Page 70 of The Good Girl Effect
Tearing the top few buttons of my shirt open, I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of red wine. I can’t stop staring at how clean the sink and countertops are. And although I know it’s something I pay Camille for, I can’t help but feel like shit for it. I can’t take care of my own house. I can’t take care of my own child.
And for what? My job? The one I’m failing at?
I’m failing at everything.
There’s a drawing stuck to the fridge, and I pull it down, smiling at the black cat wearing a red beret like some Le Chat Noirrecreation. It’s obvious this is my daughter’s artwork, but it reminds me of the small drawings that have been appearing around the house on notepads and takeout menus and even at the bottom of a few of the letters Camille has written.
I’m growing too fond of this woman in my home. I’m aware of it. She is both adorable and sexy all at once, and I haven’t been this attracted to a woman since Em. Taking her on as a bondage sub was a mistake. Thinking I could keep it professional was a joke.
I’d give her everything, throw caution to the wind if I didn’t worry that my attachment to her wasn’t just some side effect of this grief. What if I’m reaching for her because I miss reaching for my wife? How cruel of me. How careless.
What I did tonight, making her moan and whine with pleasure under my touch, was reckless. But I can’t stop thinking about what she said—we could draw the line. We could still have everything we want and stop it there. Can’t we?
I want to believe I can touch her and bury myself in her body while maintaining a professional boundary. This desire has become so much more. It’s become aneed.
And the more I deny myself, the more tense and miserable I become. For her sake, I’ll endure it. For both of their sakes—hers and Bea’s. What kind of man would I be to ruin what they have?
After my first glass is empty, I consider going to bed, but I reach for the bottle to pour another one instead. Then I carry it to the living room, where a basket of my daughter’s toys sits in the corner. Dropping onto the sofa, I let the silence envelop me. The only light is the moon’s glow shining through the large windows. And in this dark, quiet, midnight space, I haunt my own home.
The long year weighs on my body, and I know something has to change. I can’t keep going on like this. The only question now is: do I leave the club, call it a loss, and move back home?
That is the smart choice. It would put much-needed distance between me and Camille.
My eagerness to leave Paris has dissipated recently. After Em died, I couldn’t wait to get out of here. I couldn’t stand to be in this house, let alone this city.
But I think it was the trip to the park the other day that changed things for me. Seeing Bea happy. Hearing her speak her mother’s language again, living so happily in the city Em loved, made me realize that getting away from our pain here means leaving the good too.
I can’t just tear my daughter away from the only home she’s ever known and expect it to fix everything. She is too young to feel the painful memories here the same way I do.
A door opens down the hallway, and I wait with bated breath to see who will appear. When Camille steps quietly into the living room, I release a sigh of relief. Just the sight of her, arms wrapped tightly around herself, brings me a sense of peace I didn’t expect.
She doesn’t say a word as she comes closer. She’s dressed in nothing but a long T-shirt and underwear, and I try to swallow down the arousal brewing in my blood, seeing her like this. Her long, wavy blond hair is draped over one shoulder, and she looks so fucking beautiful in this moonlight it should be criminal.
I’m only human. How on earth am I supposed to resist her when she looks at me like that?
I’m in shambles on the couch, and she can see it as she approaches. Leaning over, she places a hand on my knee and reaches out to brush my stray hair off my forehead. Then she cups my cheek and stays silent as she stares into my eyes.
I’ve never in my life met someone who seems to be and do everything I need. There’s no way I do the same for her, but she offers so much of herself to me, and I just don’t deserve it.
“What am I doing?” I mutter in the darkness. I don’t know why, but I have this need to express everything to her. “My job is a mess. I’m a terrible father. My life is falling apart.”
She presses her fingers to my mouth to silence me. “Shhh…”
Then she slowly lowers herself to her knees between my legs, softly resting her cheek against my thigh.
I don’t breathe as I stare down at her, struck by the sight of her kneeling for me. I didn’t even have to tell her to do this, but she just knew. Somehow, she knew exactly what I needed.
“How are you so perfect?” I whisper.
A tender smile plays on her lips as I pet her hair.
“Say something, little bird.”
“I don’t want to talk,” she replies. “I just want to be what you need.”
“You are,” I say without hesitation. “You are exactly what I need.”
Her hands drift up my thighs, and my cock twitches. “Then let me be what youwant.”
