Page 173 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

She studies me for a moment.

“You always think the answer is another slot on the calendar.”

“It usually helps.”

“With work, maybe.”

I lean back slightly.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything because you think there’s a correct answer.” Camille lifts her glass, takes a small sip, then sets it down again.

“I’d like you to actually want to be there.”

“I do.”

Her expression softens, which somehow makes the distance between us more obvious.

“I know you care about me.”

“I love you,” I say.

“I know that too.”

There is no accusation in the way she says it. Camille reaches across the table and places her hand over mine. I turn my palm beneath hers and lace our fingers together. For a few seconds, we stay that way. Then my phone vibrates near my elbow.

I don’t reach for it, but Camille’s eyes flick toward the screen anyway.

“You can get it,” she says.

“It can wait.”

She slowly withdraws her hand.

“That’s not what I meant.”

I watch her pick up her wine again. We have been engaged long enough that postponing the wedding has stopped requiring explanations to anyone except the people who keep asking when we intend to have one. The first delay was work. The second was timing. Somewhere along the way, the reasons stopped sounding temporary.

Camille begins telling me about a gallery opening she attended that afternoon, and I listen. I ask questions. She answers them. By dessert, we have both run out of things to ask.

***

Two nights later, we meet Steve and Hannah for dinner at a restaurant in Tribeca we have been going to for years.

Hannah and Camille fall easily into conversation before we have even ordered. They are comparing travel plans when Steve looks across the table at me.

“How’s the West Coast expansion?” Steve asks.

“It’s stellar, we have teams heading there next week.”

“For the San Jose build?”

“And Palo Alto.”

Steve nods. “I saw the expansion numbers. You’re pouring a lot into California.”

“It’s earning it.”