The door opens again, light streaks into the room, and this time there’s a loud gasp met with dead silence.
“Get out!” The voice is low, feminine, and packed with a rage I wouldn’t want directed at me. I’m assuming this voice is from the person who just entered the room. What a dumbass this guy is to go somewhere and get caught.
“Camille,” says the other girl with desperation and panic.
Camille?
“Now!”
There’s some mumbling, some shuffling, and then the door slams shut.
Peeking out from behind the curtain, I can’t not watch, even though it’s dark. It’s like riding in a car you know is about to crash, and my emotions just elevated along with hers in anticipation.
“How could you? My cousin, and tonight of all nights.” Her words are slow, her voice is thick, and my chest suddenly fills with fury for this poor girl.
“Oh, come on!” says the guy. “You know all of this is for show. I don’t love you. You don’t love me. You shouldn’t be so surprised.”
What a dick!
“I know you don’t love me, but what about loyalty? Faithfulness? Family? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” Her voice is strained, an odd mixture of anger and betrayal.
“Why should it? We both know why we’re here, and it’s not because of me,” he snaps.
What’s that supposed to mean?
She gasps. “Wrong! All of this is for you! It always has been. Please, please tell me what part of this situation is for me. What do I get out of this?”
Movement comes from her darkened image—she’s thrown her arms out, and I watch as she edges closer to him.
The guy chuckles lowly. “Oh, Camille, there’s the girl with the fire—and here I thought she died, too.”
The sharp sound of Camille’s hand hitting this guy’s face reverberates around the room. Silence stretches between them, and then she whimpers as he jerks her toward him. My hands tighten into fists and I stand from the window seat.
“That is the one and only time I will ever allow you to hit me. Do it again and you’ll regret it.” He shoves her backward and she stumbles, reaching for an end table.
“I can’t marry you.” She shakes her head, breathing hard between each word.
“Yes, you can, and you will.” He steps forward, crowding her aggressively.
“No.” She tilts her head up, the motion just barely noticeable in the darkness.
“Camille, I’m warning you. Think long and hard before you open that pretty little mouth of yours and say something you can’t take back,” he threatens.
“Are there others?” she asks.
Silence follows as he thinks about his answer, relaxes his posture, and steps back.
“Does it matter? Look, come tomorrow, it’s all over, all of them. I know what the stakes are and what the end goal is. You don’t need to worry about this.”
She doesn’t answer him, just wraps her arms around her middle.
Moving away from her, he walks to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob.
“Just stick to the plan and remember your family. You’re a smart girl, so you’ll do your duty. You owe them, and besides, it’s not like you’re the one getting the raw deal here—you’re getting me, whereas I’m only getting you.”
What!
This guy is delusional, and my anger for this girl pulses through me. What could possibly be so bad that someone feels obligated to marry someone else? And someone like him, too?
He opens the door and her head jerks to the side at the onslaught of light.
“Forget about this, Camille. Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.” He pauses and his voice shifts to a definitive tone. “I’ll be waiting for you at the altar, and I expect you to be there.” With that parting note, he walks out, leaving her alone, and the last sliver of light disappears as the door clicks shut and the air in the room stills.
She doesn’t move, and neither do I. I think my shock about this situation almost equals hers.
What the hell is the matter with that guy? How can anyone be so impervious to reality and arrogant at the same time?
A choked sob echoes around the room, pierces my ears, and burns its way down to my toes. Camille’s hands fly to her mouth as she bends over, folding in on herself, and lets out a strangled moan. I know I need to make myself known. Not wanting to add to her humiliation, I step out from behind the curtain of the bay window.
“Well, can’t say I saw that coming.” I’m trying to remain calm, feeling like I’m approaching a wild animal.
She gasps and turns toward the sound of my voice.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I cross the room and stop a few feet in front of her.
“Wh-Who are you?” she stammers, stepping back a few paces.
I can see her much more clearly now with the moonlight shining directly on her, but I doubt she can see me with the light hitting my back. There are tear tracks running down her face, and the muscles across my shoulders tighten as I silently seethe over her heartache.
“What are you doing in here?” she asks, voice shaky.
“I slipped in for a few minutes of quiet. For the record, I was in here first, and it really doesn’t matter who I am. What does matter, though, is whether or not you want me to kick that guy’s ass, because I absolutely will.”
She looks me over from head to toe, realizes I’m not joking, and then laughs. She laughs so hard emotion twists and turns into tears . . . more tears.
Oh, damn.
Approaching her slowly, I pull her into me. She tucks her arms between us and buries her face in my chest. I shouldn’t be touching her, much less holding her this close, but right this moment, I don’t care.
Sobs rack through her. As terrible as it is, all I can focus on is how she feels pressed up against me. I’m probably a foot taller than her and she’s less than half my size, but she’s warm and feels perfect. Taking a deep breath, I catch a whiff of how she smells, my eyes slipping shut. She’s been outside for who knows how many hours and she still smells sweet, clean, feminine.
“What do I do?” Her voice is small and unsure.
“I can’t answer that for you.”
