"Only when necessary." She leads us through to the dining room, where the table has been set with our grandmother's china and crystal. "Wine, anyone? I've opened a lovely Bordeaux."
"None for me, thank you," Camille says quickly.
Kate raises an eyebrow. "Not a wine drinker? Or you just don’t like Bordeaux?"
"I'm... taking a break from alcohol," Camille says carefully.
"How responsible." Kate's tone gives nothing away as she pours wine for herself, Julian, and me. "Please, sit."
Dinner begins with forced pleasantries—comments about the unseasonably warm weather, compliments on Kate's recent legal victory in a high-profile divorce case. Her housekeeper serves the first course, a chilled asparagus soup that nobody seems particularly interested in eating.
"So, Camille," Kate says, setting down her spoon. "Tristan tells me you're an interior designer. How did you get into that field?"
Camille straightens slightly. "I started in college, actually. I redesigned our sorority house common areas, and it just grew from there. I launched my own company in my junior year."
"Ambitious," Kate notes. "And how old are you now? Twenty-three? Twenty-four?"
"Twenty-four," Camille confirms, her chin lifting slightly at the implied judgement.
"Hmm." Kate takes a deliberate sip of wine. "Tell me, in your business experience, have you found that clients sometimes underestimate you because of your youth?"
"Occasionally," Camille admits. "But my work speaks for itself."
"I'm sure it does." Kate's smile is razor-thin. "And how exactly did you meet my brother and Julian?"
Julian interjects before Camille can answer. "Actually, we met through Alexander Kingsley."
Kate's eyebrows rise. "Kingsley? The plot thickens."
The housekeeper appears to clear the soup and serve the main course—perfectly seared scallops with risotto. The brief interruption does nothing to dispel the tension that’s now thick enough to cut with a knife.
"And now you're seeing both my brother and Julian," Kate continues once we're alone again. "That's certainly... progressive."
Camille sets her fork down carefully. "I know it's unconventional."
"That's one word for it," Kate agrees. "I can think of several others."
"Kate," I warn. "This isn't why I brought Camille to meet you."
"No? Why did you bring her then?" Kate's gaze is unapologetic. "So I could fawn over her and pretend thissituation isn't bizarre? Two men sharing one woman—it's like something from a bad reality TV show."
Julian's jaw tightens. "With all due respect, Kate, our relationship isn't anyone else’s business."
"It becomes my business when it affects my brother's reputation." She turns back to Camille. "Do you have any idea the whispers going around? The assumptions people are making about what kind of woman would entertain this type of arrangement?"
Camille pales, but her voice remains steady. "I imagine people will always talk when they don't understand something. That doesn't mean we should let it dictate our choices."
"Noble sentiment," Kate says. "But naive. In our world, perception is reality."
"Our world," I repeat, hearing the anger creeping into my voice. "Camille is part of that world now, Kate. Part of my world."
Kate studies me for a long moment. "Is she? For how long? Until she gets bored? Or until you and Julian get tired of sharing?"
"That's enough." Julian's voice cuts through the tension. "Camille isn't some passing entertainment. She's important to both of us."
"And the arrangement?" Kate presses. "Is that important too? Or would either of you prefer exclusivity?"
The question lands like a grenade. It's something we haven't fully discussed—the future implications of our current situation. What happens if one of us wants more? What happens if the balance shifts?
