Chapter 28 Thinking about work
The kitchen smelled of Nina's toasted sourdough, fresh coffee, and the subtle, citrusy sweetness of fresh fruit. Morning sunlight spilled across the marble countertops, glinting off the polished silverware and the crystal glasses arranged meticulously for breakfast. She was perched on the edge of a high-backed chair, a perfectly poached egg balanced atop a slice of avocado toast, her hands cradling a warm mug of tea. Beside her, a plate of berries gleamed like jewels, each one hand-picked, washed, and arranged with care.
Breakfast in the Lustrelle household was never rushed. Everyone moved with purpose, filled with laughter, chatter, and gestures graceful. Today though, Camille pushed her food around absently, stabbing at a berry but letting it fall back onto the plate. She was nibbling at her toast, savoring the subtle crunch beneath the silky avocado, and the sharp tang of lemon zest sprinkled across it. Her gaze drifted toward the window, where the manicured garden stretched in perfect order, each hedge sculpted, every flower bed neat, the morning dew catching the sun in tiny sparkling fragments.
The weekend had been long, quiet, and heavy. Despite being surrounded by her family, Camille’s mind replayed the kiss with Holland Larson again and again. The daring press of lips, the audacity, the thrill, it refused to leave her.
Before she could take another sip of tea, a shadow loomed over her plate.
“Morning, Cam,” came a familiar, teasing drawl.
Theo leaned lazily over her, hands in the pockets of his tailored trousers, a smirk playing across his lips. Without warning, he plucked a slice of toast from her plate, biting into it with practiced ease.
Camille opened her mouth to call him out, a sharp retort on the tip of her tongue, but the words died there. She didn’t have the strength, nor the desire, to engage.
He leaned closer again, aiming for her plate, and a slight thwak grazed the back of her head as she moved aside, giving Theo the space. With everything waiting for her at the office, dealing with her older brother was trivial. She exhaled softly, letting a small, internal laugh escape at how easy this battle seemed compared to what she faced in her mind.
“You know, for someone who acts all prim and proper, you let people steal your breakfast pretty easily,” Theo said, chewing, eyes twinkling. "This isn't you, Cammy."
Camille didn’t respond, only pinned him with a tired look. One that silently promised that his mischief would not go unpunished if repeated. Theo chuckled, before finally retreating to pour himself a glass of juice, conceding the battlefield but not the war.
"What’s wrong with you?” Theo murmured, draining his glass with a flourish, before weaving past the table to plant quick kisses on Mom and Dad’s cheeks. He returned to Camille with a mischievous grin. “You know what? I’ll pick you up for lunch,” he said, eyes sparkling. “My treat.”
Camille’s stomach twisted. Lunch. Would she even survive until then? The thought of facing Holland at the office made her pulse thud unevenly. The chief, the work, and the looming conversation awaiting her, it all felt too much. Maybe she could just feign sickness, curl back under her covers, and hide from the world. But no. Her father, had been looking forward to them heading to work together. Maybe she should come clean, tell them everything, but there was no viable option.
Her spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the soft, steady warmth of her father’s voice.
“Princess,” James said, leaning forward and reaching across the table to grasp her hand, his thumb brushing over hers with a practiced gentleness, “What’s wrong?”
Camille’s gaze flickered upward, catching the concern in her father’s eyes before moving to her mother, who was studying her closely. Her brows faintly furrowed, and the line of her mouth soft with worry.
She forced a small, fragile smile, the kind that always convinced the world she was fine even when everything inside her screamed otherwise. “Nothing, Daddy. Just… just thinking about work,” she murmured, her voice barely above the hum of conversation and clinking silverware.
Janine’s eyes softened, but her concern remained sharp beneath the gentle exterior. “Sweetie,” she said, voice quiet, coaxing, “You barely left your room all weekend. Something’s definitely wrong. Tell us, sweetie. No matter what it is, your father and I will always stand by you.”
