he held my hand during panic attacks.
We drove for twenty minutes, leaving the campus behind and heading toward the outskirts of Wickfield. The streetlights faded, replaced by the dark silhouettes of pine trees against the snowy sky.
"Are you taking me into the woods to murder me?" I asked lightly. "Because if so, can we stop for snacks first?"
"If I wanted to murder you, I'd do it at home where the cleanup is easier," he deadpanned. "We're here."
He turned off the main road onto a gravel path. A sign illuminated by the headlights read: Wickfield Winter Carnival.
My jaw dropped.
It was like something out of a storybook. A massive field covered in snow, lit up by thousands of twinkling fairy lights. There was a Ferris wheel spinning slowly against the night sky, a carousel with painted horses, and rows of striped tents selling hot cocoa and fried dough.
"A carnival?" I breathed, turning to him. "Cameron, this is..."
"Too loud?" he asked, looking suddenly unsure. "Too chaotic? Jag said girls like this kind of thing."
"Jag is an idiot," I said, unbuckling my seatbelt. "But he's right. I love it."
I looked at him. The lights from the carnival reflected in his eyes. He looked apprehensive, like he was waiting for me to make fun of him.
"Thank you," I said. "Really."
"Come on," he said, the tension in his shoulders relaxing. "Let's go win something useless."
The carnival was bustling, but not crowded. It was a mix of townies and students, families bundled up in snowsuits, and couples holding hands.
The air smelled of sugar, cinnamon, and diesel fuel. It was freezing, but the atmosphere was warm.
Cameron walked beside me, his hands in his coat pockets. He seemed out of place among the neon lights and screaming children—a monolith of calm in a sea of chaos.
"Okay," I said, rubbing my gloved hands together. "Strategy meeting. What's the plan of attack? Do we start with food, or do we start with domination?"
"Domination," Cameron said immediately. He nodded toward a booth with a wall of balloons and a row of darts. "Target practice."
We walked up to the booth. The carny, a guy with a patchy beard and a cigarette behind his ear, grinned at us.
"Step right up! Three darts for five bucks. Pop three balloons, win a prize for the pretty lady."
Cameron pulled out a crisp twenty-dollar bill. "Twelve darts."
The carny’s eyes widened. He handed over the darts.
Cameron handed three to me. "You first."
I stepped up to the line. I aimed. I threw.
The dart sailed wide, missing the balloon wall entirely and thunking into the wooden frame.
"Pathetic," Cameron noted.
"Hey!" I protested. "It's the wind! And these gloves are bulky."
"Excuses are for losers, Sterling," he said, stepping up beside me.
He didn't take off his gloves. He didn't even take his other hand out of his pocket. He just flicked his wrist.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
Three balloons exploded in rapid succession.
He handed me three more darts. "Try again. Elbow up. Follow through."
He moved behind me. His chest pressed against my back. He reached around, his hands covering mine on the dart.
"Like this," he murmured, his breath hot against my ear. "Sight down the shaft. Don't think about the target. Think about the path."
I couldn't think about the path. I could only think about his body wrapped around mine. I could feel the hard wall of his chest, the strength in his arms. It was intimate. It was possessive.
"Okay," I breathed.
"Throw," he commanded.
We threw together.
Pop.
"Yes!" I shrieked, jumping up and down. I turned around in his arms, forgetting where we were.
I was pressed against him, chest to chest. His hands were still on my waist to steady me. We were grinning at each other like idiots.
"See?" he said, looking down at me. "Physics."
"Magic," I corrected.
"Hey, lovebirds!" the carny yelled. "Pick a prize."
Cameron stepped back, letting me go. I missed the warmth instantly.
He pointed to the top shelf. "The wolf."
The carny hooked down a massive, stuffed grey wolf with blue eyes. It was ridiculous. It was perfect.
Cameron handed it to me. "For the collection."
I hugged the wolf. It was soft and smelled like synthetic fur.
"I'm naming him Sparkles II," I declared.
"Don't disrespect the wolf," Cameron warned, but he was smiling.
We moved through the carnival like a conquering army. Cameron won me a goldfish (which we immediately decided to give to a passing child because we couldn't keep it alive), a bag of cotton candy, and a pair of flashing LED sunglasses.
We were laughing. Actually laughing.
I watched him as he argued with a vendor about the structural integrity of a funnel cake. He was relaxed. His shoulders were down. The perpetual frown line between his brows was gone.
He looked... happy.
And looking at him, standing there under the carnival lights with powdered sugar on his black coat, I felt a surge of affection so strong it terrified me.
"Hey," a voice interrupted.
We turned.
It was a group of girls. Sorority girls. Alpha Chis. I recognized them. They were the ones who used to beg for invites to my parties.
"Camila?" one of them, a blonde named Jessica, asked. She looked me up and down, taking in the stuffed wolf, the cotton candy, and Cameron standing protectively beside me. "We heard you were... around."
"Jessica," I said, putting on my armor. "Lovely to see you."
"We heard about the... financial situation," Jessica said, her voice dripping with fake sympathy. "Is it true you're living off campus now? Like, way off campus?"
"She lives with me," Cameron said.
He stepped forward. He didn't look aggressive. He just looked like he owned the ground he stood on. He slid his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side.
"We live together," he clarified, his voice smooth and deep.
The girls’ eyes widened. They looked from me to Cameron, then back to me. The envy was palpable.
"Oh," Jessica said, her voice pitching up. "Wow. That's... fast."
"When you know, you know," Cameron said. He looked down at me. "Right, babe?"
"Right," I managed to say, leaning into him.
"Well," Jessica stammered. "Good for you. We just... wanted to say hi."
"Hi," Cameron said dismissively. "We're going to get hot chocolate. Enjoy the ride."
He steered me away, his arm heavy and warm around me.
We walked in silence until we were out of earshot.
"You're good at that," I said quietly. "The protective boyfriend act."
Cameron stopped. He turned me to face him, his hands on my shoulders.
"Who said it was an act?"