“What would you do?” She pulls back a little and looks up at me. The moon has shifted, so I can no longer see the details of her face, and I’m certain she can’t see me at all.
“For me, I think it would be time to move on.”
“Move on,” she repeats, testing out the sound of the words. “But, what about my family?”
“That’s the thing about family, they’ll love you no matter what.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” She looks down and rests her forehead on my chest, her hands gripping the lapels of my suit jacket.
“Well, to me, that’s another reason all in itself to walk away. Maybe it’s time to find people who will.”
Sliding my hand down to her lower back, I squeeze her a little tighter, and she lets out a long, slow breath.
“How did I get here?” she asks, although I know she’s not asking me. She’s asking herself.
A clock chimes from somewhere in the room and she flinches then slowly backs away. I miss her instantly.
In what feels like slow motion, I watch as she pulls her shoulders back, tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and stands a little taller. Moving into the role she so clearly knows how to play, she clasps her hands in front of her, and although I can’t see it, I know plastered on her face is some semblance of a fake smile.
“I’m sorry you had to witness this . . . me.”
“I’m not sorry, Camille.”
Her breath catches at the use of her name, and I can’t help myself as I lean forward, lightly grip her elbow, and lower my lips next to her ear.
“Better to know now, rather than later.” I kiss the corner of her mouth, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. Her lips part and she turns her head as I pull back, brushing her mouth over mine. In another place,
another lifetime, I might take the leap to walk out of this room with her, but what she doesn’t know and I do is that we come from two different worlds. We don’t fit, and with that thought, I take a step back and drop her arm.
Standing in the dark, nothing else to be said, I tuck my hands into my pockets and we stare at the darkened shapes of the other. A small noise comes from Camille, but instead of speaking, she abruptly turns around and slips quietly out of the room.
I DIDN’T SLEEP at all last night. I spent half of it tossing and turning due to the anger I feel for the situation this girl is in, and the other half chastising myself for thinking about how good she felt in my arms, a girl who isn’t mine and never will be. I didn’t tell anyone—I wouldn’t since it’s her business—but now, I’m sitting in this little church next to Nate and his friends, and every single muscle in me is coiled so tight I feel as if I’m about to spring open and burst.
I know in the background there is music playing, and I should be checking out the bridesmaids as they walk down the aisle—after all, bridesmaids are about as easy as they come—but instead my eyes are glued to the very smug face of that asshole from last night.
Sure, he’s playing his part. He’s smiling at the guests and winking at family members, but it isn’t until I watch his eyes shift toward one particular bridesmaid that I see the real him. I’m certain that other than the girl the look was intended for, no one but me saw the lustful expression cross his features or the deep blush burn through her cheeks.
The organ stops, and all around me, people shift to look at the closed doors. The groom and the girl lock eyes one more time and he smirks while shoving his hands into his pockets to adjust his pants.
What an asshole!
An unidentifiable fury pulses through me, and if I were anywhere else but here, there’s a good possibility I would rip his face off and teach him a few things. Guys like him don’t deserve this life, and they certainly don’t deserve girls like the one who’s about to walk through that doorway.
The string quartet sitting in the upper balcony begins to play, and the rear doors whoosh open.
Collectively, everyone stands, and there’s a delighted gasp from the guests. I turn to see her and am momentarily astounded. Damn. I thought she was beautiful before, but this image of her in a white dress . . . it’s indescribable.
Seconds tick by, but she doesn’t move. She’s gripping her bouquet like it’s a lifeline, and behind the short veil over her face, her eyes are darting all around the church. Eventually, her father approaches her and urges her on. What I wouldn’t give to know what she’s thinking right now.
With her eyes trained on the altar—or him, I’m not even sure—she walks by, the pounding of my heart keeping beat with her evenly paced steps. The expensive smell of her perfume lingers as she passes.
Jesus, what’s wrong with me? I don’t know this girl, or really anything about her, but I’m completely pissed off at this entire situation and one hundred percent affected by her, more so than I even realized. Maybe it’s a case of wanting-what-I-can’t-have syndrome, or maybe it’s the protective nature I’ve always had for my family and friends; I just don’t know.
They reach the end of the aisle, the music stops, and the minister begins speaking, but I can’t hear a single word. Everyone sits and my hands ball into fists as they rest on my thighs. Tension must be radiating off me because out of the corner of my eye, I see Nate looking my way. He bumps me with his shoulder, trying to grab my attention, but I shake my head, because I can’t take my eyes off her.
Unexplained heat rises and radiates from my back. I feel like I’m going insane, and then through the screaming in my brain, the minister’s voice comes across clear as a bell.
“If any of you has reason why these two should not be married, speak now or forever hold your peace.”
I stop breathing and my mind starts jumping. Do I, or don’t I?
No, wait—what am I thinking? I can’t object to this wedding. Granted, I don’t believe in weddings, but what am I going to do, take his place? Fuck no. Besides, she doesn’t even know me. Objecting would just cause drama, and I abhor drama. The press would have a field day with this, and the team’s PR department would have my ass.
