Page 69 of Unbalanced

My eyes land on Emily.

He hurt her…and I would’ve slit his throat if I had my knife that night on the gazebo.

The realization is clear. Rob was past saving.

For so late in the fall, it is a bright, clear day. The sun shines through the large bay windows, landing on the elderly priest in his white-and-gold robes, and the closed black casket. The priest says a final prayer and releases everyone from their seats. Emily comes toward me but stops when a hand slides onto my shoulder.

I turn my head to see Camille. What the hell is she doing here?

We kiss each other’s cheeks as she moves in for a quick hug.

“Camille, I didn’t expect to see you. Who invited you?”

Emily veers away, and I lose her in the crowd.

“No one. I came for you. Malcolm mentioned that the funeral was today.” She looks around to see who is nearby, then subtly bites her lip. “I thought you might need to unwind.”

Camille’s words are as suggestive as the look in her eyes, but I’m not interested.

When she moves to touch me again, I step out of reach. She blinks like I’ve hit her, her brows pulling together.

“Oh…I see,” she finally says. “Do you want me to go?”

“Do as you like, just not with me.”

Her lips press together. After years of being casual, I can now see that she truly hoped to become more. That’s not in the cards. It never was.

I lower my voice so only she can hear.

“Camille, need I remind you that you’ve always known what we are. No more. No less.” My next words come out as cold as I intend them. “And you came here uninvited. We are nothing more than colleagues.”

“Alden, you can’t mean that,” she whispers with a desperation that I despise.

I cut my eyes away from her, silently dismissing her from my presence.

“You heard me.”

Coming here is a blatant overstep. I can’t have any miscommunication about what I mean or want from her, which is nothing, especially now with…Emily. I find her standing by the refreshment table.

“I hoped—” Camille sighs.

“Hope is as damning as curiosity and just as dangerous, Camille. But you’ll find the right person eventually.”

“Please don’t verbally pat me on the head,” she says, low enough for only me to hear.

Each word is laced with wildly misplaced anger.

“Then I suggest you stop making a fool of yourself.”

I walk away before she can say anything else.

Emily is gone when I reach the refreshments. My eyes dart around, looking for her pretty blonde hair. I spot her when she steps through the large doors leading out of the room.

Oh, no you don’t.

I march after her, weaving around the guests who came to pay their respects and those who call my name. I can talk to them later. I have a much more important conversation in mind.

“Emily,” I bark out.