Chapter 43 Always right

Chapter 43 Always right
Camille paused outside her father’s study, knuckles suspended mid-air. Her palms rubbed slow circles over the sleeves of her cream sweater, working up heat as if she could knead the nerves out of her skin. The small tremor in her fingers refused to behave. Funny, put her in a pitch meeting and she was a lion. But feelings? Real, vulnerable ones? They scrambled her thoughts like eggs on a hot pan.

She took a breath and knocked gently.

For a moment, only quiet lived on the other side. Then came her father’s deep voice, carrying warmth even when he tried to sound stern.

“Come in.”

Camille turned the knob slowly, peeking her head through the small gap of the door before stepping inside. Her father’s study always looked like a place time admired and refused to rush. Dark mahogany shelves stretched up the walls, filled with leather-bound books and framed photos. A soft Persian rug lay under her feet, colors gentle and lived-in. The air smelled faintly of cedar, old paper, and her father’s cologne, the one he’d worn since she was five.

“Daddy?” she said softly. “Can I talk to you?”

James Lustrelle looked up from his paperwork, glasses low on the bridge of his nose. He blinked once, then his face lit up, no hesitation, no question. He took off his glasses and leaned forward in his leather chair, arms open in welcome.

“Of course, princess. Come on in.”

That tone, she could never resist it. Camille closed the gap quickly and rounded the oversized desk, the polished wood cool under her fingertips, and wrapped her arms around her father in a warm, tight hug. He smelled like safety and patience and long years of loving his family more than anything on earth.

His arms closed around her just as firmly, as if he gathered not only her body but every piece of her childhood that still clung to moments like this. Camille felt his hand squeeze hers, gentle but full of quiet pride, and she held on tighter like she could anchor herself inside the comfort of his presence.

James chuckled softly, the sound low and familiar, brushing the crown of her head with a small fatherly kiss. “You always know how to make my day, you know that?”

Camille didn’t answer him with words at first. Instead, she leaned in even closer, her cheek brushing his temple. She kissed the top of his head, whispering, barely above breath, “I love you, Daddy.”

James froze for a beat, overwhelmed, softened, and undone the way only his daughter could manage. His hand lifted to lightly pat her arm, lingering there as though trying to hold this version of her, the one who used to run to him after scraped knees and school recitals, a little longer.

“And I love you too, princess,” he murmured, voice thick with affection. He angled back just enough to look at her properly, his eyes warm, touched, almost glimmering.

“You always melt me,” he added with a quiet laugh. “Even when you don’t mean to.”

Camille chuckled as she pulled away, letting the warmth settle in her chest before she moved. Her fingers trailed along the desk’s smooth edge, the wood cool beneath her touch. The framed photos lined neatly across the back, summers at the beach, holiday dinners, birthday cakes big enough to feed a small army. All bright smiles and sunburned noses, her brothers making faces, her parents standing proud. A life full, familiar, and hers.

Her father reached for one of the frames, lifting it with a soft hum, the six of them in matching linen, white sand stretching forever behind them, ocean curling lazily at their feet. Camille remembered the heat, the salt in her hair, and her mother insisting they “hold still one more time” even after twenty attempts.

“We should go back there,” he said, brushing his thumb across the glass. “Bora Bora. Your mother nearly convinced the entire island to adopt her.”

Camille laughed, dropping into the soft armchair across from him. It hugged her frame, cushions molding under her weight as she tucked a foot beneath her. “We should. But it wasn’t the place that made it special,” she said, voice light. “It was you and Mom. And the my brothers. Even if they were annoying.”

James let out a full-bodied laugh, the kind that rolled through the room and warmed it without trying. “Since when did you become such a sweetheart?” he teased, glancing at the photo again. “Theo and Joshua should have been castaways. Left on that island until they learned manners.”

Camille snorted, folding her legs beneath her fully and leaning back, lips pushing into a pout. “Daddy, we both know Josh and Theo are dummies. When is Daniel really coming back?”

Her voice softened at the end, her mind tugging toward the brother who always felt like a safe place. The one who never rolled his eyes when she talked too fast, who treated her opinions like they mattered even when she barely knew what she was saying. Half a decade older, but somehow the closest to her. Theo and Josh? A pair of walking eye-rolls whose favorite hobby was teasing her into near-rage growing up.

James leaned back, a slow breath moving through him, pride sitting heavy in his eyes as he thought of his sons. “Soon,” he said. “He’s overseeing the branch opening abroad. With the company expanding the way it is…” He paused, voice dipping into something thoughtful. “I couldn’t be prouder of the boys.”

His gaze settled on her then, warmer, fuller. “And now you, too.”

The words hit Camille deeper than she expected. They didn’t land loud, they landed true in her heart. Camille felt her throat tighten a little, fingers curling against her knee. For years she had been the one drifting, floating, chasing fun while everyone else chased legacy. But now? Now she wanted to prove she wasn’t just the youngest Lustrelle by title. She wanted to stand on the ground she earned, not the one built beneath her feet.

Camille smoothed the hem of her sweater where it bunched as she sat up straighter. Her voice gentled, something small and earnest slipping through. “Dad. Tomorrow, the Chief and I are heading out for a business meeting. I was wondering if I could borrow your Evoque. Mine needs servicing.”

James didn’t hesitate, not even a blink. “Okay, princess,” he said with an ease that wrapped around her like warmth. “You know where the keys are.”

