| |
Camilla
––––––––
She wasn’t sure what happened.
Waking up to Brock, with decadent recollections of the night before still running rampant through her mind, was heavenly. In the early morning light, he had held her close, her head resting comfortably on his chest as he spoke softly about the classes he had to teach that day and the staff meeting that was occurring in between those classes. She promised a dinner would be ready for him by the time he got home—and she planned to outdo herself, wanting to impress him with her cooking skills—and relished in the crooked smile that notion managed to bring to his face.
They sounded comfortable with each other. Like they were something more than just the nanny and the professor, or the single daddy and the hired help.
She wanted to be more. Hell, last night there was no way she could have thought they were anything less than more.
Because of that, she had gone over and above her duties of being only a nanny to Rynn and she’d made it her mission for the day to look after Brock, too, making sure he had a decent home-cooked meal to come home to at the end of a long work day. Rynn had even helped to scoop the carrots and celery into the pot, and they had made a fun game out of kneading biscuit dough and cutting it into shapes.
It warmed her heart to see the little girl so excited to help her, so much so that even Camilla had fun putting that much work and effort into such a complex dinner menu. Usually, she reserved her fancy dinner ideas for holidays and special occasions.
Today, she figured that making dinner for someone who managed to capture her heart was a special occasion.
She had the roast in the oven and had pulled the plates and cutlery from the cupboards and drawers, intent on setting the table up elaborately to give it that special occasion kind of feel, when her cellphone rang in her pocket. Rynn had gotten bored with the mundane chopping and cutting that she wasn’t allowed to help with, so she’d meandered back into the living room to watch 101 Dalmatians for the gazillionth time and play with her dolls and plastic castle.
Upon answering the phone, Camilla immediately wished she hadn’t. She wasn’t in the frame of mind to handle her best friend’s theatrics went it came to her upcoming wedding, but she knew as soon as she saw her name on the caller display that that was exactly what Shannah was going to vent to her—theatrics. Lots and lots of them.
Sure enough, Shannah was convinced for the hundredth time since her engagement that Paul, her fiancé, was intent on ending the engagement. Why else would he be so nonchalant about the color of the ribbons on the bouquets and the shape of the doilies that the centerpieces sat on in the middle of each table at the reception?
It was on the tip of Camilla’s tongue to be blunt and honest—because Paul was a guy. Because men, for the most part, didn’t give a damn about stuff like that. Hell, some women didn’t care about that stuff, either. But Shannah did, and Camilla, as her maid of honor, had to be respectful of that. So, she had done everything in her power to try to talk her friend off a ledge. Shannah, however, was particularly distraught over her and Paul’s most recent argument about these little things, convinced he wasn’t going to forgive her this time.
“It’s temporary, sweetie,” she told her as matter-of-factly as she could. “It won’t last.”
Once she finally got Shannah calmed down enough on that topic, the bride-to-be promptly switched topics, determined to find out something, anything, about the surprise bridal shower that Camilla and the three bridesmaids were putting on for her in a few weeks’ time. That was one thing that Camilla wasn’t going to budge on, though. She’d made it this far to keep the bridal shower details a surprise, and be damned if she was going to spill the beans about it now.
“It’s okay,” she laughed when Shannah tried to tell her it wasn’t natural for the bride not to know what was happening in regard to her own wedding. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
She didn’t feel like she had a clue what she was doing, but the sentiment seemed to ease Shannah’s mind and that was all that mattered.
She’d been relieved to end the call, and the sight of Brock standing in the doorway had only added to her elation.
Like a moth to a flame she had gone to him, closed the gap between them because she felt compelled to be closer to him, even if they never truly touched.
And they didn’t. She asked him about his day, which gleaned an odd answer.
“How are things?”
“Clearer,” he’d said flatly. “Much clearer.”
She wanted to question him, ask for clarification. Brock didn’t give her the chance. Something had changed in his expression. There was a darkness in his eyes, but it wasn’t the broody, mischievous darkness she had witnessed the night before in his bedroom. There was something different in his piercing gaze.
“Are you okay, Brock?”
Camilla reached out to touch his arm, but he bypassed her completely and set his briefcase up on the counter. There was no way he could have missed the stack of plates on the countertop, ready to be placed around the table, no way he couldn’t have smelled the delicious aroma of the roast from the oven. And yet, he turned around, his eyes blazing as they locked on her.
“Never better, Camilla.” His throat moved visibly. “But I have a lot of work to get done tonight. As for Rynn, I can take it from here.”
She was being...dismissed.
“Brock, if there’s something wrong—”
“As I just said—” He cut her off, his voice raising an octave. Not a shout, but definitely showing off his assertive stance. “I’ve got a busy night ahead of me. Thanks for your help today.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “And Rynn’s going to spend tomorrow with my mother, so your services won’t be needed.”
My services. It was like last night hadn’t even happened. She was just the nanny, not the woman he’d called beautiful while he owned her body in the darkness of his bedroom.
“Okay.” Camilla didn’t know what to say. She was dumbfounded, completely taken aback. And the worst part, she thought, as she slipped on her shoes and tugged her purse up onto her shoulder as she headed out the door, was that she didn’t have a clue what she had done wrong.