Claire and the Lady Billionaire_Book 8

by Giselle Fox

  “It’s about fifteen minutes north of town. Big black gates, glass and timber house. Number 4250; you can’t miss it,” I said.

  “Those of you that are from out of town and aren’t sure where to go can follow us,” Sherri said.

  Camille smiled at me. “Shall we go.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When we were back in my truck, I gave her leg a squeeze. “That was really sweet of you.”

  Camille smiled. “You would have done it in a heartbeat.”

  “Sure, but I don’t have a shmancy house on the water to offer up. It’s super nice.”

  “It’s better this way,” Camille said with a smile. “We won’t have to worry about who’s going to be the designated driver. We’ll already be home.”

  “You’ve given this some thought,” I said, grinning. “My mom was impressed.”

  Camille’s head spun around. “Really? How do you know?”

  “Well, I saw her clapping when everyone else did. You scored some brownie points.”

  “Add them to my deficit, I’ll still be in the red by the end of the trip,” Camille groaned.

  “Hey, you’re doing fine. They’re just sad that I’m leaving, that’s all. You would be too.”

  “I’d be crushed,” Camille said, “that’s what I’m saying: I’ll only ever be the woman that stole you away.”

  “No, they’ll eventually just see you as the woman that makes me happy and that makes me a better person. They’ll come around.”

  “Do I make you a better person?” Camille asked softly.

  “Are you kidding me? Don’t you know?”

  She shook her head.

  “Yes,” I said, looking over at her. I smoothed my hand up her leg.

  “See… I know that you’ve made me a better person, but I’m not convinced that it’s gone the other way. I’ve given you other things—opportunities and luxuries, mostly, and perhaps quite a few headaches—but you were always the good person you are now.”

  “Well, I don’t see it that way,” I replied.

  “I aspire to be more like you, in fact,” Camille said.

  “Seriously?”

  She nodded. “People like you. You make friends easily because you put them at ease, you never judge, you never speak ill of others, you never gossip, you’re warm and kind and that permeates everything you do.”

  “You’re the same,” I said.

  “No, my love, I’m not the same,” Camille laughed.

  “You are to me,” I said. “And you are to Sherri and Jarret, and to Penny and Aiden, and my parents for telling them you’ll fly them to Singapore to visit me, even if they don’t know it yet-”

  “Yes, but those are your people. I have my dad, Leda, and you. I have colleagues, employees, and more acquaintances than I can keep track of. But who are my friends? Every woman I’ve liked enough, I either slept with or-”

  “Hey, hey, whoa Nelly,” I said. “Me the jealous type, remember?”

  “I’ve just never been able to keep a friend, that’s all I’m trying to say.”

  “Just you wait, by the end of the evening, you’ll have eighty new friends.”

  Camille laughed. “We’ll see.” She turned her head and watched the road go by.

  Even though her tone had been light, I could tell that she was being real. “Maybe you should join a club or something; somewhere you can find interesting, like-minded people—that you don’t want to sleep with, of course. Maybe you’ll meet a chum.”

  Camille smiled at me. “A chum?”

  “Yeah. Someone you chat on the phone with every now and then, send stupid texts to, someone to go for a beer with even though you don’t drink much beer.”

  “I may start now that I have a lifetime supply.”

  “There you go.”

  “I have memberships on forty-six different clubs already. I may have exhausted that avenue.”

  “Okay, maybe there’s an app where gorgeous billionaires can find a buddy. What am I saying? never mind. Everyone on Earth is looking for a gorgeous billionaire to be buddies with.”

  “Therein lies the problem,” Camille sighed.

  I looked over at her again. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you.”

  Camille smiled back at me. “Only a little. I’ve gotten used to it. It’s just the way things are; there are trade-offs. Friends are one of them.”

  “Have you ever met anyone that’s in your same demographic that’s also cool?”

  “There have been a few, I guess.”

  “Where are they now?”

  Camille turned to me. “Well… one of them was Avery.”

  “Never mind Avery,” I said for my own sanity.

  “There was a woman at Cambridge, but that went sour too after her boyfriend completely wrecked things,” Camille sighed. “I like Jasmine, but she’s moving back to Boston.”

  “This is tricky,” I said after a few quiet moments contemplating Camille’s predicament. “But we’ll figure something out.”

  “Truthfully, I don’t need anyone else but you. I have a very full life already. I doubt I’d be able to give anyone new the appropriate amount of attention.”

  “The appropriate amount of attention…” I repeated.

  “Well, I have to be realistic about what I’m asking for; friends require a level of consistency that I’m not sure I can give.”

  “It sounds like you wish you could, though,” I said.

  “I just see you with your people and it makes me a little envious. Not in a bad way, I’m happy for you because you deserve it. You come back here and they treat you special because they care about you, and that’s wonderful to witness and be part of.”

  “But?”

  “But nothing, really. It’s just helped me identify another hole in my life; something I’d like to work on. I’ve been asking myself questions: what do I want, what am I missing, what am I working toward? I have to set goals for the future, otherwise, I’ll just get swamped with work and they’ll never happen.”

