That was part of why I did not object too loudly when Ethan chose her.
Her mouth tightens slightly. “You were ready to cancel the wedding over nothing.”
Not a question. A fact. So Ethan had told her about our conversation.
She keeps her eyes on me. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”
I say, “I was considering it.”
“You were angry.”
“Yes.”
“Because of her.”
When I don’t answer her, she continues. “She’s a planner. A temporary one. And you were ready to blow up my wedding over some fat woman you barely know.”
I feel the insult. I let it pass.
She’s waiting for me to react. Waiting for me to show her exactly what Sienna is to me.
I don’t. I look at her and say, very evenly, “You should be careful.”
“Interesting,” she says. “You won’t even argue the point.”
“No.”
She studies my face. “Because you know I’m right?”
“No,” I say. “Because I don’t explain myself to people who are trying to bait me.”
That gets through.
She goes quiet, and I can feel the calculation in it now. Less emotion. More thought. Better. This version of Camille is easier to talk to.
Then she says, “You think I’m beneath this.”
“I think you’re upset,” I say. “I think you dislike losing control of a room. And I think you came looking for me tonight because you wanted to see whether you still had any.”
Her expression shifts. Only slightly.
I’m not interested in reassuring her. If she wants to know whether I’m looking at her, she can have the answer. I am.
“For what it’s worth,” she says, “I’m not stupid enough to ruin my own wedding.”
“That,” I say, “is the first useful thing you’ve said tonight.”
She studies me. “You underestimate me.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“I think you care very much about control,” I say. “And I think you don’t like losing it.”
Her chin lifts. “Neither do you.”
“No.”
