Page 38 of Cameron's Contract

“Some light reading. Rest your head on my lap.”

Mia nuzzled down and she let out a sigh of contentment.

I flipped open to the first page.

CHAPTER 11

MY HAND RESTED on Shay’s shoulder. “Okay, buddy?”

He sat squarely at the dining room table and leaned back to look at me. “Yes, thank you.” He gave me a knowing look of reassurance.

We’d all dressed for lunch, with the men wearing blazer and slacks, a formality for the Coles, and Mia wearing a deep blue chiffon dress.

Henry complained by tugging his collar and feigning he was choking to death until Mom scolded him.

Shay tried to defuse the strain. “You have a lovely pool, Mrs. Cole.”

“Thank you, Shay,” she said.

I took the seat beside his and smiled over at Mom. “You look lovely.”

“Thank you, Cameron.” She went on to inform us how she’d chosen the theme of the pool fromthe Trianon Palace Versailles, when she’d spent a week at the Waldorf Astoria last year with Willow.

Willow shared how she’d like to get married there.

“It’s right next to the Palace of Versailles gardens,” said Willow. “Where we could get our photos taken.”

“You’re getting married in a church,” said Mom.

“The Waldorf would be for the reception.”

“This imaginary husband does not exist,” said Dad. “Not yet anyway. Before you get your brothers interrogating you on the matter, Willow.”

“I’m sure he’ll be quite perfect when she does find him,” said Henry with a hint of sarcasm.

“Something you want to share, Willow?” I said, amused.

She placed her napkin on her lap. “You’ll be the first to know, Cam. Daddy shall have to wait until I’ve had you check him out and analyze him. And you too Shay.” She beamed over at him.

Shay grinned at her. “Of course.”

“Let’s worry about all that when it happens,” said Dad, who wasseemingly already over it.

Right now he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, so considering this he was doing remarkably well.

I’d purposefully sat Mia between Henry and I, both of us flanking her in a show of protection from Mom’s critical glare.

Lunch was served on fine china plates with gold trimming. Spring vegetables and lovage broth with poached guinea fowl served as our appetizer. For our main course, Confit gressingham duck leg was elegantly presented with truffle potatoes and asparagus. Dessert was Crème Brulee, and I refused to make eye contact with Mia as we ate our memorable sugared vanilla pudding that brought a smile to our lips.

We all declined the offer of wine, except Mom, who knocked back half a bottle of a Coche-Dury Les Perrieres like water.

This four course meal was usual for a weekend at home, delivered by waiters donning starched white uniforms and silently attending to our every need. What I wouldn’t have given for a hamburger eaten in a quiet room tucked away in the library, where I could continue reading that monster of a file. This felt like time wasted.

Tension hung beneath the surface, and we all played our part to feign this was lunch as usual and on Monday my father wouldn’t be clearing out his office. A legacy destroyed.

“So, Mia,” said Mom, “any decisions on your future?”

Mia glanced over to me for support.