The Billionaire's Secret: A BWWM Romance Mystery (27 page)

Camilla
ducks behind me and I shield her with my body before we both break out in a run
for the door.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sanniyah

Out in
the bright sunlight, we stand blinking for a moment. "So...that went
well," Camilla deadpans.

"We
can try another time," I tell her. I am ready to crash. I also find my
fingers itching to reach for my cell phone to call Carter.

"I'm
never going to be completely cool with it," Camilla says. "I'd rather
go now, while I'm mentally prepared."

I sigh
inwardly, then nod. "My morning is yours." I think for a moment.
"Do you mind walking or should we grab a cab?"

"Let's
walk, I could use the air."

"This
way then."

We walk
in companionable silence, but I am burning up inside. I want her to keep
talking about Carter. "Do Greg and your brother get along?" I ask,
innocently enough, I think.

Camilla
smiles. "Greg can be...intense. He's on, 24/7. It's good for me, since I
have a tendency to be passive. He balances me out, helps me go for my goals and
all of that. But he doesn't always recognize when he should turn that off and
just...chill."

I nod.
"Does that cause any problems?"

Camilla
laughs a little. "Yesterday I was fairly certain that Carter was going to
punch Greg out. But I couldn't really blame him. If my brother hadn't hit him,
I would have had to. Luckily Greg is pretty self-aware and realized he was out
of line."

I
swallow back my curiosity. "
What did
he say? What did he do? What did Carter do? How did he look while he was doing
it?"
I don't ask any of these questions. Instead, I nod sagely.
"It must be hard being caught between the two most important men in your
life."

"Not
that hard," Camilla shakes her head. "In the end, I know that Carter
only wants me to be happy. He's like that. His temper flares up, but then it
immediately settles back down again."

I
remember the coldness in his eyes as he watched me from the bed.
"Hmm," I say.

"We
didn't come from money," Camilla says suddenly, striding forward like she
wants to escape the memory. "Mom was a home ec teacher at our high school
and Dad was a writer. When he sold a book, which was rare, happened only a few
times that I can remember, we would go on fancy vacations with the advance
money and I would pretend that I was one of the rich people. It seemed like such
a simple thing, having a lot of money. Like it solved all the problems you
could have."

We're
nearing our destination and I have to put a gentle hand on her arm to keep her
from starting to sprint. She is anxious and coiled up like a spring. "But
it doesn't solve anything, you know. You're still the same person you were back
before the money came into your life, with the same hurts and the same
memories. The money doesn't change who you were and it doesn't fix the parts of
you that you don't like very much. And sometimes you acquire a whole new set of
hurts and memories to go with the new money."

Her
words ignite a struggle inside of me.
Rich
people don't have problems,
the perpetual outsider protests, but the truth
of Cammy's words cannot be denied. I nod slowly, remembering something I read
and scoffed at long ago. The words come back to me slowly, and I speak them
with a voice that I don't recognize as my own. "Everyone carries their own
set of hurts. You can't know what's in someone's heart unless you let them show
it to you."

Her
eyes flit back to mine like she is just remembering that I am there. Her lips
quirk up in a mysterious little smile. "I think Carter would agree with
you, even if he doesn't realize it yet."

Chapter
Twenty-Seven

Sanniyah

Her
words hang in the air for several moments, settling around my shoulders so that
I feel them wrap around me like a warm blanket.

Then
she abruptly turns her head and looks at the door. "Is this it?"

The
spell broken, I turn and look at the tiny storefront. We're on a nondescript
block, the crash-bang of a loading dock three doors down is making it so we
need to shout. "I think you'll like it here," I promise her.

She
nods and I push my way into Melanie's Bridal, a homey little shop that is my hidden
resource.

"Ms.
Jones!" Melanie Rankoff is a Russian immigrant with a regal bearing and a
warm smile made even warmer by the motherly crinkles around her eyes. She's
been in the States long enough to soften her accent to a soft burr around her
words. I could listen to her talk for hours.

"Mrs.
Rankoff, so good to see you again." We exchange cheek kisses and I pull
Camilla towards her. "Beach wedding in October," I say.

Melanie
nods. "Light and unfussy." Her long fingers dart out to caress
Camilla's cheek. Camilla shies away for a moment, then smiles under the
motherly touch. "You should definitely wear your hair down, my dear. You
will look like a mermaid with those waves."

Camilla
catches her fine hair back. "Not an updo?"

Melanie
shakes her head firmly. "A single braid to frame the face, that is it. And
you will wear this."

Melanie
disappears around the corner. We stand in the vestibule of the cramped little
shop. "Should we follow?" Camilla whispers.

"Just
wait, she'll bring it out. Melanie has a system," I assure her.

Camilla
laughs, clearly as enchanted by Melanie's eccentricities as I am. Just then,
the salon owner pokes her head around the corner. "You may come now, you
must see this. I have outdone myself."

Camilla
looks at me. "Well, you heard the woman, go ahead," I urge her.

Camilla
steps around the corner and I hear a little gasp. Crossing my fingers, I step
to follow her and gasp myself.

My
bride's hands are clasped over her mouth. She is crying, but they are happy,
smiling tears. She reaches out and touches the dress, and her face goes soft
and dreamy as she caresses the simple chiffon layers that flit like fairy wings
along the hem of the tea length dress.

"Ms.
Jones," Melanie winks at me. "Will you lock the shop door?"

