Page 53 of Craving

Would he still help her if he knew that this was all her own fault? That she’d brought this on by provoking Frankie on Friday?

“Thank you,” she repeated.

Marlon lifted his hand from her arm and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. “We’ll find out who did this and why.”

She hoped not, but all she did was give him a weak smile.

Marlon misread her expression. His gaze grew intent as he cupped her face. “I promise, Camilla. We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to feel unsafe here ever again.”

He had such a beautiful heart. Half of her felt unworthy of him, and half of her wanted to curl up in his arms and never have to face the world alone again.

“Thank you,” she repeated. “I’ve never had anyone do anything like this for me before,” Camilla said quietly, nodding to Elton on the ladder. “I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember. It’s a little overwhelming.”

Marlon’s gaze softened. “I get it.”

And he did; she knew that. He’d been on his own his entire adult life too.

“Why aren’t you answering your phone?” a shrill voice called out from across the street.

Camilla turned and frowned at the sight of her mother, who glanced in each direction before hurrying across the street. She grabbed Camilla by the shoulders and pursed her lips. “I’ve been worried sick.”

That didn’t sound right. “You have?”

“You will not believe how many people have called asking what’s going on with you, Camilla.”

Ah. So her mother was worried about her reputation, not Camilla’s well-being. How would Georgina react if she knew Camilla had taken money from Stirling’s scummiest loan shark and was now being extorted? Camilla would lose what little family she had.

Her mother huffed. “This has gone on long enough, Camilla. You’ll shut this bakery down and find something worthwhile to do with your life.”

The implication, of course, was that running a bakery wasn’t worthwhile. That Camilla’s life’s work was utterly worthless.

In the whole time she’d been standing outside, the cold hadn’t penetrated, but she felt it now. Her body turned icy as she stood before her mother, a browbeaten child once more.

“Vandalism first, and now a break-in. What else is it going to take for you to smarten up?” Georgina shook Camilla by the shoulders. “Everyone is talking, you know. Is that what you want? You want to bring shame down on us with what you’re doing here? Why can’t you be like Sophia?”

Camilla’s heart withered. She shouldn’t let those words affect her, but all she wanted was a loving family. She’d left home at seventeen and put herself through culinary school. She’d scrimped, saved, and borrowed for the opportunity to have something of her own. She’d done it on her own and thought that reconciling with her family as an adult would have bridged the growing gap between them.

She wanted to be the bigger person, wanted her family to finally recognize how much she’d accomplished.

But now she just felt like a pile of frozen garbage.

Maybe it was the fear that thinned her defenses. Maybe it was the last couple of weeks with Marlon, when she’d experienced being cherished and appreciated for the first time in her life. Maybe it was simple exhaustion. Whatever it was, her mother’s words penetrated like an ice pick, piercing her chest and embedding themselves in her heart. After holding herself together for the past decade and a half, Camilla finally felt herself crumple.

Then a deep voice said, sounding so angry Camilla froze, “No one is ashamed of Camilla. The whole town loves her. Look at how many people are already here to support her.”

When she glanced up at him, Marlon wore a mask of white-hot fury. It melted the ice that had crusted around Camilla’s body, and a wave of relief—of affection, of…of something more—washed over her.

Then her father stomped over to them from across the road. “And who are you? How do you know my daughter?” Dean sniffed, a brow arched in Marlon’s direction.

He was her roommate. Her landlord. Her friend. Her lover. Her new security consultant who happened to be working pro bono for reasons that probably had to do with how many times they’d made each other orgasm. None of those descriptions fit properly, and Camilla scrambled to find something that worked—

Marlon curled an arm around Camilla’s shoulders. “I’m Camilla’s man. Who the hell are you?”

She blinked at her parents. They blinked at Marlon. Marlon leaned over and kissed her temple. Behind her, Elton slurped his coffee, clearly enjoying the show.

“Well.” Camilla’s mother clasped her hands. “I… Well. We are her parents—”

“Camilla never mentioned you,” Dean challenged.

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