“It was nothing.”
“To him, it was something. In fact, I think it was the start of everything. You’re the most important person in his life. He loves you, even though I know he probably hasn’t told you that. I can see it written all over his face.”
All I can do is shrug because I don’t really know how to respond. “I’m not sure,” I answer honestly, because I truly don’t know how Camden feels. He’s hard to read. It’s hard to know where his head’s at.
“Now, I have to tell you something you might not want to hear,” Gran admits, her voice sad.
My stomach drops because I don’t like the look on her face.
“Camden doesn’t know how to be loved. He doesn’t know how to love. And since he was a child, he’s had to face the cruel world alone. He’ll probably push you away. He might even shut down because he’s terrified of loving someone the way he loved his parents and not having love given back to him. His parents rejected him, and I think he’ll spend the rest of his life wondering if anyone else he loves will, too.”
Tears fall down my cheeks. I’m sad for Camden as a child. The one who just needed to be shown love. I cry for the man that child turned into. The one who believes no one could ever actually love him.
I wipe at the tears immediately, using the sleeve of my sweater to dab at my cheeks. I’d meticulously applied makeup this morning—something I don’t normally do—and now I’m ruining it as I cry in his poor grandma’s arms.
Gran grabs both my cheeks lovingly, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she smiles at me. I don’t tell her that her hands are cold or that I want to cry all over again because my mom used to do the same thing to comfort me. All I do is lay my hands over hers and try to blink the tears away.
“Be good to him, sweet girl. I hope he lets you love him the way I know you want to.”
“Me too,” I croak, trying to let out a shaky breath.
“Now, let’s both stop crying before he comes in here and catches us?”
I laugh, nodding before I pull her in for one last hug.
Things have never been so clear. Once we’re done with the gala and back in Sutten, I have to tell Camden I’m falling for him. He needs to know he’s loved. It’ll be up to him to decide what to do with that information.
50
CAMDEN
“You’re quiet,” Pippa notes as we come to a stop in front of my gallery.
“I could say the same thing to you,” I respond, thinking about our walk here. I’d bought Gran a place close to my gallery on purpose years ago. She didn’t want to live anywhere near my penthouse, but she didn’t mind a spot closer to the gallery. It worked out in my favor anyway since I’m not home much. The building looming in front of us is more of a home to me.
From the moment I got off the phone—suddenly in a terrible mood from the conversation I had with Daly—and said goodbye to Gran, Pippa’s been quiet. But she isn’t wrong—I’ve also been quiet, too in my head about the shit Daly just piled on me to hold much of a conversation.
“So this is it.” Pippa turns to the gallery building, looking up at the iridescent structure. “Camden Hunter’s gallery. The one the rich and famous visit.”
I shake my head. “Are you making fun of my work?”
She rubs her lips together in an attempt to hide a smile. “No. I just thought it’d be bigger.”
I scoop her in my arms, all of the drama from the phone call being pushed to the back of my mind as I squeeze her sides and tickle her. “I know you didn’t just say that,” I warn, digging my fingertips into the spot that has her squealing with laughter.
She doubles over, her small hands trying to push mine away as her body shakes with laughter. “It’s kind of small,” she gets out in between fits of giggles.
I spin her body, forcing her to face me and giving her a break. Her entire face is red from laughter, her neatly curled hair sticking in her lip gloss. I push the pieces of hair from her lips, earning me a smile.
“I’ll have you know it has the most square feet of any independently owned gallery in the area.”
“Is that supposed to impress me?” she teases, standing on her tiptoes to get her lips closer to mine.
I lean down, trapping her lips with mine for a moment. She tastes like strawberries, reminding me of our earlier conversation with Gran. Her soap, her hair, her lips have always tasted like strawberries and vanilla. Now she knows why that’s driven me wild from the moment she was catapulted back into my life.