Camilla
is already undressing, entranced by the gown in front of her. I flick the bolt
on the door to give her privacy, and move to gather her things and fold them
neatly. Melanie lets the dress fall over Camilla's head. It flows like water,
hugging but accentuating her small curves, and then she pulls her hair free of
the loose bun and lets the waves fall about her face. Then she turns to the
mirror.

"Yes,"
I say. "This is it."

Camilla
nods, clearing her throat and wiping away her tears. "It's so
simple," she says.

"It's
so you," I clarify. Melanie discreetly melts back into the shadows.

"The
tabloids are already speculating about my dress," Camilla muses.
"They're tossing out all of these names, photoshopping me into these
giant, frilly things that make me look like a wedding cake with a head. This?
This looks almost...casual."

"Like
a day at the beach."

She
turns back to the mirror. "It's perfect. I can actually see it now.
Standing on the beach with Greg, maybe some fairy lights in the trees?"

I wince
a little. Fairy lights are so cliche. "I can see it too," I hedge,
and it doesn't involve fairy lights
. I
am about to share
my
vision, when she
whirls around and impetuously flings her arms around me. "Thank you,"
she says, her voice catching. "Thank you for knowing what I needed."

I'm
momentarily started, but it isn't hard to embrace her back and we clutch each
other tightly for a moment. She pulls back, wiping a tear away from where it
was dripping from the tip of her nose and laughs again. "Can you do one
more thing?"

"Of
course," I smile. "I am a full service wedding planner."

She
smiles slyly. "Can you give my brother another chance?"

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sanniyah

I am in
a taxi back to my place when my text alert goes off.

"
Cammy told me she found a dress
."

My
stomach gives a lurch that has nothing to do with the cabbie's erratic driving.
Is he happy? Sad? Is this business we're talking about here? Am I supposed to
act like the hired wedding planner or the woman who he threw over his shoulder
and carried to bed? And should I tell him how much I liked that last part?

I
decide to play it safe. "
Hi
,"
I reply.

"
Hi
." He writes back immediately,
I'll give him that.

"
Yes, she looked beautiful
," I type.

There
is a long pause and I wonder if he is typing, thinking, or if he's put the
phone down and wandered away. I stare at my screen, feeling irrationally angry.
Camilla told me to give her brother another chance, but he didn't seem all that
interested in making it count.

My stop
is coming up, and I irritably tuck my phone back into my purse. I need to
change, check in on my mom and then sleep for a year, in that order. But just
as I am emerging from the cab, I feel my whole purse start vibrating in my lap,
right on top of a very sensitive area. Carter Easton won't seem to let go of
his hold on me there, dammit.

I
shiver and cross my legs, then grab the phone, ready to hit ignore. But I find
myself reading in spite of myself.

"
She says she told you about our parents. And
that you stood up for her at that snooty place and ended up leading her right
to the perfect dress. She also says you're a genius and I'm an idiot for
letting you get on that helicopter trying to change your mind. I know things
were moving fast, but, maybe that’s ok…
"

"Miss?
We here? Miss?" The cabbie is pulled over and bleating at me to get out
and stop staring at my phone in his back seat. I throw some cash at him without
counting it and hurriedly slam to the door. I rush up the stairs of my
apartment building and lean in the entryway to read it again.

"
You there
?" he wrote in the
interim.

"
I'm here
," I type. "
Getting out of a cab
."

There
is another pause. "
Are you
home?"
he writes.

The
elevator dings open and the old woman from the floor above me scrapes her walker
across the hallway. I greet her as I duck in between the closing doors. "
Almost
," I type.

"
You got an early start today
."

"
Had a late night too,"
I type back
without thinking.

"
Oh?"
The question mark hangs there
like an accusation and I wonder if he's jumped to some wild conclusion about my
sex life. Then the phone vibrates again. "
Is everything okay?"

I sag
against the elevator wall. I am exhausted, too exhausted to keep getting hit
with these emotions over and over again. "
Not really
," I type, before I can catch myself.
Don't drag him into this,
I admonish
myself
. He doesn't need to know your
drama.

There
is another pause, a long one, long enough for me to open the door to my
apartment and fall headfirst into the couch.

Otis's
health, my mother's grief, Tricia moving...it's all too damn much.
I don't have the mental energy for Carter
Easton's paranoid brand of courtship. I can't do this.

But
then my phone buzzes again. "
Is
there any way I can help?"
he writes.

I
blink. I was expecting the third degree, for him to press and offer platitudes
like people usually did in the face of sickness. I wasn't expecting...this.

I sit
up on my couch and type.
"Can you
run all my errands for me? Grocery shopping, visiting, cleaning, cooking, all
that?"

He writes
back immediately.
"Give me a
second."

I have
to laugh
. "You're not even on the
same landmass."

I wait.
Tricia bangs on the wall. "I hear you texts going off like crazy in
there!" she yells. "That'd better be your billionaire, otherwise
knock it off!"

I look
down at my phone. He's not replying. Gradually my smile fades into a frown.
"What the hell was that?" I say out loud.

Padding
over to my bedroom, I shimmy out of my work clothes and slip into a T-shirt,
jeans and a pair of well-worn ballet flats. Trying to tell myself I am not
waiting for a text back, I putter around the room, putting away a few books and
hanging up my dress.

The
phone is still strangely, heavily silent.
 
"Well fine then," I say to myself. Angrily I shove it into my
purse and head to the door.