Page 23 of Things We Tell Ourselves

Nancy is still looking her over as Camille examines herself in the mirrors. “Ah, to have brains and beauty,” she sighs, taking another sip of champagne, “a young woman like yourself surely has plenty of men lined up for your hand.”

Camille ignores the clear question in Nancy’s statement, running a hand across the front of the bow cascading down the front of the pants. “Did Leah tell you what my budget was?”

“Budget, no. She only said that you would need a couple of casual pieces for the weekend, something for the pool, and a night out.”

“I don’t need anything for the pool. I’m here on business, not pleasure.”

“What is business,” Nancy says, swirling her flute around as she watches the champagne spin, “if not pleasure.” She sits and crosses one long leg over the other, the bright red bottom of the black leather loafers catching Camille’s attention.

“Are those Louboutin’s?”

Nancy flicks her toe in the air, eyeing the top of her shoe. “That they are. The men’s line is far more comfortable than those sky-high heels I have to get Leah for Christmas every year. I don’t know how anyone walks in those things.”

“For me, it’s with the grace of a newborn calf,” Camille smirks.

“I’m right there with you,” Nancy agrees. “When I was a teen, my mother forced me to walk around in heels for an entire summer until she finally gave up, proclaiming that I would never marry until I figured out how to walk with grace.”

Camille glances at Nancy’s left hand. The only ring on her hand is a thick gold band around her middle finger. No wedding ring, not so much as an indention in the skin where a wedding ring would go.

Nancy flutters the fingers on her left hand, following her eyes. “It never happened,” she admits, reading Camille’s mind. “The gracefulness nor the marrying.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Nancy gives her a sad grin, switching her champagne flute to her left hand. “It worked out alright for me. More so for my brother. He got fifty-four percent of the company as my parent’s way of sticking it to me. They weren’t shy about letting me know that I wouldn’t inherit my fair share without a husband and offspring to pass it down to. I’m sure they figured it would straighten me out but,” she lifts her middle finger that has the gold band and taps it lightly against the glass. “I’ve always known I wouldn’t marry…not a man at least.”

Camille swallows, the last part catching her off guard. She realizes it makes sense, considering Nancy’s obvious preference towards more masculine appearances. She turns away from Nancy, heading toward the dressing room, looking over her shoulder at her. “So you agree that this outfit is a yes?”

“Agreed,” Nancy switches the flute to her other hand so she can examine the inside of the ring, “and don’t be scared of the bathing suits I picked out. The coverups will hide whatever you don’t want to show.”

Camille glances over her shoulder at her as she walks away. Nancy’s eyes are on the gold ring, watching it in a daze as she twists it around her middle finger with her thumb and ring finger. She feels less self-conscious now that Nancy, strong and intimidating, opened up to her. She might even try on a bathing suit.

Seven

Camille’s stomach is growling by the time Buck drops her off at the gate door by the side of the guesthouse. It’s only been a couple of hours since breakfast, but since she didn’t finish her omelet, she heads straight to the guesthouse in hopes of finding something in the refrigerator. Inside are four things: bottled water, a six-pack of beer, ketchup in the door, and judging by the wrapper, a half-eaten, foot-long sandwich.

“Great,” she sighs, grabbing the bottle of water. She taps the top button on the remote and looks out over the pool.

“I was invited to breakfast,” she says to herself, not noticing any movement inside the house. “Why not invite myself to lunch?”

At the main house, Camille peeks her head inside. “Your favorite inventor is back.”

There’s no response, so without a second thought, she heads straight to the kitchen. The bananas on the counter make her hungry for her favorite childhood snack. She grabs the wholegrain bread from the breadbox on the counter. In a cabinet, she finds a jar of banana peanut butter by an unfamiliar brand. She’s only ever used the generic brand peanut butter, but it smells delicious when she opens the lid.

“You’ll do perfect,” she murmurs and sets the peanut butter on the island before going on a hunt for a plate and butter knife.

“What do we have here?” Wade’s voice causes her to pause while opening a cabinet door.

She peers over her shoulder at him, keeping her hand on the cabinet door. “Just making some lunch.”

His eyes go to the contents on the island behind her. Camille turns her attention back to the cabinet. Glasses, cups, and champagne flutes at the very top. Man, these people like champagne.

“Plates are a cabinet over,” Wade says, walking around to the other side of the island. “Grab me one too.”

He settles in on the island chair, facing the ingredients for her lunch while she grabs the plates.

“You’re not making a banana and peanut butter sandwich for lunch, are you?” Wade asks as she hands him a plate.

“I am,” Camille nods, opening the bread.

---