Chapter 27 #2
Victoria Harwell moves onto the terrace with composed elegance.
Her hair is swept into an immaculate updo, her features sharp and beautiful, eyes bright and assessing.
Harrison follows half a step behind, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark suit that looks custom-made for intimidation.
They are exactly as Gregg had described.
Harrison’s gaze slides to me, immediately snuffing out my foreign presence. Measured and calculated.
“And who is this?” Victoria asks, her eyes narrowing with interest. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
This is it. My heart stutters. How could we have been so ignorant?
We didn’t talk about this, who I am to him, what our relationship is.
I don’t expect Gregg to introduce me as his boyfriend.
Certainly not to them, or here in this moment, or in this world for that matter.
I’m not stupid. Maybe a friend? That's something human, right?
Something that acknowledges I am something…
someone. I open my mouth to introduce myself and hold out my hand, but Gregg answers first.
“Mum, Dad, this is Cameron,” he states smoothly, stepping a fraction of an inch closer to me. “He’s one of my business partners from the New York office.”
His words hit me like frigid water. Business partner. Not even a friend? Not someone important enough to name? Just a role… a label. A safe category.
My face stays still, because I know how to hold myself together in front of people when composure is necessary. But inside, something cracks.
Victoria smiles politely, taking my hand. “How lovely, welcome to Ashcombe! It’s very good of you to travel all this way to celebrate.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Harwell.” My fingers are numb in her hand.
“Oh, please, call me Victoria,” she insists, smiling.
Harrison gives a brief nod, his eyes moving on as if I’ve been filed away as unremarkable. “Enjoying the countryside?” he asks flatly.
“Oh yes,” I manage. “It’s beautiful. And very different from New York.”
“Good,” was all he says, clearly at the end of his interest.
Victoria turns her attention back to Gregg, shifting away from mother to hostess. “Celeste’s parents are inside, and your investors, Evelyn Porter and Kenneth Franklin, they’ve been asking for you.”
“Okay, I’ll find them.” Gregg nods as Victoria, Harrison, and Celeste move into the crowd like they never disrupted anything at all.
My chest is tight, my throat hot, and I stare up at Gregg a second too long. Julian glances between me and Gregg, his expression sharp, but he doesn’t speak, and when Gregg catches my eyes, he looks as if nothing has happened. Like he didn’t just reduce me to a line item.
“Should we go inside?” He gestures with his hand. “Daniel may be in there too and—”
“Business partner?” I ask, taking a step back from him.
His arm falls, surprised. “What?”
“Business partner?” I ask again, my voice sharper than I intended, quiet but edged.
Gregg’s brows came together. “Cam—”
“Really?” I cut in, the hurt rising but masked with a smile. “You could’ve said ‘friend’ or something?”
“Mate, I think you need to remember where we are,” Julian hushes, putting his hand on my back. I shrug away from him.
“I know, and it’s my own fault for not having this conversation earlier.
” I see Gregg’s face tighten, his eyes flick around as if to see who may be watching.
I don’t know why, but that makes me feel a certain way.
I don’t know what I was expecting tonight, I mean after all I didn’t expect him to come out then and there.
But for crying out loud, I had his dick inside me this morning and…
I don’t know what to think. I reach out to take his hand, and he pulls back.
I pause briefly, then double down, quietly placing my hand on his upper arm. “Gregg, I just thought that—”
He pulls away again, looking over my shoulder and his.
Then it clicks, and I feel myself deflate. I laugh once, humorless. “Wow. Okay.”
“Cam, please,” Gregg whispers. “We can talk about this later. But not here.”
Not here. Not now. Not when it might cost him something.
Why am I feeling like this? We literally didn’t have a conversation about what we would be here, boundaries, or what to expect. But the last few days in Scotland flash through my mind. His mouth on mine, his hands on my skin, his voice saying my name like I mattered. I love you.
And now I’m a business partner. I feel so naive. Not for believing he’d call me his boyfriend—God, no—but for believing I’d be something more than convenient.
I take a step back, and my chest rises quickly. I’m suddenly feeling so hot, like I can’t breathe. “Excuse me,” I say tightly.
“Cameron—”
“Fuck this,” I mutter, turning away before I break in front of them all, and I walk off the terrace, away from the laughter and conversation into the fading light.
The walled garden is much quieter than the terrace, mercifully.
