Chapter 22 #2
The conversation moves on, and for most of dinner everything feels normal enough.
Hannah tells us about her sister’s disastrous kitchen renovation.
Steve complains about a new executive who schedules meetings at 7:00 in the morning because he thinks it demonstrates discipline.
Camille laughs more than she has in days.
I do too.
Then the check arrives.
Camille reaches for her coat, and I stand to help her into it. She gives me a quiet thank-you, but her attention is already on something Hannah is saying. Steve watches us for half a second longer than necessary.
Outside, Hannah and Camille walk ahead toward the waiting cars while Steve falls into step beside me.
“You good?” Steve asks.
“I’m fine.”
The answer comes too quickly.
Steve looks at me.
I look back at him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.”
Steve slips his hands into the pockets of his coat.
“You said you’re fine.”
“I am.”
He nods once. “Then you’re fine.”
He doesn’t push. That’s one of the reasons we are still friends. Ahead of us, Camille laughs at something Hannah says as they reach the curb. I watch her for a moment before closing the distance between us.
***
By Monday afternoon, Adrian is back in New York and sitting across from me in the executive conference room while Elena Voss moves through the final items on the communications agenda.
Elena has been running Global Communications long enough that very little surprises her and even less impresses her. She is precise, direct, and allergic to unnecessary theatrics, which is one of the reasons Adrian trusts her with anything that involves the public version of Blackwell.
She closes one file and opens another.
“The retrospective partnership is finalized.”
Adrian leans back in his chair.
“With which publication?”
“Vanguard Business Journal,” she says.
I recognize it immediately. They have a strong reputation for long-form business reporting, particularly founder profiles, family-controlled companies, and major corporate transitions. Their work is serious enough that I have read more than one piece without regretting the time.
“That was one of the better options,” I say.
“It was,” Elena replies.
“We vetted several outlets for reach, editorial standards, legal history, and previous handling of restricted-access reporting. They came out strongest overall.”
Adrian looks toward her.
“And the scope?”
“The antitrust period, the restructuring, the recovery, Richard’s founding years, the current leadership model, and where the company goes next.” Elena turns one page in the file.
“They’ll also have controlled access to selected archives and approved executives.”
“Controlled by whom?” Adrian asks.
“Legal and Communications jointly,” Elena says.
“Vivian has already approved the access framework.”
Adrian nods. “Good.”
I glance at the clock on the wall. “Anything else?”
Elena looks at me.
“The publication will assign its own lead writer. We approved the outlet, not the individual reporter.”
“That’s their problem,” I say.
Adrian’s mouth shifts slightly.
“You’re deeply invested in this.”
“I’m invested in not wasting three meetings discussing a profile we already agreed to.”
Elena closes the folder.
“Then you’ll be pleased to know I’m done.”
“Immensely.”
Adrian looks over at me.
“You know this is going to require your participation?”
“I’m aware.”
“Actual participation.”
I give him a flat look. “I understood you the first time.”
Elena gathers her papers.
“I’ll circulate the interview schedule once the publication confirms its team.”
“Fine,” I tell her.
She stands, and Adrian reaches for the next folder on the table before she is fully out of the room.
“Now,” he says, “about the Singapore numbers.”
I pull the file toward me. That gets my attention.
I get home later than I intended. Camille is in the living room with her laptop open on the coffee table and a stack of wedding materials spread beside her. Fabric samples, venue notes, catering menus, and a cream-colored folder I recognize from Lydia, the planner we have rescheduled twice.
Camille looks up when I walk in.
“You remembered tomorrow, right?”
I stop halfway through taking off my coat. Her expression changes before I answer.
“The tasting,” she says.
I close my eyes briefly. “Camille.”
“You forgot.”
“I had it on my calendar.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
I set my coat over the back of a chair and cross the room.
“What time is it?”
“11:00.”
“I can move the capital meeting.”
Camille looks down at the papers in front of her.
“You don’t need to move anything.”
“I said I can.”
“I heard you.”
I sit beside her.
“Then I’ll be there.”
Camille closes the laptop slowly.
“Julian, I don’t want you showing up because I reminded you the night before.”
I look at the folder between us.
“I forgot one appointment.”
“It isn’t one appointment.”
Her voice stays calm. There is no anger in it, and somehow that makes the words land harder. Camille gathers the fabric samples into a neat pile.
“I picked those three weeks ago. Lydia asked which one you liked.”
I glance down at them. Ivory, cream, something slightly darker that I cannot imagine having a meaningful opinion about.
“I’ll look at them tonight,” I tell her.
Camille gives me a tired smile.
“That’s what I mean.”
I know there is an answer she needs from me, and for once I cannot solve the problem by moving a meeting or clearing an afternoon.
I reach for her hand.
She lets me take it, but the space between us remains.
“I do want this,” I say.
Camille studies my face.
“I know you do.”
The distinction is quiet but I understand it anyway. She squeezes my fingers once before pulling her hand free and collecting the rest of the papers.
“I’m going to bed,” Camille says.
“I’ll be up in a minute.”
She nods and leaves the room. I stay where I am with the wedding folder open in front of me, staring at decisions I have postponed long enough that they no longer feel like decisions about flowers, menus, or dates.
Camille and I have been together a little over three years, and when I asked her to marry me, I believed I was ready for the life that was supposed to come with it.
She is intelligent, steady, beautiful, and I love her, but somewhere between the proposal and actually getting to the marriage, the certainty I expected never arrived.
Lately, I have started to wonder whether loving her is enough when I can feel how often I am disappointing her.