Page 26 of Love in Bloom

Mrs. Kollman’s cheeks went a splendid fuchsia color. “Oh, Frederik.”

“I’m sure the kinder are familiar with what married couples do.” He winked at Camille and Tristan.

Camille felt her face heat, and Tristan looked away. She watched as a blush crept up his neck to his ears and his mouth settled into a line.

“It won’t be too long before they have their own kinder to tease.” Mr. Kollman gave a great belly laugh that turned the heads of the other couples. A raised brow and a haughty harrumph was made by Mrs. Chan before she returned to her game of mahjong with her husband. If Mrs. Aarons gave Camille the creeps, Mrs. Chan gave her an inferiority complex. This prospect unsettled Camille more. She had always been an eager learner, but she never felt inferior for a lack of knowledge. Mrs. Chan had viper written all over her. Camille noticed Tristan shied away from the Chans most of all. Perhaps he sensed their malicious arrogance too. That made two couples to avoid as much as possible, and, in close quarters for the next week, that seemed a difficult prospect at best.

Camille dug out her e-reader and opened to her barely started romance novel, which seemed less interesting now that she was in the middle of her own real-life romance. Except it wasn’t a romance. They were two friends pretending to be married to take a vacation. The idea seemed absurd when she simplified it into those terms. She stifled a giggle. She was sleep deprived and hungry, a bad combination.

After the meet-and-greet dinner, they returned to their suite and retired to their respective sleeping quarters. Camille lay awake, turning over the moments leading up to dinner. The scare. The reaction. The dress. Had Tristan felt what she had? The desire to embrace and set lips-to-lips. Her circular mental ramblings led her nowhere. She hadn’t drawn one concrete conclusion. All was conjecture. She sighed and her stomach rumbled.

“I think I’ll get a snack downstairs.” She pecked Tristan on the cheek and then paused halfway down the staircase. She’d kissed Tristan’s cheek without thinking, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Oh my. She took a chair at a table by the window, and an attendant appeared at her side with a menu.

“Let me know when you are ready to order. We have both snack and lunch items available, madame.”

“Merci.” Camille perused the menu. When she was ready, she signaled the staff. “I’ll have a cranberry with seltzer and des fruits et du fromage,s’il vous plaît.”

In his pressed black suit, the attendant nodded and left to fulfill the order.

“You are married to the Englishman?” asked a female voice with a decidedly Asian accent from behind Camille.

Camille turned her head. “He’s Welsh actually.”

Without an invitation, Mrs. Chan sat across from Camille uninvited. “Welsh, English, it is all the same.” She waved a pristinely manicured hand, and her burgundy nail polish flashed in the sunlight, though less brightly than the four-carat diamond on her hand.

“I beg your pardon.” Camille liked this woman even less after those seven words. “The cultures of the United Kingdom are all very proud of their heritage. It would be the same as calling you Chinese or Thai or Indian and lumping you all in the same category.”

The woman’s eyes flashed, and she straightened her already impeccable posture. The woman oozed wealth and arrogance. Camille didn’t care about wealth, but she loathed arrogance.

“You are newly married. What is your husband’s last name?”

“Penrose. What does that have to with anything?” Camille wondered how to get rid of this awful woman without seeming rude. She came up short. Though politeness didn’t seem to be on this woman’s mind.

“As I thought. I had to be sure. I’m Mrs. Chan of the Singaporean Chans. My husband is the head of Herodia Resorts. I’m sure you’ve heard of them. Only the elite stay on our properties.”

“Sorry, no.” Camille bounced her leg under the table. “I haven’t been traveling much lately. I’ve been too busy running my own company.” Take that, snake lady. “I’m surprised you aren’t running the company with your husband or, better yet, for him. Or has your culture not progressed far enough for women to manage large enterprises? Are you restricted to hosting dinner parties and attending the children in the nursery?” Camille knew she should hold her tongue, and try to find common ground due to the circumstances, but everything from this woman’s perfectly arranged ebony hair to her Jimmy Choos rubbed Camille wrong. Though she did rather like the Jimmy Choos. Perhaps they came in her size.

Mrs. Chan’s eyes narrowed. “Everyone knows that behind every powerful man is a more powerful woman.”

“Did you have a reason for speaking to me, Mrs. Chan?”

Mrs. Chan leaned forward, her eyes narrowing almost to slits. “Your husband is a criminal who tried to destroy one of the most powerful families in Singapore. I’m well aware of his dealings with my cousins, the Songs. The way he used my Jia. Scandalous! Disgraceful! He deserved what he got.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not surprised your husband would hide the truth from you. He wouldn’t want to shatter your innocence. You’ve married a snake. But then, you probably deserve him. You’re probably just as corrupt as he is.” She rose. “Enjoy your trip. I’ll enjoy watching you two tear each other apart.” She sauntered away toward the bar, nearly knocking over the attendant bringing Camille her refreshment.

The glass and plate were set in front of her.

Camille’s appetite had fled. She sank her chin into her hand and stared out the window. She hardly registered the view as her thoughts turned inward. What a despicable woman. She tapped her fingers on the table. What did Mrs. Chan really know about Tristan? Should Camille believe any of what that viper said? And who was Jia? What connection did Tristan have to her and the Song family? Her finger drumming increased.

What did Camille know about Tristan? She’d taken everything he’d said as truth, but she really didn’t know him at all. He didn’t speak about his work or how he came to be in India. Then there was his strange reaction in the hotel, the fear on his face.

Camille pushed against the poisonous thoughts Mrs. Chan had placed in her mind. Revenge was clearly on Mrs. Chan’s vindictive mind in regard to Tristan. She should ignore them. But the analytical side of her knew that at the heart of every malicious word was a grain of truth. How could she get Tristan to open up about his past when he so clearly didn’t want to share it? Should she even bother? The trip was short, and it wasn’t likely she’d see much of him afterward. Her fingers slowed.

It saddened her to think of parting from him. She was acquainted with saying goodbye to friends. There was always social media to keep in touch, but it wasn’t the same. Was Tristan’s past any of her business? It wasn’t like they were pursuing a relationship, only pretending to be married.

She took a sip of her juice. So much for a low stress vacation looking at gardens and châteaux while admiring the flowers and garnering ideas for when she returned to Lakr. This trip was definitely against the doctor’s orders in every way.

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