Page 128 of Dissolving Prejudice

He’d been meeting with Blaire for only a few weeks, but the change was already noticeable. I wasn’t saying he was cured. Fuck no. Camilo had far too many wounds on top of scars from all layers of his life that needed to be treated, and it wasn’t going to happen overnight or even over a year. Healing takes time. And God be our witness, did Camilo have a lot of healing ahead of him. Growing up with an abusive father, losing his sister to a brutal tragedy, and living through the aftermath only to witness his own mother’s suicide. The following years were one long struggle to survive on his own while being tossed from one prison cell to another. And that was just his childhood. I mean, since high school, he’d lost Iván, was framed for a crime he didn’t commit, and only got his freedom back thanks to a deal made with the devil. The last four years were clearly the last straw, as not even Camilo could handle so much.

He’s only human, after all.

One could look at us and almost laugh because between Camilo and me, it was as if we were competing over who had the most fucked-up life. But whatever. He was finally starting to heal, and that was the only thing that mattered. While Blaire did write him a prescription for some medication that seemed to help, the biggest change was him going to see her nearly every day. I think what also helped was him working with me on my fashion show. Vito loved the idea of a “dancewalk” instead of a catwalk when I pitched it to him, and since I’d received the green light, Camilo was fully on board. He left his shitty job at the cardboard factory, and after that, we cast our models together, who were basically dancers, and he started working on choreography. It sounded wild; I knew that it did, but dancing was also a part of his recovery. Camilo was definitely a confident man, and yet, years of facing this horrible world almost entirely alone, taking one punch after another, left him with a lot of self-doubts. He had zero faith in his talent, and it hurt me personally. Why? Because he was a genius when it came to dancing, and at last, he was starting to see it, too. He was learning that there was another way of living life, even if it felt like a hard fetch at times.

I was just done with making myself a shot of espresso when Camilo’s phone rang from where it was charging next to our bed. Taking my coffee with me, I went over there to shut it off so it wouldn’t wake him up. I grabbed the device while downing my shot in one go, and the brew of my expensive coffee made me a bit less irritated when I saw the name on the screen.

“That little cockroach,” I muttered after sending Oro to voicemail. That nuisance of a human being was calling and texting Camilo every now and then, telling him how much he missed him, just like the parasite that he was. Ugh. I would have called an exterminator to get rid of this problem if not for Camilo reassuring me I had nothing to worry about, as Oro was just some bored kid. And while I wanted to argue and say that a twenty-year-old hooker was anything but a kid and that I did a lot worse when I was much younger than him, I didn’t. Camilo was going through a rough time, and I wanted to make his life as easy as possible. Besides, Oro could call Camilo all he wanted, and it wouldn’t change a thing, as my man, who was just waking up by the sounds coming from him, was a sucker for me and me alone.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I greeted him while putting his phone down.

“What time is it?” he asked, voice heavy with sleep.

“It’s early, go back to sleep.” I leaned down to give him a small kiss, and he grabbed the back of my head and kept me there. I nearly dropped my glass in surprise, yet got a hold of it and kissed him back. Not minding his morning breath, I submitted to his mouth, allowing his tongue to explore me before he tugged on my bottom lip.

“Then come back to bed.” He moved his hand to rest on my wrist, his fingers softly caressing my skin. “It’s cold without you.”

Aww.

“I have to go to work, but how about we eat lunch together? I’ll come by the studio.” We rented a small studio not far from Renieri’s headquarters, where he was working on the choreography for the show.

His hand still held on to my wrist, almost like he was scared to let go. It was cute as fuck.

“Sounds good.” He moved his hand away to tuck it under his pillow. “Lock the door after you, and drive safely.”

“I always do.”

He snorted. “Tell that to someone who doesn’t know you.”

“Asshole.” I slapped his chest and got up.

After placing my empty glass in the sink, I grabbed my things and moved toward the door. Before getting out, I turned to look at him one last time; he was too big for our bed, so much so that his feet hung over the end of the mattress. Maybe I should start looking for a new place for us? As lovely as it had been living here for the past couple of weeks, I think it was time for us to move forward and get a fresh start in a place that had a bed big enough so Camilo’s cute feet wouldn’t stick out.

With my arms full of takeout food I’d bought for Camilo and our little modeling crew, I made my way back from the restaurant to my car. Assuming they were probably starving after dancing for hours, I decided to make a small stop at Camilo’s favorite vegan place in the city. It served this awesome crispy quinoa dish that even I, a proud carnivore, found delicious. Since my arms were occupied with the takeout paper bags, I tried coordinating a move to grab the keys out of my pocket. Yet, in the process of doing that, I screwed up.

“Fuck,” I swore as I lost my handle on one of the bags. I tried stopping it from falling to the ground by doing a weird dance that probably made me look like an idiot when someone came to my rescue.

“Thank you,” I breathed out, thankful that no food was spilled and that I didn’t need to go back and stand in line again. Yet, my smile slowly wore off as I focused on the hands that still held my paper bag, and I looked up.

“What the fuck?” I snarled in Jordan’s face while taking a step back, nearly stumbling on my feet.

“Watch it, or you’ll drop your food.” He tried reaching toward me when I snatched my other food bag from his arms and held it close to my chest.

“Who gives a shit? Get the hell away from me.”

“Shay-Lee.”

Looking around the conveniently empty parking lot, I held my head high. “I’m this close to calling my private security—”

“I already know that you lied about that,” he said, cutting into my words.

Caught off guard, I gaped at him. “How do you know that?”

He shrugged. “I checked.”

My eyes widened, and angry, I held my bags so hard they might have ripped. “You’re spying on me now, too?”

Jordan stopped walking and pointed at my arms. “Seriously, Shay-Lee, you’re about to rip those bags. Just let me help you.”