Camille nodded slowly, a faint warmth flooding her chest at their care. Her heart swelled with the realization of how safe, how unconditionally supported she felt in this family, even as the fire of her actions smoldered in the back of her mind. “I know, mom,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “You're the most amazing parents anyone could ask for. Everything… everything is okay, Mom.”
Wanting to draw the spotlight from herself, she reached for her phone absently. Checking the time that was marking her steady march toward the start of the workday. It had to be done. Taking a breath, she turned to her father. “Daddy, we should go,” Camille whispered, her mind still half-distracted by the memory that refused to leave her.
James let out a rich, hearty laugh, the sound filling the kitchen and drew a faint smile from Camille despite herself. Glancing at his own watch, he added, “Yes, Princess. We do need to go.” He leaned toward his wife, and the familiar gesture of their morning kiss followed, light, intimate, practiced, yet carrying the depth of years spent together.
Camille groaned, a flush creeping over her cheeks, mortified as her parents’ lips lingered a moment longer than she expected. “Mom! Dad! Stop! You can’t do that in front of me!” she called, a mixture of playful frustration and embarrassment threading through her tone.
James and Janine pulled apart, laughing softly, before drawing in again for a quick peck. Camille waved her hands, covering her eyes.
Janine laughed softly, brushing back a loose strand of hair that had fallen across her face. “Darling, this is normal for a loving and healthy couple. To show affection,” she said warmly, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she stared at her dashing husband. “One day, you’ll understand. You’ll find someone, and you’ll have the chance to kiss them goodbye every morning.”
Camille’s cheeks warmed. Her heart thudded unpredictably. She had felt something similar, electric, and exhilarating when she had kissed Holland Larson. The memory surged, wild and unrelenting, an intoxicating taste of something she had never felt before. She turned as her father stood, reaching for the seat next to her and grabbing her handbag as she too stood.
Stepping closer, James settled his arms around his daughter, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of Camille's hair. The motion was so familiar, so grounding, that Camille’s shoulders sagged slightly, tension seeping out in the small, involuntary exhale she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
“I’m proud of you, Camille,” he whispered, his voice low and warm, carrying the weight of years and quiet devotion.
Wanting to be a part of the moment, Janine leaned in close as well, brushing a soft kiss against her daughter’s temple. “Have a wonderful day at work, my darling,” she said, her words melodic, threaded with a calm certainty that Camille had always relied upon. Her mother’s hand lingered on her arm for a moment before releasing, leaving a lingering warmth in its wake.
Camille drew in a shaky breath, trying to ground herself in the ordinary flow of family ritual, yet her mind still fluttered, tugged by the memory of the chief. What... what would happen when she got to the office?
Together, the father and daughter moved toward the front foyer. The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, bouncing off polished marble floors and the delicate crystal chandelier above, scattering light in fragmented prisms across the walls. Camille’s heels clicked softly, punctuating the quiet conversation of her parents as they exchanged small, easy words about the day ahead. She followed them with measured steps, savoring the ordinary rhythm even as her thoughts swirled with the extraordinary.
The doors swung open, revealing Charles standing patiently at the bottom of the steps. His uniform was precise, and his posture impeccable. He inclined his head slightly, acknowledging their presence, and held the car door open.
James reached for Camille’s hand again, entwining fingers briefly as he guided her down the last step. “Charles will drop off your car and keys at the office,” he assured softly, leaving her the space to settle in quietly and without worry. Camille nodded, her pulse quickening with a mix of gratitude and residual nerves.
The car door closed with a soft thud behind them, and the engine hummed to life. As the tires rolled over the driveway, Camille’s gaze swept over the sprawling estate, the manicured lawns, and the hedges clipped with careful precision. Beyond the gates, the neighborhood stretched out in perfect symmetry, tree-lined streets, pristine sidewalks, and grand homes, each reflecting a life of privilege and order. Yet the beauty that surrounded her, the calm of the morning, only made her chest tighten further