Page 77 of Red Hot Harmony

“I know, but I can’t change the way I feel, Dante. I tried getting a hold of you.”

“So did I, for fuck’s sake!”

I realized I was half shouting then.

She flung her arms in the air exasperatedly. “I’m not ready to deal with this right now.”

I couldn’t take this anymore. I pushed the door open and cradled her face with both hands, angling it up. Her eyes were wet and angry and sad all at once and I could tell that she’d cried earlier, and I was part of the reason for those tears.

“I’m sorry, okay?” I said as we lingered on the threshold. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Camille’s expression hardened. She grabbed my wrists and freed herself from my grip. “Well, unfortunately, my parents aren’t planning on celebrating their fortieth wedding anniversary again anytime soon.”

A heavy tide of despair rose in me. I felt it all slipping away, everything we’d built, everything I’d worked for. Her. Ally. My sobriety. “I fucked up and I can’t take it back, because it’s already done. Just tell me what you want me to do to fix this.”

“You shouldn't have broken it in the first place.” Camille’s voice pitched high. She took a step back, disappearing into the house.

“Do you want me to beg?” I followed her inside. “I will. Do you want me to get on my fucking knees? I will. For you.”

She pressed her palm to her mouth as if to prevent the words from getting out. There was a small shake of her head and a gaze that cut me in half and I didn’t understand why I did what I did, but I kneeled.

The dull crack of my bones against the floorboards felt almost...liberating.

Behind me, the front door was still wide open and the light was still streaming in from the corridor, framing Camille’s silhouette with a golden shimmer, and for a second, I thought she looked like an angel. A green-eyed, red-haired, pissed off angel, who’d come to save me, to give me salvation.

And showing this kind of submission didn’t feel horrible or unseemly or wrong.

“Please, stand up, Dante,” she whispered.

“Please say you’ll give me another chance.”

“Please, stand up.”

“I need another chance.”

She swallowed up the space between us and snaked her hands into my armpits to pull me up. Her voice was low and urgent. “It’s four in the morning and I’m mad at you.”

“How much groveling should I do?” I fisted the fabric of her nightgown.

“Just...stop this... Get up.” Her murmur blended with the swishing of our clothes as I drew her to me.

“Not until you tell me you forgive me.”

“This is ridiculous, Dante. Stand up.” Her palms were on my neck, and the heat that came from this contact with her skin shot straight to my groin. “Don’t make a scene.”

“Do you think I planned for my friend to fucking black out in my pool house?” I pulled on her nightgown harder and she was now a hair’s breadth away from me, her stomach at eye-level. “I can’t change what happened, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want you or to meet your family.”

“I know that and I’m sorry. I’m sorry your friend relapsed. I’m sorry I’m being a bitch. I’m sorry for feeling betrayed. I’m sorry this is so difficult.”

“What’s difficult about it?” I thought I was screaming, because my voice, rough and desperate, was everywhere. It filled every hidden corner of the house, forcing the calm and the silence away. “I need you. I need you so fucking much it hurts.”

There was a sound. Something between a sigh and a gasp. The pounding of my pulse in my ears made it difficult for me to pick up on all the nuances and context of it, but then her palms slipped higher, delicate fingers sinking into my hair and to the back of my head.

“Please, forgive me?” This came out more like a question. “Camille? Baby?”

Mute seconds stretched on. Eventually, she let go of me and strode toward the front door.

Heart in my throat, I got to my feet and followed her across the room.

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