Page 100 of The Interview

“With the wife of the lead singer of the world’s biggest band,” Cam corrects himself.

“Better,” Marley states.

Despite now being pissed off with what Daniel could’ve been hinting at—even if it was true—I still manage to form a smile.

The room becomes very quiet for a few seconds. The girls—Jimmie and Ash—know this was the night things went down the way they did between Cam and me, but I’m not sure my brothers do, and I’m wondering if my kids are working things out for themselves right now.

“If you were looking for some big exclusive off the back of that image, Daniel, then I’m sorry to disappoint you, but there isn’t one.”

He shakes his head, then shrugs. “Sorry. It’s just in my nature to dig.”

“I think what we’ve given you over the past few days should be enough to set you up for life. Don’t get greedy, otherwise I’ll have you out of here quicker than you can say Gucci, and I won’t need my husband’s help to do it.”

That earns me a few whistles and a round of applause from my husband and kids.

“You tell ’em, Princess. Cheeky bastards.” I turn to see that my parents have now arrived. My dad looks handsome in a French navy, Ralph Lauren jumper and tan-coloured trousers. He winks and raises his glass—no doubt filled with one of Cam’s most expensive single malts—in my direction.

“And when I say Princess, it’s my daughter I’m talking to. Not you, sunshine,” he clarifies.

I hear a snort of laughter.

“Fucking hell, Grandad,” George says.

“Jesus,” Harry hisses while the girls just stare, wide-eyed, as Cam silently chuckles.

My mum, head to toe in Chanel, has stilled with a glass of what I assume is her favourite Australian Prosecco in hand. “I think I’m going to need something stronger,” she says while glaring at my dad. “I thought I told you to keep your mouth shut?”

“You did, and I had no plans on opening it until Dicky Dirt up there implied there was something improper going on between our daughter and Cam, all because of a poxy photo taken by one of them slippery paparazzi fuckers.”

“It’s actually Daniel, not sunshine, Dicky, or Princess. Although Queen might work,” Daniel says. “Even Dan will do. It’s nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Layton. My apologies if I caused offence. It was never my intention.”

“Ignore my husband. Nice to meet you, Daniel.” My mum raises her glass his way.

“That remains to be seen,” my dad mumbles.

I turn back towards the cameras. Leaning forward, I make eye contact with Marley, who’s grinning like The Cheshire fucking Cat!

“I haven’t said a fucking word,” he says, attempting not to laugh.

“Let’s keep it that way, shall we?” I suggest. “Otherwise, the whole lot of us are going to be portrayed as bigoted psychopaths.”

“They wouldn’t be far wrong on the second part, but they’ve only gotta look at the charities the foundation supports to know we’re far from fucking bigoted, and I’ll fight anyone who says so,” Marley argues.

I let out a long exhale but say no more because I suddenly feel exhausted, and it’s not even lunchtime yet.

“Okay,” Daniel says. “I’m a little worried now about showing you what we have next. It’s security vision from something that happened later that night.”

My heart literally falls out of my arsehole.

Please don’t let there be footage of Cam and me fucking against his office door. Not in front of my kids.

And parents.

And brothers.

“How the fuck did you get security footage from my club?” Cam’s voice booms across the room, and in a few long strides, he’s standing behind me.

“I’m not sure. It’s something one of our researchers came across,” Daniel says.