  I turned to her again. “What other holes have you identified?”

  Camille pondered that. “I would like to see my mother more often. I want to take you to France one day and show you where she lives.”

  “I’d love to go there with you,” I said.

  “There are so many projects that we’ve worked on over the years that I think you’d really be inspired by. I’d meant to take you this summer, but…”

  “I’d love to see what you’ve done. What else?”

  “I want to make our life together a priority. To travel other places, not just for family and work, but to explore and enrich our lives; to maybe have a family one day, though definitely not right now… just maybe one day.”

  I squeezed her leg again. “I’d like that too.”

  “But I also want to be there to raise them,” Camille said.

  I lifted her hand and kissed it. “Anything else?”

  “I realized something today, watching Sherri and Jarrett take their vows. A part of me has always felt that marriage was nothing more than a patriarchal construct that had nothing to offer me, but I’ve also never been able to deny that the idea of promising myself to someone I loved more than anything in the world sounded wonderfully romantic. There’s also great value in the ritual, of course. But until I had you, I didn’t see a reason in going beyond the practical steps of a financial agreement with a partner; I always thought it would be enough to live together and love each other.”

  “And now?”

  “Now, I have a strange desire to climb the tallest building and yell to everyone how much I love you. It’s completely irrational.”

  “Ahh, but some might call it romantic.”

  “I’ve spent the last twenty years figuring out who I am and what that means in the context of the family I was born into. My sexuality has defined so many of the choices I’ve made. Maybe everything would have been different if I’d been born heterosexual; maybe I wouldn’t have been as
private, maybe my interests would have expressed themselves differently. Or maybe it all would have been the same. Who knows?”

  “Who knows?” I said. “But I’m pretty sure you would have turned out perfect either way.”

  “I feel that because of who I am, I have to continue to make choices that demonstrate the values that are important to me; people are watching, and what I do impacts a larger conversation. I’m not saying I agree with why that happens; it just does.”

  “People are definitely watching.”

  “So, a part of me wants to scream from the rooftops about how in love I am with you. The other part questions the whole institution of marriage because, frankly, it was never designed to benefit women, yet another part of me feels a responsibility to present a good example of a healthy lesbian relationship to the world and challenge the notion that only straight couples can have family values, and another wants to keep our love completely private and sacred so it’s protected because it’s no one else’s business anyway. But today, I couldn’t stop crying at the wedding because it just made me think of how committed I am to you. It’s all so confusing.”

  I smiled over at her. “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “Sure, I understand completely. For me, it all boils down to one thing.”

  “What?”

  “You’re the only person I would say this to,” I said, eying her.

  She began to smile. “Tell me.”

  “When I think about being married to you, I get completely turned on.”

  “Really? Still?”

  “Absolutely! I mean, I’ve imagined our wedding and what a great party we’ll have. I’ve thought about where we could go on our honeymoon, and how relaxing it will be to make love for two weeks straight. But it’s the after part that I like to think about the most.”

  “What happens in the after part?” Camille asked, smiling.

  “We get to build. Everything we do, everything we say to each other, every time we express ourselves, every time we kiss, fuck, and make love, every time we disappoint each other and have to work it out, everything will add on to our vows. I just think that’s sexy, don’t you?”

  Camille laughed. I couldn’t gauge whether she was just humoring me or if she felt the same way I did. I decided it was probably a better idea to keep my eye on the road. “Right?”

  “Right,” Camille said. She reached her hand over and placed it on my thigh. “I sure love you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Setting up Camille’s beach house for eighty guests was as easy as opening up all the doors and making sure the bathrooms were stocked with enough of the essentials.

  “I have some games,” Camille said. “Bocce, spike ball, beach volleyball, things like that. Should we bring them out?”

  “Definitely,” I replied. We went through the garage and found all the stuff we needed organized in bins that were labeled in Leda’s handwriting. We took it all down to the beach and set it up. When that was done, we sat out back and waited until the caterers arrived. A little while after, Sherri and Jarrett’s car showed, followed closely by the rest of the wedding party.

  Their parents, aunts and uncles, friends, co-workers and everyone else, began to arrive in a steady stream. The woman from the venue quickly scouted out the best spots for her crew to set up the folding buffet tables and chairs. Camille and I scoured the house for all the beach-appropriate blankets we could find.

  The DJ set-up his PA and decks out on the balcony overlooking the beach. Everyone that was able-bodied pitched in, helping to string lights or set-up chairs. Once the music began to play, it felt like a party.

  The kegs were tapped and drinks were poured. Within no time, the little mishap at the venue was forgotten. A beautiful luxury home with a private beach had a whole other experience to offer.

  “This… is good,” Camille said happily. We were standing down by the water’s edge. Most of the guests were on the beach, enjoying the sun or playing games in the sand. Nearly everyone was barefoot, and anyone that wore pants had them rolled up to their knees. Sherri and Jarrett were holding hands and looking completely blissed-out, making the rounds to all their friends and family.