The pea gravel crunches under my feet with each step, echoing off the climbing ivy and the scent of lavender and roses.
Beyond, I can still hear the festivities, impossibly far away.
I sink onto a cold stone bench beneath an old yew tree, the twilight slipping fast now creating a purple and gray sky.
I press the heel of my hand to my eyes, but it doesn’t stop the tears.
They fall quietly anyway, unstoppable. But I don’t sob.
I feel foolish. Embarrassed. Stupid for letting myself believe that the last few days, the last few weeks, could exist. Foolish for thinking any of this could work.
Business partner echoes across my mind as sharp as broken glass.
I’m staring down at my hands when I hear measured and light footsteps approaching me.
“Cameron?” Celeste asks softly. Her voice is different here, gentler. It’s noticeably absent of any performative sparkle.
I wipe my cheek quickly and straighten, making my face neutral before I look up. “Hi.” I sniff.
She approaches slowly, as if she’s careful not to startle me, and stops a few feet away. The fading light makes her dress dark against the greenery. “You slipped away rather suddenly. I thought I should check on you.”
“Thanks. I think I just needed some air,” I respond. It’s not a lie.
She nods sympathetically. “Of course. I suppose it can all be… a bit much.”
Her eyes explore my face, lingering long enough to notice what I haven’t managed to hide.
“I hope you don’t mind me following you,” she adds, gesturing to the bench. “May I?”
I hesitate, then shrug. “Sure.”
She sits beside me, close but not touching. And we sit for a few moments in silence, listening to the breeze filter through the tree, the garden humming around us.
“It will be okay,” she says at last, reassuringly. “These events have a way of feeling overwhelming at first.”
“That’s one way to put it.” I let out a hollow laugh.
She tilts her head, studying me, not unkindly, but intently. Like she’s assessing the best way to phrase what she already knows.
“You care about him.”
My chest is tight, but I don’t answer.
She smiles faintly. “You don’t have to confirm it. It’s written all over you.”
I swallow. “And you?”
Her smile becomes complicated. “Well, Greggory and I have known each other a very long time.”
“I know.” I nod.
“He’s always been…” She searches for the word. “Restless. Brilliant, of course, and kind. But restless in a way that doesn’t always fit neatly into the world he was born into.”
I glance at her warily and she continues.
“This life requires a certain… fluency. You learn how to speak without saying anything at all.”
I think of all the times in the last few weeks I’ve seen Gregg put on some type of armor.
“He’s good at it,” she says. “Better than he realizes.”
“He shouldn’t have to be.” I shake my head slightly.
“That’s very idealistic,” she states gently. “And very kind.”
The word but hangs in the air between us.
She folds her hands in her lap. “May I be honest with you, Cameron?”
My stomach twists. “I guess.”
She takes a slow breath, like she’s choosing her words carefully. Like she’s giving me some kind of kindness.
“This world,” she says quietly. “It’s not built to change for love.”
The sentence lands softly and hits hard.
“I don’t think that’s true,” I say, though my voice lacks conviction.
She gives me a sad smile. “I think you want it to be.”
“You don’t know us.” I stand abruptly.
Celeste remains seated, calm and unthreatened.
“I know Gregg,” she replies. “I’ve known him since we were children. And then Cambridge. I’ve known him since before he learned how dangerous it can be to want things too openly.”
Her gaze sharpens, not cruel, but precise.
“You are lovely,” she says. “Truly. I can tell you’re warm and you’re earnest. You make him feel alive, I can see that. And he told me about it last weekend at dinner.”
My throat tightens despite myself.
“But,” she continues softly, “do you think you could really thrive in this world? I think it would be detrimental to you if you were okay with being on the sidelines.”
The words slice clean through me, and somehow also open my eyes.
“I think that you may always be slightly out of step,” she observes, almost regretfully. “Your accent. Your clothes. Your career. Your refusal to bend. It’s admirable, but it could cost him.”
I shake my head, breath quickening. “Celeste, he told me that he loves me—"
“And I’m sure he does,” she interrupts gently. “But maybe that’s what he wishes were possible. Not what he knows is required.”
I stare at her, my heart pounding.
She rises, smoothing her dress, towering just slightly over me.
“Gregg can love you,” she affirms quietly. “But he will never be able to choose you. Not fully. Not in this life.”
My chest feels like it’s going to cave in.
“He will always have to split himself in two,” she sighs. “And eventually, that fracture will break you both.”