Page 65 of Craving

Marlon flinched.

Camilla squeezed her eyes shut. She trembled all over, standing on an unsteady cliff face, waiting for the landslide to take the ground out from under her.

If she told him, would he understand? Would he judge her for going to Frankie Smith for money? Would he look down on her for her past mistakes? Would he be angry, judgmental?

Camilla gulped, meeting his gaze. The land beneath her feet shivered. She felt afraid and angry, but as she looked at Marlon, she realized something else.

He cared. He’d take care of her, just like he had from the start. If she told him about her late fee, Marlon would stand beside her, build her up. He’d help her, just like he said he would. She opened her mouth—

“You can’t even say anything?” Marlon asked, lips twisted. “You’re just standing there when I’m begging to help you? I feel like I don’t even know you, Camilla. Who are you?”

The confession died on her lips. “What?” Her chest hollowed out. She’d never heard him use that tone before.

“So you’ll live in my house for free, you’ll fuck me, but you won’t be honest with me. Is that it?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “I should have known, Camilla. I always give more than I get in return. It’s never worth it.”

“You don’t think I’m worth it?” Her voice was hoarse, disbelieving.

“I don’t know what to think.”

Her lip wobbled, but she turned her head to hide it. This whole whirlwind romance had been too good to be true. This was exactly what Camilla had feared: she’d get attached to Marlon, she’d open her heart, and he’d crush it.

He wanted to control her, just like her parents did, her ex, Frankie. Everyone wanted her to live her life according to the rules they set out for her. Marlon was happy to play the hero when he could carry her away from someone else’s control, but he couldn’t stand it when she stood up to him.

Her heart shattered. It took an instant, as if the hairline fractures had already been in place, waiting for the impact that would break her. She’d thought what they had was real.

“Maybe it’s best if I move out after this,” she said quietly, raw inside.

His jaw hardened. “Is that what you want?”

Her fantasy crumbled right before her eyes. In its place was a man she didn’t know. Her life with Marlon had been a dream. It wasn’t real. The bakery—this place, this cake—was what mattered. She had to gather herself together, re-bake the cake, and deliver it to the wedding on time. Then she had to scrounge up ten thousand dollars and pay off the scumbag trying to extort her.

Had she really thought she could have a home, a man, a family? She must’ve been delusional. Camilla didn’t get to have those things. She got struggle and pain and hardship, and she fought for everything else.

“What I want is to make the Goodhews’ cake,” she told him, “and I’ll be out of your place by tomorrow night.”

Marlon’s jaw clenched. He stared at her for a long moment, his eyes hard. Then he dipped his chin. “That’s probably for the best.”

Her throat was too tight to respond, so Camilla just nodded. She watched him walk away, and another blast of cold air through the open door made her shiver. When he was gone, Camilla wondered what, exactly, had just happened.

Their budding relationship was over. She realized that. But was it because she’d failed to open up or because Marlon had pushed her away? Who was at fault? Could she have fixed the fractures before they’d broken?

Pain splintered in her chest. She hadn’t known—hadn’t realized—it was possible to care for someone so deeply after only a month. She’d been a fool to indulge her urges with him. She should have known it would end badly.

Standing in her kitchen, she let twin tears drop from her eyes. They slid to her chin before she brushed them away with quick, angry motions. Her hands were covered in frosting, so she had to use her wrists.

Camilla allowed herself a moment of hot tears and a few gasping breaths, and then she pulled herself together.

She was on her own, but that was nothing new. Camilla had built this business because it was the only place that had ever been home to her. She looked around the kitchen, trying to remember all the love she’d poured into this place over the past decade, trying to feel it reflected back at her.

She’d built this for herself, by herself. She had to save it.

Then she dropped her gaze to the mess of frosting, cake, and poached pears at her feet. That, at least, she knew how to fix.

TWENTY-ONE

Marlon’s emotions were a ball of writhing snakes lodged halfway down his throat. He drove away from the bakery too fast, jerking onto the main road to a chorus of honks.

She was leaving him. Like his mother had. Like his grandparents had. Like Leo had.

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