Mother Nature alerts me to the fact that I need to make a stop before we go. Now’s probably a good time.
I wander through the living room, passing big leather couches and a flat screen TV that’s bigger than my refrigerator. The house is basically empty save for a few of the caterers picking up empty cups and plates.
I get the attention of a girl as she’s heading to the kitchen. “Is there a bathroom nearby?”
She jerks her head toward the hallway. “Over there.”
“Thanks.” I turn down the long hallway, and all the doors are closed except one door at the end that’s cracked. “Bingo.”
I avoid taking in too much of the house as I scurry to the bathroom door. It seems the more I learn about Cameron the more I like him, and noticing his excellent taste in decor won’t help. Head down I push through the bathroom door and stop dead in my tracks.
Oh shit. Not the bathroom. I’m in a bedroom, a gigantic bedroom that has its own sitting area with a couch. And on that couch is Cameron, but he’s not alone. He’s sitting, leaning in towards a woman. Fuck!
Fourteen
Eve
“Shit, I’m sorry.” I point over my shoulder. “I thought this was the bathroom.”
The woman, most likely Ryder’s mom, studies me with bloodshot eyes. Her shoulder-length hair is pushed back off her face as though she’s been running her hands through it. Her nose is red and her face puffy, but there’s a beauty behind all that, and it’s strangely familiar.
“Eve,” Cameron says, but I don’t take my eyes off the woman at his side. “Give me a second and I’ll be—”
“Oh my God!” I take a few steps into the room. “I know you.”
The woman jerks and watches me through cautious eyes.
Cameron clears his throat. “Eve—”
“I worshipped you.” My heart races with my impending fan-girl freak-out. “I had all your magazine covers pinned to my walls.”
A tiny smile curls her lips.
“You’re D’lilah Monroe.” Butterflies explode in my stomach.
She nods and sits up a little taller.
“I fucking love you.” I close the distance between us. “I mean I wanted to be you. You’re so beautiful.” Time has aged her, but she’s still supermodel material.
She sniffs and tucks her hair behind her ear. “Thank you. That was a long time ago.”
I look at Cameron, who’s observing me through narrowed eyes. “This is amazing.” I point to D’lilah. “She was my role model growing up.” I swing my gaze back to her. “Why did you give up modeling?”
Cameron stands. “Eve, please, give us a—”
“Cam.” D’lilah grabs his hand, and he looks down at her.
My jaw clenches, and my stomach gets hard as a wave of jealousy washes over me.
She blinks up at him. “It’s okay.”
He nods and drops back to sitting.
I swallow against the thick lump forming in my throat. The star-struck fog dissipates with awareness. Cameron was married to D’lilah Monroe, the most beautiful and sought-after woman in the world.
All of a sudden I’m the slut in the room. The other woman. My dress feels too tight, my boobs too big. I cross my arms over my chest and take a step back. “I uh . . . I’m gonna”—I point with my thumb over my shoulder—“find the bathroom.”
“You don’t have to go.” D’lilah looks up at me and pats the couch next to her. “Come sit. It’s been so long since I’ve talked about my career; might be fun to reminisce.”
Cameron has his head buried in his hands. This is clearly uncomfortable for him, and it’s not a fucking party for me either. “Oh, no, I can’t—”
“Dad.” We all look to the door where Ryder’s head is popped in through a crack. He looks at me. “Oh hey, Eve, you’re in here too, huh?”
I give an awkward wave. This is so uncomfortable.
“The caterers need you to sign an invoice.”
Cameron pinches the bridge of his nose. “Where’s Layla?”
“Your name’s on the credit card, so it has to be you.”
Cameron’s eyes move between D’lilah and me. He’s obviously stressed out about leaving her alone. Or maybe leaving her alone with me? Either way, I hate his discomfort.
I take a couple steps toward him. “It’s okay. We’ll talk fashion from the nineties until you get back.” What? No! What am I doing?
He looks at D’lilah. She nods and smiles. Whoa . . . that smile. The fan girl in me jumps up and down, clapping her hands.
He groans and pushes up off the couch, his eyes on me. He mouths “Be right back” and passes me to meet Ryder at the door they close as they leave.
I have a seat next to D’lilah, and my hands knot together in my lap. “So, uh . . . Vogue. What was that like?”
I pray Cameron comes back quickly. Every second sitting on a couch with D’lilah Monroe solidifies the truth. I had no chance with Cameron, and with a supermodel as competition, that fact is carved in stone.
*