Page 134 of The Good Girl Effect

“That’s good,” she mumbles softly. “I’m proud of you.”

“Please come home,” I plead.

Camille sets Bea down and takes her hand as she closes the space between us. Standing right in front of me, she stares into my eyes. “I missed my train.”

“You did?” I ask with hope.

She nods. “I was so busy reading this letter.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the folded-up paper I put in her jewelry box.

I’ve never felt more on edge in my life. I keep staring at her face, reading her emotions, hoping everything I conveyed in that letter was enough to bring her back into my life.

Forcing myself to swallow, I ask, “And…what did you think about it?”

Tears fill her lashes again. “I love you so much it hurts too,” she says with a sob. “And I don’t want to fly off anymore. Not without you.”

Relief floods through me as I gather her up in my arms. Pressing my face to her neck, I breathe her in as her arms go around my neck. Bea hugs my leg as the three of us stand together as one.

When Camille pulls away, her face is wet. Holding me by the cheeks, she stares into my eyes before dragging my mouth toward hers for a kiss. After two months without her lips on mine, this kiss feels like heaven.

I want to rediscover every inch of her like it’s the first time.

“Papa, tell her!” Bea says, hopping up and down beside us.

“Tell her what?” I ask.

“That she’s not my nanny anymore.”

Camille’s eyes widen with alarm.

I chuckle as I kiss her again. “Yeah, you’re…sort of fired, I guess.”

“Fired?”

“So you can sleep in Papa’s bed again!”

Camille looks at me again with her brows raised and a hesitant smile.

“I’ll explain when we get home. As long as you are coming home.”

She nuzzles in closer. “I am coming home.”

Beaming, I kiss her again. “Good. Je suis très excité.”

Camille lets out a laugh as she covers her mouth.

“What?” I ask with a perplexed expression.

Leaning in, she whispers in my ear, “That means…I am very aroused.”

“Oh fuck,” I mutter, making my six-year-old giggle and cover her mouth. “I knew that.”

“What does it mean?” Bea asks, hopping up and down.

Camille takes her hand as they walk ahead together. “Nothing.”

Grinning to myself, I pick up Camille’s bag and walk on the other side of her. Sliding a hand around her waist, I lean in until my mouth is next to her ear.

“Well, to be fair,” I whisper, “I am a little of that too.”