"It won't." Lou stepped closer, blocking her from the elevator's security camera. "The photos don't show anything. Two women at a table in a restaurant. That's it. People can speculate, but speculation isn't proof."
"Speculation is enough for some people."
"Then we give them nothing else to speculate about." Lou's hand came up to cup Camille's face, a brief, dangerous touch that lasted only a heartbeat. "We're careful in public. We don't change anything. And when you're ready—if you're ever ready—it happens on your terms. Not theirs."
13
Lou's hotel room overlooked the city that had built Camille and broken her in equal measure.
They'd retreated here after the press conference, after the exhausting performance of professionalism that had left Camille hollow and aching. The rest of the team had scattered to their own rooms, chasing sleep before tomorrow's final media obligations and the flight home. But Camille had followed Lou through the door without asking, without explaining, and Lou had let her in without question.
Now they stood by the window, watching Manhattan's lights pulse against the dark sky. The room smelled like hotel soap and the particular staleness of climate-controlled air. Camille's reflection stared back at her from the glass—tired, uncertain, nothing like the polished image she projected for cameras.
"I've been lying my whole life," she said quietly. "Not just about this. About everything."
Lou didn't respond. Just waited, her presence solid and patient beside Camille.
"Mario was never real." The confession spilled out before Camille could stop it. "We met at a charity event four years ago. His agent approached my agent, suggested we could be useful to each other. Basketball star and hockey rising star—the media would eat it up. And they did."
"You didn't love him?"
"I cared about him. We were friends, mostly. The relationship was convenient. Strategic." Camille's voice cracked on the word. “We both got more sponsors. More visibility. Everyone won, except—except we were both pretending. Building a life together that was all surface and no depth."
Lou's hand found the small of her back—warm, grounding.
"When did you know it was over?"
"I think part of me always knew it was never really started." Camille turned from the window, meeting Lou's eyes in the dim light. "We never fought because we didn't care enough to fight. We never missed each other when we were apart. The breakup was easy—too easy. I knew he was seeing the cheerleader and had been for some time. We just... stopped pretending."
"And then you came to Phoenix Ridge."
"And then I came to Phoenix Ridge." Camille took a shaky breath. "And I met you. And everything I thought I understood about myself fell apart."
Lou's expression softened. "Camille?—"
"I never questioned it before." The words tumbled out faster now, years of suppression finally finding release. "Being straight. Liking men. It was just... assumed. By everyone, including me. I dated boys in high school because that's what you did. I dated men in college because that's what you did. And none of it felt wrong, exactly. It just never felt right either."
"You don't have to explain yourself to me."
"I want to." Camille reached for Lou's hand, needing the contact like oxygen. "I want you to understand. When I look at you, when I touch you, when we're together—it's the first time anything has ever felt right. Like my whole life I've been reading sheet music in the wrong key, and suddenly someone handed me the correct version."
Lou pulled her closer, arms wrapping around her in a hold that was comfort and possession both.
"I've known I was gay since I was twelve," Lou said softly. "Never had to figure it out—it was just there, undeniable, as fundamental as my eye color. I can't imagine what it's like to discover it later. To have your whole identity shift."
"It's terrifying." Camille pressed her face against Lou's shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of her—clean sweat and hotel shampoo and something earthy underneath that was just Lou. "My whole career, my whole public image, is built on a version of me that isn't true. And now I don't know how to be anything else."
"You're the same person you've always been. You just understand yourself better now."
"Do I?" Camille pulled back enough to look at Lou's face. "Sometimes I feel like I'm meeting myself for the first time. And I don't know if I like what I find."
"I do." Lou's voice was fierce and certain. "I like everything about you. The real you. The one who's scared and confused and brave enough to admit it."
Something broke open in Camille's chest. The tears she'd been holding back since the press conference spilled over, tracking hot paths down her cheeks. Lou wiped them away with gentle thumbs, her green eyes full of something that looked like love.
"I'm falling for you," Camille whispered. "That's whatscares me most. Not the media or the questions or even coming out. It's how much I want this. How much I want you."
Lou kissed her.
