Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82317 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
She didn’t find that funny, but I still do and can’t help but grin as we approach her.
Mom’s eyes are pinned on Camille. I glance over to see her smiling at my mom in a way that conveys she’s sorry for her circumstances and also very glad to make her acquaintance. It’s completely genuine, and it’s the Camille I’ve started to know in a different way from just a week ago.
Camille has no hesitation. She strolls right up to my mom with her right hand out. My mom looks flustered, like she doesn’t know whether to curtsy, but I assured her that wasn’t a required formality, so she accepts Camille’s offer and their hands clasp. Camille covers the union with her other hand and squeezes. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Gale, and I’m so sorry for the circumstances that brought us here. If there’s anything at all I can do for you or your husband, please … do not hesitate to ask.”
Okay, that was a little over the top, a pat political greeting, but I let it slide because the awe in my mom’s expression is actually worth swallowing down that bullshit, which almost has me laughing again.
Though the words are born from her station and what is expected of a princess, Camille actually means it. If my mom were to say, “Well, dear… we’d like to have a private floor in this hospital,” Camille would probably figure out a way to make it happen.
Enough is enough, though, and I pull my mom into a hug, breaking their handshake and squeezing her tight. “You okay?” I murmur as her arms go around my waist. Despite her diminutive size, she’s able to make me gasp from the strength of her return hug.
She nods against me, then tips her head back. “I’m good. Your dad is going to be fine, and now I’m mad at myself for letting you come here.”
“It’s no trouble,” I mutter and give her another squeeze before letting her go. “I’m going to step in to see him, if that’s all right.”
“Go on in, honey,” my mom replies and then looks to Camille. “Want to go with me to the cafeteria for some coffee?”
Before Camille can answer, I nix the idea. “Sorry, Mom. She has to stay with me at all times.”
“But surely a trip to the cafeteria would be safe,” Camille urges. I can see she’s eager to take my mom somewhere to decompress for a bit.
“Dmitri would skin me, then your father would throw me under the guillotine,” I say with a grin while shaking my head.
“They would not,” Camille says with exaggerated offense, then looks downright sly. “Well, maybe Dmitri would.”
The expression on my mom’s face clouds with worry, and I reassure her. “Relax, Mom. We’re teasing. But Camille can’t be out of my sight. While we’re pretty confident no one would make a move on her here, I’m the only one protecting her here at the hospital.”
“I understand,” she says quickly. “I’ll go down by myself. I could use the walk.”
Reaching out, I take my mom’s hand and give it a squeeze. “Take your time.”
Camille and I watch her walk away, and when she rounds the corner, Camille says, “Your mother is lovely. You look just like her.”
“That’s what everyone says.” I then turn toward the open door of my dad’s room. We don’t have the easiest relationship, and although I’m happy he’s okay, I’m still dreading this meeting, especially with Camille at my side. I know he’ll be glad I’ve come to see him, but he won’t ever let me know that. In fact, I imagine he’ll bluster about me leaving my duties to do so.
I stop and turn back toward Camille, who is following. “My apologies if my dad says something that makes you uncomfortable.”
She tilts her head, eyebrows drawing inward. “Like what?”
“My dad likes to call out my shortcomings when he can,” I explain as best I can without giving her a three-hour discourse on our personal dysfunction.
Camille snorts, and says quite loudly, “Shortcomings. Where could you possibly fall short on anything?”
There’s no doubt her comment carried through my dad’s open door, but he probably didn’t hear it. I don’t care if he did. I agree with Camille. I’m confident and satisfied with my life and career, as well as the choices I’ve made. My dad saying otherwise doesn’t diminish how I feel about it. It’s just irritating.
“I’ll tell you all about it sometime,” I say, not really as a promise but merely to get us moving so I can get this over with. I’ve been assured he’s medically fine now, so this visit is really about supporting my mom. I want to pop in, let my dad know I’m here if he needs anything, and then pop back out. If I’m lucky, I can get my mom to come home where we can eat a late dinner together.