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“Why what?”

“Why do you do it?”

Her eyebrows knit in confusion as she takes a minute to think about it. “I don’t know. I guess…I guess I just think if I make everyone happy, things will be better. And people like people who make them happy.”

“So you want people to like you?”

“Who doesn’t want to be liked?”

“I don’t give a fuck if someone likes me or not.”

“How nice for you.” Her eyes roll back as she takes a sip of her drink.

“What I mean is, what’s the point of someone liking me if it’s contingent? If you don’t like me and I do x, y, and z, and all of a sudden you like me now? What did I gain? I want people in my corner who will be there when I fuck up.Not people that show up because I can provide something for them. Especially if it’s going to cost me what I want.” Her eyes stay trained on me like she’s really trying to process what I’m saying. “Look, at the end of the day, even if every single person in the world likes you, it’s not going to fix whatever it is you think it’s going to. I can promise you that.”

“Huh.” Her face has turned unreadable and she takes another small sip from her drink. “What about your brother? Does he share the same need to uphold the family's success?”

“Sebastian? No.” The mention of her brother lights up her face. “No, Seb’s been off traveling the world for a while. I love my baby brother, and I’m happy that he doesn't seem to have a care in the world, or at least feel the same pressures I do. I admire that about him. It does sometimes feel like I have to carry more of the load, to make up for him. But he’s happy, so I’m happy for him.”

Camila is showing me her cards right now, but all I can think about is this bright, beautiful woman, who feels the weight of the world on her shoulders but is constantly putting her wants and needs on the back burner. She's doing what she believes will make everyone else happy at the expense of her own happiness and as I look at her my only concern at this moment is who's taking care of Camila?

“Anyway,” she drains the rest of her wine, “I guess that's why it's never been at the forefront of my mind. Art is risky. And I need to do something safe, stable.”

I wasn't expecting Camila to open up to me the way she has. Most of what I know about her is based on reading her facial expressions and her body language. But the more she opens up to me, I can't help but want more and I know that isn’t fair considering our situation. Even though I didn't technically lie to her, I did trick her into thinking this marriage was more of a convenience for her. But when it comes to her, I want to know everything about her.

“Wow. I’m sorry, I didn't mean to get so serious on you there.” She shakes her head apologetically.

Not wanting to leave her out here hanging with all her wounds exposed, I throw the rest of my drink back, welcoming the burn. When I set the glass down I lean back in my fun-house size chair and crack open the surface of my own wounds with her.

“My father was a professional baseball player.” Her head snaps to me with a hint of surprise, but just as I did for her, she doesn't push me. She eagerly waits for me to continue. “My mother was actually an artist.” I lean forward, setting my empty glass down on the table between us. “The paintings you're so fond of in the dining room, and in your room, are some of her work.” Camila’s eyes glow but she bites down on her smile. “Actually she called herself ‘A Palm Artist’. She really enjoyed painting landscapes, but she found any time she painted any kind of palm leaf it stood out amongst the rest of her pictures. So after a while, she gave up on the backdrops and focused solely on the leaves. She used to say ‘Why paint the bullshit sunset when I can just paint the leaf?’” I smile now at the memory of her voice. “When I was in high school, I found out my father had been cheating on her.” My mouth goes dry as I realize the shit I’m divulging and I look around for our waiter desperate to order another drink. “Anyway, we had already moved out and they had filed for divorce by this time, but it was still new information for me. I can relate to growing up with the pressure of needing to be successful. But what started as trying to get my father’s attention and praise turned into me wanting to shove it in his face. I wanted him to know that I could be great on my own. That I didn’t need him.”

I expect to feel immediate regret sharing this with Camila but when I look over at her, it's not pity in her eyes, it's understanding.

“And your mother?” Her voice is quiet.

“She passed away when I was in law school.”

Camila reaches across the low table and puts her hand on mine, where it rests on my leg. She gives one little squeeze, and I turn my hand over to hold hers in mine because it still doesn't feel like pity, it feels like comfort.

“You're the only person I’ve shared that with besides Jonas,” I say.

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Miles.”

“To be honest the only thing I hate more than cats is pity, so I appreciate you not being the pitying kind.” I play with her fingers between mine.

She playfully slaps at my chest but I grab her hand again and hold her there.

CAMILA

Miles and I finish our dinner and move to more light-hearted topics. He tells me about the time he and Jonas were living together in the middle of a prank war. He claims Jonas started it by wrapping his entire bedroom in cat-covered wrapping paper.

“It's not funny, everything was wrapped. The walls, my furniture, computer, my bed, the pillows, literally everything.” I’m doing that laugh where you have to cover your face because your mouth is so big it's ugly.

“Okay okay,” I get out between breaths. “So did you declare a truce after that?”

Miles hits me with the most mischievous smile. I didn't even know his lips could curve that high.

“Oh no…what did you do?”