“Yes, you did,” he insists. “You’ve linked my fate with Nate’s. If something happens with that loan . . .”
My fingers itch to hug him, to wrap around his middle and press my face against his chest. To stop the anger that’s flowing back to the surface before it spills over.
“As soon as they find out, and they will, their perception of me and you, will be linked with Nate,” he gruffs. “They’ll assume I’m from a family of freeloaders and tell you to get the fuck away before I really damage you.”
“That’s not true,” I sniffle. “Besides, I’ll do whatever and whoever I want.”
For that, I get another half-smile. “That’s not true. You do whatever they tell you, whenever they tell you to do it. You don’t do jack shit without them telling you it’s okay.”
“I do you, don’t I?” I fire back.
He clenches his teeth once more. “Careful,” he warns. After a pointed glance, he takes a step back. “You stay in this little box they’ve put you in and go through the motions of your life. I think doing me is the first thing you’ve ever done that’s against status quo. You’ve hidden me to the point that you have to—”
“I haven’t hidden you!” I interject. “And you haven’t wanted to meet them. You’ve been downright against it, so don’t even shove that all on me.”
The burn is quick and hot as it uncurls from the base of my throat. The tears I blink back are scalding and he sees them. It forces him to look away.
“Okay. That’s true.” When he speaks again, his voice is a touch softer. “You are so capable, Camilla. You’re ridiculously smart, stunningly beautiful, the sweetest heart. It drives me insane watching you jump through hoops they’ve set for you. You do the charity work you think you should do but don’t love—”
“That’s not true! I love working with the Landry Holdings charities.”
He lifts brow. “You love it? You jump out of bed in the morning raring to go? When is the last time you found something you loved to do? And I don’t mean shopping or skiing. I mean something for you. Like what fighting is for me—when I’m doing it, I feel like me. Nothing else feels that way.”
I don’t respond.
“Answer me, Cam.”
“I don’t know.”
Heaving a breath, he paces a circle, knotting his hands through his hair again. “The point is, you’re gonna have a mess on your hands.”
“Well, I guess it’s my mess, isn’t it?”
“Oh, it’s your mess. It’s just not contained to you.”
A heaviness descends on me, and suddenly, I feel exhausted. My head hurts, my eyes are blurry, and my legs just want to collapse me into a chair.
“Are you going to tell them about the money?” he asks.
“It’s none of their business.”
“While I agree with that probably more than you even do, that’s not going to keep them from finding out.”
My hands go to my hips. “Aren’t you the one that tells me I need to start standing on my own two feet?”
“Sweetheart,” he says with more saltiness than sweetness, “you’re the one that’s set the precedent that they can look in your accounts and monitor your every movement. If you think that’s going to miraculously not happen with this, you’re wrong.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to explain it.”
“Nah, you’re right. Just let them think you handle money like a child and I’m some kind of low life that just wants you for your cash. If that’s the case, I can’t even blame them this time.”
I grab a piece of paper towel and pat under my eyes. It comes back black, stained with the mascara I applied so carefully in case I saw Dominic again today. I just didn’t expect it to come off like this.
“Cam . . .” His voice is lower now, the tenderness I’m used to most days buried not quite as deep as before.
“Shut up.”
“I won’t shut up.” He stalks around the island, his eyes set firmly on mine. “This is why I don’t want you at the bar. This is the reason I tell you to stay away from the gym.”
“Because I might loan everyone money?” I crack, feeling my moxie dissipate as he reaches me.
He almost smiles. “No, because you’re too . . . you’re too nice for your own good.” He touches my chin and tips my head back so I’m looking up at him. The anger in his eyes fades and in its place is a concern that makes me want to burrow my head in his chest. “Your family has fucked you over by sheltering you so much.”
“They’ve given me a giver’s heart.”
“What they’ve given you is a rose-colored version of the real world and have been there to scoop you up from every problem you’ve ever had,” he sighs. “You rest on your laurels. You absolutely could walk into a room and take care of yourself, but you don’t. And that drives me insane. You’ve let them make you weak, when all I see when I look at you is a damn strong woman.”
A smile tickles my lips. As he takes it in, his posture softens.
“You don’t bother to analyze things sometimes, because it’ll all be okay because it always is,” he says. “You know what? Sometimes it’s not.”
“This will be.”
“It will be,” he acknowledges. “But you have to start being the woman I know you are all the time, not just some of the time, Cam. You just see the good in everything and I’m afraid . . .”
“What?” I whisper.
“The world isn’t like the gated community you’ve lived in your whole life. My world specifically isn’t the one you’re used to. If something happened to you because of me . . .” He reaches for me. I’m in his arms before he even gets them extended.
Nuzzling my face in his white t-shirt, I breathe in the smell of linen mixed with cedar—something so unique and so Dom.
His hands run up and down my back, his cheek pressed against the top of my head. We stand in the kitchen, holding one another.
“Are you still going to go with me tomorrow?” I ask, my voice crackling.
“I have to now. If I don’t, they’ll think we took the money and ran.”
“They will not.”
He pulls away, his eyes now brimming with an anxiety that is contagious. “I’ll be honest with you. If this was anyone else, I’d call it quits right now. I’d be looking at this like it’s a fight between two different weight classes.”
My hand trembles as I play with my earring, trying to hold on to the if this was anyone else part.
“I gotta go. I’m working a shift at the bar tonight for Nate.”
“I’ll call Ford and tell him we won’t meet for lunch tomorrow.”
“No, you won’t,” he says, shaking his head. “We’re going.”
“Why?”
“Because if he’s going to judge me, I’d at least like him to have met me once. I don’t want my complete reputation with Ford to be based on two interactions with my brother.”
Looking at me over his shoulder, he heads to the front door. With his hand over the knob, he gives me a sad smile. Sunlight pours in the room when he pulls the door open and steps onto the porch. “I’ll pick you up at eleven. See ya, Cam.”