Page 47 of Things We Fake
I could see him working it through, the way a lawyer builds a case. His mind was sharp and fast, even under pressure.
“Remember the camera flashes last night?” he continued. “We thought it was people taking pictures during the dinner rush, or maybe someone celebrating an anniversary. Now I think this photo of us at the table came from that moment—when we were hamming it up for Britt’s benefit.”
He paused, his mouth tightening into a thin, furious line.
“And the one of us kissing...” His voice dropped, rough with something darker. “That one was private. Personal. Someone violated that special moment. And whoever it was, I swear to you, Susanne—I will find them. And I’ll make damn sure they regret it.”
The heat in his eyes was pure, molten fury. A promise burning on his tongue.
But in that moment, I didn’t even care about revenge. All I cared about was how to keep my life from imploding.
Cam pressed on, frustration simmering under every word. “This is Brittany’s revenge. She couldn’t stand being embarrassed last night. This is her way of calling my bluff—daring me to make a stink, knowing that if I try to fight it, it’ll blow up even bigger. She’s gambling that if I stay quiet, she wins. And if I make noise, she wins twice.”
His hands curled into fists in his lap. He was losing the calm he’d fought so hard to keep.
“My company’s barely taken root here. If the CEO of Omega gets called a liar—or worse, looks unstable because of a scandal—it could affect stockholders. Reputation is everything when you’re trying to expand. Britt nearly destroyed me once. She damn near wiped out my family’s savings. If the company had gone under, Craig, Becky, even my mother would’ve paid for it, too. I can’t— I won’t let her try again. I won’t let her touch you either.”
His voice cracked a little, as though the weight of it all was catching up to him.
Gently, I put my hand on his arm and squeezed, bringing his focus back to me.
“Cam. Stop. Breathe.”
He did. Slowly.
“I know you were just trying to protect me last night,” I said quietly. “And let’s be real—I was ready to claim we were married and had six kids if it meant getting her plastic ass out of our faces. She baited us both. I wanted to shut her up, just as much as you did.”
I glanced down at the newspaper again, forcing myself to look, to think clearly.
The photo in the restaurant was actually kind of... beautiful. Nothing sleazy or cheap about it. My dress covered me modestly. No drunken giggling, no wardrobe malfunctions. Just two people laughing, touching, looking at each other like they belonged together.
Surely there was no crime in that?
I sighed. “The article could’ve been worse. It doesn’t say we’re engaged, or married, or expecting triplets. Just hints. It’s mostly the pictures doing the talking.”
I looked back at him, finding a shaky smile. “You told Brittany we were in love. So what? People fall in love every day. Sometimes it lasts, sometimes it doesn’t. This doesn’t have to be the end of the world.”
Cam stared at me. “You’re incredible.” A slow smile broke across his face. “Seriously, are you always this much of an optimist?”
“Not even close.” I chuckled softly. “Usually I’m all doom and gloom. But today... I guess I’m feeling strangely brave. Or maybe just too tired to panic properly.”
I felt it then—a shift inside me. A little click, like a key turning in a long-rusted lock. Strength I didn’t know I had settled into place.
I got up and headed for the kitchen. “I’m making coffee before my courage wears off.”
When I returned a few minutes later, balancing two steaming mugs, Cam reached for his gratefully.
“Thank you.” He took a long sip and smiled. “You make real coffee. Not that motor oil Sebastian drinks.”
I curled up next to him on the couch, and for a few minutes, we sat in a fragile, heavy silence. Sipping, thinking. Steam rose in lazy curls from our mugs, and my earlier bravado started to drain away with it.
Grim, terrifying scenarios started lining up in my mind again. What if the parents demanded my resignation, claiming I wasn’t a good role model for their kids? What if my old-fashioned dad decided to bring his shotgun at the Easter dinner? What if—
Cam’s voice cut through the fog of anxiety.
“What if we were engaged?” he said quietly.
I blinked. “W-what?”
