Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96513 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
I straightened in surprise. “Why are you telling me this?”
“You wanted to know what had happened last night. That’s what happened. Along with blaming me for Candice being here and pregnant, for us not being pregnant, and for my mother abandoning me as a child.”
“But none of that is your fault.”
“Obviously,” he said stiffly. “But he’s a giant jackass when he decides to start blaming me for my very existence, and I admittedly don’t take it very well.”
“You should tell him to go fuck himself.”
“I would love to if I didn’t think he’d kick me out of the company.”
“He can’t do that!” I blurted.
Camden raised his eyebrows. “Are you certain?”
No, I wasn’t. I could see then all the weight on his shoulders. He loved his job. He loved the company. Despite his father and all the pressure he put on him, Camden truly enjoyed the work. He never complained about not getting time off or having to always be available. The thought of his father taking that away from him made me furious.
“I’m not,” I admitted. “But… why didn’t you tell me this last night? Why run off in the middle of the night?”
“I was angry. I wasn’t thinking. I just needed to get away,” he said. “But I wasn’t with another woman.” He paused, as if contemplating that. “Unless you consider Monica getting me back to my bed.”
“What?” I asked with wide eyes. “Who is Monica?”
“She’s a bartender.”
My eyes widened further.
“No, not like that. She’s older than me.” That wasn’t helping. He sighed when he saw my expression. “Like, twenty years older than me. She’s not…” He shook his head. “She’s just nice. It’s not like that.”
“Okay.”
“I went to a bar and had a few drinks. I needed to clear my head.”
“Blow off steam,” I suggested.
“Yes. I actually meant that last night.”
“Then you came home and decided to jump in the shower with me?”
He shrugged. “I admit to being a bit drunk, and I wanted to fuck my wife.”
I kept my face neutral, even as desire flared through me. “You can see how I was angry about that, considering I thought you’d come from Fiona.”
“I can see that,” he admitted.
“I still don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” I whispered softly.
Camden didn’t explain himself. He didn’t think about my feelings in the matter. He wasn’t like that. I knew that he cared in some infinitesimal way, but it wasn’t enough for an explanation. Not for the wife he’d acquired through an arrangement.
“Because,” he said, running a hand back through his perfect hair, “I want to… call a truce.”
He looked uncomfortable, saying those words. Or almost… nervous? That couldn’t be.
“A truce?” I asked uncertainly.
“Yeah.”
“What does that mean, Camden?”
“It means that I’m tired of fighting.”
I looked up at him in shock. “Since when?”
“Since now,” he said sternly. “This is the closest thing I’m going to get to a vacation for a long time. Can’t we just enjoy it?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one constantly acting like a grade-A asshole.”
“Look, I’m not the only one,” he said pointedly.
“Fine. What would a truce even look like?”
He seemed surprised that we’d even gotten to the part where I’d ask him that. Maybe he hadn’t really thought this through.
“We agree to no arguing for the week we’re gone.”
“There is no way you can abide by that.”
“I can… if you can.”
“No arguing? No fighting?” I laughed and shook my head. “Might as well say that we won’t bring up our pasts or any of our issues right now.”
“All right. Then we won’t.”
“What?” I asked in surprise.
“I won’t bring up Penn. You won’t bring up Fiona.”
“Or the baby,” I added hastily.
“Or the baby,” he agreed. “One week in paradise. When we go home, we can go back to arguing all we want but a truce while we’re gone.”
I stared at him, waiting for the catch. Why was he even doing this? It made no sense. It wasn’t Camden Percy to want something like this. Half of our foreplay was arguing with each other. But I looked into those dark eyes and saw sincerity. He was serious about this. He wanted to call a truce. No more fighting. What the hell would we even say to each other?
“Do you think we can do it?”
“I’m willing to try,” he said.
And he sounded almost… earnest.
What did I have to lose? A week in paradise with my husband with no fighting. It could be perfection or destruction. But either way, it would be a new challenge.
“All right,” I finally said.
He held his hand out. “Shake on it.”
I shook my head in disbelief as I slipped my hand into his. It was warm as it engulfed my small palm. He tugged me up off of the couch and into his arms.
I arched an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing?”
“Sealing it with a kiss.”