Page 19 of Craving

“Well, look who decided to take time out of her busy life to grace us with her presence!”

Camilla froze, then glanced behind Ali to see her sister gliding down the hallway. Sophia wore loose, camel-colored trousers and a silk top. Her hair was in an elegant low bun, and her ears were adorned with smooth pearl studs. Sophia had always been the beautiful one. Her hair was a deep, rich auburn to Camilla’s bright orange. It shone instead of frizzing. Even only eight months postpartum, Sophia looked like she was ready for a catwalk—or a boardroom.

“Sophia,” Camilla said with a tight smile. “You’re looking great, as usual.”

Sophia’s eyes swept down Camilla’s body for a long moment, lingering around her midsection, then rose to meet her eyes again. “Thanks,” she said, and Camilla knew the lack of a compliment in return was meant as an insult.

It was a gift, truly, that Sophia could insult Camilla’s looks with nothing more than a look and the absence of a platitude. It shouldn’t sting, but it did.

Deep breaths, Camilla reminded herself. Family was important. She should be grateful for the one that she had. She wanted to be here. She wanted to be the bigger person. She wanted them to see her as the successful adult that she’d become.

“We were about to sit down to dinner. Didn’t know if you’d make it today. We know how busy you are with your little bakery.” Another barb, accompanied by a sharp smile. “But what would I know? I’m only the state’s top corporate litigation lawyer. Ali, bring Cole to the kitchen so he can eat dinner.”

“Yes, Ms. Fox.” The nanny hurried off with Sophia’s son, disappearing behind a door.

Camilla inhaled, painted a smile on her face, and stepped deeper into the home to face her family.

“Camilla, honey, how nice of you to join us, for once!” Camilla’s mother, Georgina, gave her a smile full of razor-sharp teeth, which was ridiculous because Camilla came to these lovely get-togethers every time she was summoned. “And look at you! Still eating your fill, I see. I’ve told you a thousand times, Camilla, carbs don’t agree with you.”

“She does bake cakes for a living,” Trent cut in, swirling his glass of wine. “If that’s what I did all day, I’d eat just as much.” Camilla’s older brother lifted his glass in her direction, his brow arched. “But we can’t all spend our days bustling around a kitchen, can we?”

“Of course not, honey,” Georgina said, patting her favorite child’s shoulder. “You belong in the boardroom. Just like your father did.”

“I didn’t work a hundred hours a week just to make a few cookies, that’s for sure,” Camilla’s father Dean agreed. “You don’t build an empire that way. And I would know.”

Her father had started in business as a car dealer. He’d been wildly successful as the first luxury car trader in the area and franchised his business into seventeen states before ultimately selling it and becoming a multi-millionaire many times over. He did have an empire, and he’d set Trent up with an executive position in the company before he sold it.

“Not everyone can be a success story, darling,” Georgina said, smiling at her husband. Sweet words covering up the hidden insult: Camilla wasn’t a success story by comparison.

Camilla wouldn’t let it bother her. She wouldn’t. Even though every sentence uttered in her presence was an insult. Even though her family hadn’t even tried to support her, or understand her, or even speak to her after she’d all but been kicked out of home as a teenager. No, the Foxes hadn’t given her a second of their time until she’d reached out and somehow found herself apologizing to them instead of the reverse.

“How’s the cake baking going, anyway?” Sophia took a seat next to her husband, who was busy tapping on his phone. Probably an important email that just couldn’t wait, because he was an important man. Just like Sophia, and Trent, and Georgina, and Dean. Very important people, who were so far above lowly bakers.

“The bakery is great,” Camilla said, dumping a hefty amount of wine into a glass on the sideboard. She ignored the pointed stare her mother gave her and smiled at her family and brother-in-law. “Actually, I just got a call today for a huge wedding. Five hundred people.”

“You know, Isabella Rossi’s daughter had six hundred and twelve people at her wedding,” Georgina said, taking a seat on an overstuffed armchair, her back rod straight. “Of course, we didn’t get an invitation, but I wouldn’t have wanted to go anyway. I hear it was a gaudy event.”

“Completely trashy,” Sophia agreed. “I saw pictures of it online.”

Camilla sipped her wine and realized she’d already drunk half the glass. She willed herself to slow down. She only had to endure an hour or two of this, and then she could go home.

The conversation flowed around her, and Camilla tried not to feel like a bag of stinky dog poo in the presence of her family, who were shiny and taut and expensive. But by the time they sat down for dinner and her mother eyed the basket of bread that Camilla reached for, she was completely worn down. She put the basket down without taking a roll and instead served herself a small portion of meat and vegetables. She drank water and stayed quiet, nibbling her food like a good little mouse.

It was easier not to make waves. Easier not to invite the criticism she knew would come. Easier to pretend that her family’s comments didn’t sting.

She wondered for the millionth time why she still bothered to come here. She’d moved out at seventeen and carved her own path because these people didn’t seem to care about her. But Camilla couldn’t quite let go of the dream of a home and a big family and a picture-perfect Christmas card.

While her family moved to the living room for a drink after dinner, she found her nephew in the family room off the kitchen and showered him with attention. He was a giggly, wide-eyed boy, and Camilla hoped he’d turn out better than any of the rest of the Fox clan.

In her twenties, she’d dreamed of having kids of her own. Now she knew it probably wouldn’t happen for her. But that was okay—she wouldn’t trade her independence for anything.

“Camilla.”

She turned to see her father leaning against the family room doorway. “Hi, Dad.”

“Can I talk to you?”

Nodding, she followed her father to his study and sat down in one of the armchairs across from his desk. Instead of sitting next to her, he circled the desk and sat behind it, tenting his fingers in front of his chest as he watched her. It always made her feel like a misbehaving child when he brought her into this room. No doubt it was on purpose.

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