Then I watch as her shoulders sag and her head drops. Defeat. This isn’t the reaction of someone who’s excited to be getting married—hell, she can’t even maintain the fake act she paraded around last night. She should be all smiles, and instead, she looks like she just accepted a prison sentence. My heart squeezes and I let out a slow breath, knowing I’ve just made up my mind. I can’t let her do this, consequences be damned.
“I do,” I hear myself saying.
The entire crowd turns toward the back of the church in search of the speaker, in search of me, shock etched on every single face.
“What. Are. You. Doing,” Nate growls under his breath, but I don’t respond to him. I can’t.
I rise slowly and he pulls on my jacket sleeve, but I step out into the aisle and begin making my way toward her. The glares being directed my way prickle over every inch of my skin, but I don’t care, because the only eyes that matter now are hers. They’re wide, stunned, and light blue, and she’s trying so hard to place who I am.
“This has to be a joke,” the asshole standing next to her stammers.
My eyes skip from Camille to him and narrow. There’s only one thing I know for sure about how today is ending, and it’s that she will not be married to him.
“I can assure you it’s not.”
His face reddens, but I don’t care. I look back at Camille and give her a small smile, hoping to break some of the tension.
Camille’s eyes widen even farther, and then she jerks her arm away so he’s no longer touching her.
“Sir, what objections do you have to this marriage?” the minister asks.
My brain stalls. I hadn’t thought about that, and Camille raises her eyebrows in question. She wants to hear what I have to say, and the words just slip off my tongue.
“You can’t marry him.” We stare at each other so intently, and I’m praying she can read my mind. “I love you. Marry me.”
I’ve never told a girl I love her. It’s funny how, as impossible as I thought it would be for those words to ever come out of my mouth, there they are. Even though this is fake, it’s scary as hell, and sweat drips down the middle of my back.
Silence falls over the church. It’s so quiet I can hear both Camille and the prick next to her breathing, and then she laughs. She laughs at me.
Something in my chest cracks and my already racing heart feels like it’s dipped in warm water, slowing it down. Beautiful isn’t a strong enough word to describe her laughter.
Murmurs slowly pick up in volume and bounce around the space behind us.
“Look, pal, I don’t know who you are or what you’re doing here, but I think it’s best if you leave.” Patrick tries to stand in front of her, but Camille isn’t having any of it and moves down a few steps, putting us at eye level.
“Camille.” I swallow and reach for her hand. She lets me take it and her fingers wrap tightly around mine. Hers are cold, smooth, and pale, matching her perfect pedigree, while mine are warm, large, and darker, another stark difference between us. As my thumb automatically starts rubbing circles on the inside of her palm, she relaxes and loosens her hold.
“Camille, this is insane. You can’t possibly be considering this!” The arrogance from last night is gone, leaving him sounding desperate. He grabs her other hand, like an absurd game of tug of war, and her conflicted gaze travels back and forth between the two of us.
I pull gently, and her eyes return to mine. “It’s time to make that move,” I whisper, recognition lighting her up as a gasp slips through her perfect lips. A smile tips the corner of my mouth in hopes of reassuring her, and her expression fills with a growing reverence.
“Ms. Whitley,” the minister calls. She tears her eyes away, but her fingers clamp down arou
nd mine. “Are we going to have a wedding today?” he asks calmly. “And if so, with whom?”
She looks at Patrick; he’s shaking his head, imploring her not to do this, not to change her mind. The color has drained from his face and he’s deathly pale. Maybe if he had given this girl the respect she deserves, he wouldn’t be reduced to begging right now in front of a room full of people, but then again, something tells me this entitled prick won’t ever change his ways.
She looks at me, and I can’t help but wonder what she sees. The blue in her eyes shifts from light to dark; whatever she’s about to do, she’s decided absolutely. Her backbone has lengthened, her head is held higher, and then she looks past me. Her eyes lock onto someone behind me, and affection for this person floods her eyes. There’s a faint smile on her lips as she blinks then looks back at me.
This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. I can already feel the crushing weight of the repercussions this is going to cause, but there’s nothing—not one thing—that will change my mind.
“Camille, have you decided?” the minister asks again.
She closes her eyes briefly, looks once more at the prick and at me, and then she drops our hands.
“Yes.”
LOOKING AROUND THE beautiful church, I know this will be the only real wedding I’ll ever have. After all of this is over, if I ever do find someone worth marrying, I will never have a big formal wedding again. Grandfather is already eighty-five, and for years he has talked about watching Clare and me marry and getting to dance with us at our weddings. Part of me feels like I need to do this for him, but I know in the end I must do this for me.
Looking back at the beautiful stranger, I see there’s a tiny bit of fear etched in the lines around his eyes, but there’s a lot of confidence backing this position he’s found himself in. I’m not sure what it is—he’s certainly not the escape plan I had in mind—but there’s something about him that I’m drawn to, a calmness that makes me feel safe and a strength in his grip that tells me he’s not going to change his mind and back out now.
Chasing Clouds Page 3