  “It’s exactly how a wedding celebration should be,” I said. It felt like all the formality had been drained out of it, leaving just the good stuff behind. The weather was perfect—warm but not too warm. Everyone was relaxed and having fun. The DJ had the mood dialed-in with a perfect soundtrack to keep the vibe light. It was also gratifying to see just how thankful and appreciative everyone was to Camille. She was welcomed into the fold. Pretty soon, she was carousing as if she’d always been part of the gang.

  Without either of them knowing, I watched my mother and father as they watched Camille. She was playing a round of beach volleyball with a group of old friends. My parents spoke to each other, nodding solemnly. I tried to judge their faces and wondered what they were saying about her. I wondered if I should go up to them and ask but then stopped myself.

  It wasn’t up to Camille or me to change their minds about us; that was a place they had to reach on their own. I knew in my heart that it would just be a matter of time before they did and that no matter how much they would miss me, they would make peace with the change.

  I left Camille to her volleyball game and took a walk up the beach on my own, simply enjoying the sunshine, the water, and a cold glass of Sherri’s delicious raspberry witbier. Camille waved at me when I took a seat at the edge of the dock. She, Denise, and Brayden were taking on another trio of hardcore volleyball players. Camille was glowing and I could hear her laughter from my perch out on the dock.

  Then, I watched my parents amble along the water’s edge in more or less the same path that I had taken. My mother waved to me and I waved back. A few minutes later, they were walking along the dock toward me. They sat down beside me, my mother on my right, my father on my left. We sat close, shoulder to shoulder. Our legs dangled over the edge of the dock and hung above the water.

  “This sure is a beautiful place,” my father said. His voice was calm and deep. “I’ve always wanted to come down here.”

  I looked at him. “You can come down here any time you want.”

  “Yeah?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  My mother put her arm around me. “It’s good to see you so happy. We just didn’t know.”

  “Do you know now?” I asked.

  My mother nodded. She squinted her eyes and looked up the sunny beach toward the volleyball players. “Maybe you’ll understand one day what it’s like to be a mother.”

  “I hope so,” I said. I looked out at Camille and tried to imagine that day. The volleyball game had stopped for a moment, she was standing at the edge of the court. She waved at us. We all waved back.

  “So… what’s a good time of year to visit Singapore?” my dad asked.

  I smiled. “Um… September and October are still good. It starts getting rainy in November. February to April is nice. May and June are hot, but it’s always hot. Camille has the whole rooftop of her building and there’s a pool up there so that helps us stay cool. Come any time. We’ll make it special.”

  “When do you think you might come home again?” my mother asked.

  “I’ll come back at Christmas. How does that sound?”

  My dad nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Me too,” my mom said. My mom held my hand. Then my dad put his arm around all of us.

  Something caught my eye; a glint of light coming from behind the dunes. I looked again and saw nothing, but kept my eyes focused.

  “Wait… did you guys see that?”

  My parents looked where I was looking. Then, I saw the flash again, and the dark brim of a baseball cap. Someone was hiding up there.

  “Hey!!!” I yelled. I shot up to my feet and pointed, then I ran back along the dock. My yells caught the attention of some of the others and then the others began to shout too. There was a scramble up the beach, t
he guy in the baseball cap broke cover and started running back up the hill and into the brush. My mom and dad were behind me.

  A gang of guys ran after him, Brayden was at the head of the pack. The group splintered off, one set tore off up the steps beside Camille’s house while the other charged up the sandy bank and into the scrub. Camille hung back and waited for me.

  “I think that’s him,” she shouted when I got close.

  The DJ cut the music. By the time we ran up the steps and reached the end of the driveway, we heard shouts coming from up the road. Then, Brayden and a group of the others emerged from the bushes escorting the guy with the baseball cap, his camera, and the longest lens I’d ever seen, back toward Camille’s house.

  “Is this the same guy you saw here last night?” Brayden called to her.

  Camille eyed him, her jaw clenched. “Yep, that’s him.”

  “Let me go,” the guy shouted. He was probably in his mid-forties, had a beard and a greasy sheen like he’d spent too much time in the dirt. Camille pulled his camera from his hands.

  “Don’t!” he shouted.

  Camille ignored him and popped the SD card out of the bottom. She threw it far into the bushes. “Whoops,” she said and handed the camera back to the guy. “Are there any more?”

  “No,” he said.

  “What about the ones you took last night?” Brayden asked him.

  The guy said nothing.

  “Okay, fine. Where’s your vehicle?”

  He didn’t answer.

  “I know you didn’t walk all the way out here. Where is your car,” he said louder and clearer.

  The guy nodded up the road. “It’s parked up there.”

  It turned out there were more photos, and lots of them, sitting on a laptop hidden in the trunk of his car. It looked like he’d been living out of it for the past few days. Most of the images were too dark or fuzzy to be worth anything, but Camille made him delete every single one while we watched. “Now can I go?”

  “What gave you the impression I was going to let you go?” Brayden asked.

  The guy looked over at Camille. “But I thought if-”