Camille smiled broadely, her shoulders softening, as her breath loosened. Things were truly falling in place with such ease, “Yes, Daddy. Thank you."

James tilted his head, observant in that way parents always were, catching details before they were spoken. “What’s the meeting about?”

A spark chased across Camille’s face. "Harper!" The name literally tore from with her. Camille leaned forward without thinking, hands already moving as if excitement needed space to breathe. “HarperNoir! Daddy, she’s amazing. She’s bold and her style? Ugh, so cool. And she’s so..."

James lifted a brow, amusement settling in his expression like it had been waiting there all along. “Are you sure this is about business? Or are you meeting your celebrity crush?”

Camille’s breath caught. Heat rushing up her neck so fast she almost squeaked. “Dad!” she half–whined, swatting lightly at the arm of her chair. “She’s not my crush. I just… admire her. A lot. She’s... she's iconic! You should see her insta, the suits, the captions, the way she just...”

James chuckled, warm and full of pride. “Alright, princess. I’m glad you’re using this opportunity to meet your idol.”

"I know right," she squealed.

"Better make the most of it," James let out laughing softly. It was always a wonderful seeing his only daughter get this excited. It didn't take much to get Camille hyped up about something or someone.

The excitement in Camille’s slowly settled, shrinking into something smaller and more fragile. Her gaze drifted to the shelf across the room where familiar books and framed memories sat in neat rows. Her fingers curled around her knee, gripping lightly as if holding herself in place.

When she spoke again, her voice came out softer, almost like she was afraid saying it louder would break the moment.

“Daddy… do you think I’ll do well tomorrow? I don’t want to disappoint the Chief.”

The words hung there, thin and careful. Vulnerability peeked through, not dramatic, just raw and honest. The kind that only ever came out when her daughter was really invested in something like this and with people who had known her since she wore pigtails and scraped knees.

James’s face warmed instantly, the lines near his eyes deepening. He rose from behind his desk and walked around, choosing to sit in the chair across from her instead. No barrier between them. No distance. Just father and daughter.

He reached out and took her hand in both of his. His palm was warm, familiar, like a promise that had never once failed her. “Camille,” he said, his voice gentle and sure, “you’ll do your best. Because that’s who you are. You always give your heart.”

Her throat tightened slightly. She lifted her gaze, meeting his, and for a moment she felt as small and as brave as she used to when she’d stand backstage before a ballet recital, nervous, but knowing he was watching.

She didn’t want to disappoint Holland Larson. She didn’t want to fall short. She wanted to prove she belonged out there, not just as the youngest Lustrelle kid but as someone who earned her place.

“And even if something goes wrong,” he continued, giving her hand a firmer squeeze, “you learn from it and you grow. That’s how leaders are made. That's how I was made. Not by doing everything right, but by showing up again.”

Camille swallowed and nodded, the tiny ache in her chest loosening. “Thank you, Daddy.”

His expression softened even more, pride settling in his eyes like a quiet light. “I believe in you. Always. And I’m here. No matter what.”

A slow breath left Camille, lighter, and freer, like someone had lifted a small weight off her ribs. She straightened, energy returning, a spark sneaking back into her posture. “Okay.” She pushed up from the chair, already half-bouncing with that familiar restless buzz. “I should go pack. And thank you for the car. Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.”

James rose with her, planting a warm kiss against her temple, the gesture soft and full of quiet affection.

“Goodnight, princess.”

Camille spun toward the door, her steps light, almost weightless with excitement and relief. She pulled the door open, halfway through it before pausing. Then she popped her head back inside, eyes sparkling, smile taking over her whole face like the sun deciding to visit the study.

“I love you, Daddy! A million times! Forever and ever!”

Her voice carried a playful lilt, sweet and sincere all at once.

James laughed, the deep, hearty sound bouncing off bookshelves and paneling like a melody only this room ever heard.

“Goodnight, my princess.”

The door clicked softly behind her, and stillness slipped into the room again.

For a moment, he didn’t move. He stood where she had left him, hand resting on the desk, gaze fixed on the empty space she’d just filled. A warmth sat in his chest, love and pride overwhelming his every breath. 

Wandering back around the desk, James lowered himself into his chair with a quiet breath. His gaze landed on the framed photos lined neatly across the wood, sunlit vacations, messy birthday cakes, matching holiday sweaters. His family. His entire world caught in still moments that somehow still breathed.

His heart felt full. Proud. Tender in a way he only ever allowed when no one else was watching. His only daughter was changing. Not forced, not pushed, just unfolding, and growing into the woman life always whispered she could be. The late nights out replaced by early mornings, purpose replacing distraction. Something in her had shifted lately, discipline settling where restlessness used to live. Fire with direction instead of chaos.

He had prayed for this. For her strength to root itself. For her spirit to mature without losing its brightness. And then, like a quiet flicker in his mind, a name surfaced.

Holland Larson.

The woman his wife insisted would be good exposure for their daughter's growth, the kind of woman who simply expected excellence and refused shallow shortcuts. The kind who burned away excuses and shaped grit. And from what he was witnessing, Holland was doing just that. Shaping out their daughter into the woman she was always meant to be. Janine always saw the end before the beginning. Always had.

A fond smile tugged at his mouth as he leaned back, letting his shoulders rest. “She was right,” he murmured to himself, amused, grateful, and a little humbled by his wife. “She’s always right.”

The study felt warm again from the knowing that his daughter was stepping into something real, something bigger than where she had been.

And he sat there, still smiling, letting pride fill the quiet.