I can’t take it anymore, and I scoop her into my arms. She can be mad at me all she wants. I need her close to me. Thankfully, she doesn’t resist. I hold her close to my chest as I carry her back to the bed.
For a moment, she curls into me, letting me comfort her. Then she stiffens. I feel her entire body harden against my touch. She shakes her head as I sit down with her.
“No, no,” she mumbles as she pushes away from me and cries. “I can’t do this.”
I let her go, and she buries her face in the pillows. My eyes water, and I fight back my own tears seeing her like this. I need her to let me in and seeing her like this is tearing me apart. “What can’t you do, Cami? You’re not making any sense. What happened?”
“I can’t.” Her voice is muffled. “I need time.”
“Time,” I whisper. I close my eyes and push off the bed.
This is all my fault. I should have been more careful with my words. I’m a fool for letting it slip that I love her. She’s not ready to let a new love into her heart, and my feelings are too much for her. She’s not ready.
I’ve screwed everything up by letting my emotions get ahead of me. How could I be so fucking stupid? Even worse, I let myself think everything was fine after she asked me to come home with her. Maybe she was okay in her post-coital bliss last night, but clearly this morning she’s having second thoughts.
I do the only thing I can do. I gather my clothes—all of them. I’d been staying with her so much lately, I kept several changes of clothing at her house. Once my overnight bag is packed and I’m dressed, I return to her bedside. She’s still buried in her pillow, her face completely hidden.
“Cami.” Her name, which once tasted so sweet, now leaves a sour taste in my mouth. This hurts far worse than it should. I haven’t known her that long, and somehow this pain is worse than when Irene left me. Maybe that’s because I never really loved Irene. I loved the idea of her, and the dream of the family we were supposed to create. But this—Camille’s refusal to talk to me—this is hell.
She still doesn’t look at me. My heart shatters a little more. I steel my emotions and manage to speak these next words without crumbling into a pile of dust. “I’m leaving. I’ll give you your time.”
I wait for her to respond, but she remains silent. I take that as my cue to leave.
Fuck. How did things go so wrong so fast?
With one last glance back at her, I leave.
Twenty-four hours ago I woke up ready to have the best day of my life. Today, I feel like my life has been fucked all to hell all over again. And I have no one to blame but myself.
An hour later,I’m standing in my own bathroom, trimming my beard. We’re getting close to finishing up the renovation on Camille’s chalet, and I really should be there to see it through. I’m not needed. I just wanted to be the one to do this for her.
But I can’t. Not anymore.
My foreman can handle the details of the upstairs rooms without me. In fact, he’d probably prefer I not be there. I’ve never taken such an active role in the day-to-day activities of a remodel before anyway. I design the plans, pick out products, and inspect the work being done. Sometimes I’ll work beside my crew if I need to get away from my desk, but I’ve gone above and beyond for Camille.
Within a couple weeks, everything will be finished except for her master suite.
Despite her uncertainty with her private rooms, I have a plan based on all of our conversations. I planned to discuss some design options for her master suite with her today, but that’s not going to happen now.
Not after this morning.
The designs are a surprise. After breakfast, I was going to show her how I’d taken all her ideas and turned them into a calm, spa-like room she’ll love. She’s been so indecisive aboutthe bathroom choices, but I’m certain I’ve figured out what she loves the most. I was looking forward to seeing the look on her face when I showed her what I came up with and the sample products I’ve gathered.
But none of that will happen now.
It’sa little after one o’clock when there’s a knock on my door.
I look up to see Ricky leaning against the frame. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” he says.
I sit back in my chair and toss my pencil on my desk. I’ve been working tirelessly on the design concepts for the mountain resort Craig asked me to bid on months ago. He finally got back to me this morning and wants me to fly to Chicago on Monday for a series of meetings next week.
It’s the perfect distraction to keep my mind off Camille.I wish it were working.
I’d almost given up on this project after not hearing back from him for so long, but if I understand him correctly, the job is mine as long as these meetings next week go well.
The local community is protesting the resort in favor of environmental protection. They brought in some environmental activist groups to help stop the development. Anytime activists get involved, things get complicated.
