Page 24 of Chasing Clouds

“You do realize her father will never stand for this,” he says, his words shooting daggers at me.

Camille’s fingers dig into my side as she grips me hard. As much as I’ve never considered marriage to be on my radar, let alone getting a father’s approval, I think it’s normal to want it. Isn’t getting it like a rite of passage? It says, You’re good enough.

Patrick has hit below the belt, and he doesn’t even know it.

“Well, it’s a good thing I never asked him, and you need to realize . . .” I step away from Camille and stalk toward him. His face blanches, but he straightens his back to stand his ground. “I. Don’t. Care.”

“Do you have any idea the kind of people you’re messing with?” he spits out at me.

I snort and one side of my mouth tips up. Someone else might find that line intimidating, but this guy has no idea the shit I’ve seen or where I come from.

I crack my knuckles and flex my fingers. He watches the movement as I lean over to get closer to his face. “Leave.”

He opens his mouth to say something as his eyes bounce back and forth between me and Camille, but then he changes his mind, turns on his heel, and strides for the door.

“Oh, and, Patty.” I move back to Camille, pull her in front of me, and wrap my arms around her. “You’ll be happy to know my publicist and my team’s PR department have already issued a formal statement congratulating us. Cat’s out of the bag now, and we couldn’t be happier.” I dip down and kiss her cheek. She pushes back against me, wanting to be closer, and I feel her smile against my lips.

“This isn’t over.” He gives Camille a lingering angry look before he walks out and the gate slams behind him.

Camille and I stand there in silence. Glancing down, I see anguish is written on her face, but I don’t know at what. Is she upset that he’s upset, that the world will know she’s tied to me, or that his threat of it not being over may have some weight to it?

“Did they really issue a statement?” She leans her head back against my shoulder.

“They did. Are you okay with that?”

She smells so freaking good, like strawberries and vanilla. It’s almost distracting.

“I guess I have to be.” She turns, wraps her arms around my waist, and tucks her face into my chest. “Thank you, Reid.”

As I rub my hand up and down her back, the tension slips away from her as she leans farther into me. I’ve hugged women over the years, but never like this, where they really settle in. It’s nice.

Scanning the carriage house over her shoulder, I spot the saw that woke me. It’s sitting on a large drop cloth next to a power sander and several other pieces of equipment.

“What’s all this?”

She pulls back and I tip my head, surveying the room.

“It’s my workshop.” She smiles excitedly and looks around to see what I’m seeing.

“Workshop,” I mumble. “Do you do all this yourself or do you have someone do it for you?” Around the perimeter are beautifully finished pieces covered with a light layer of dust.

“I do. I love transforming furniture people don’t want anymore into something fresh and exciting.”

My eyes stop on two headboards leaning against the far wall. Both are wooden, and where one looks like it belongs in a grandmother’s house, the other has been stained darker, a fancy ivory padded fabric has been added between the posts, and it looks tacked down with large ornate bolts.

“What do you do with them when they’re done?”

“I consign them in shops around town and up into Charleston,” she says proudly.

“Really? So this is like a hobby of yours?”

Her face drops at the way I’ve described something she clearly loves, and she turns away to pick up the tools she was using.

“I guess you could call it that.” So quickly she went from being animated to defeated. I’m certain I can guess who’s made her react this way.

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” She picks up her cup of coffee and takes a drink.