[Reyes Residence]
The gates were already sliding open by the time Camille’s car rolled up the drive, as if the house itself had been listening for her.
She’d barely cut the engine before the front door flew wide and Kelly came down the steps two at a time, arms thrown open before Camille had even gotten both feet on the gravel.
“Cam.” Kelly folded her into a hug tight enough to lift her half off the ground, then held her back at arm’s length to inspect her properly.
“You look like a woman who just watched her bank account hit zero.”
Camille huffed something close to a laugh despite herself.
“That obvious?”
“Painfully.” Kelly looped an arm through hers and steered her inside without waiting for an invitation, the way she’d been doing since they were twelve.
The Reyes house wasn’t as sprawling as the Wilson estate, but it had a warmth to it that Camille’s own home had stopped producing years ago — noise drifting from somewhere upstairs, sunlight actually allowed through the curtains, a general sense of a house that people lived in rather than merely occupied.
“I am so glad you’re here,” Kelly said, dropping onto the couch and hauling Camille down beside her by the sleeve.
“I’ve been losing my mind cooped up in this place.”
“Still grounded?”
“Apparently.” Kelly threw her head back against the cushions.
“No phone, no visitors, nothing.
You’re the one human being my mother allowed through that door, and she still wouldn’t hand my phone back so I could call and complain about it properly.
It has been an ordeal, Cam.
A genuine ordeal.”
“She took the phone, too?” A real smile tugged at Camille’s mouth now.
“To make sure I ‘learned my lesson.'” Kelly rolled her eyes hard enough that it was audible.
“Well.” Camille settled back against the cushions.
“If being grounded is this unbearable, maybe commit fewer offenses.”
“You know I physically can’t.” Kelly flipped her hair over one shoulder with theatrical flair, then sat bolt upright like she’d been struck by lightning.
“Oh — Mary!”
A woman in a neatly pressed uniform appeared in the doorway a moment later.
“Yes, Miss Kelly?”
“Wine, two glasses.
And—” Kelly turned back to Camille, eyes gleaming.
“I baked.
Want some?”
Camille blinked.
“You baked.”
“Is that honestly so hard to believe?”
“Yes.”
“Rude.” Kelly turned back to Mary, entirely unbothered.
“Bring those too, please.
Thank you.”
Mary disappeared, and Kelly curled her legs beneath her with an exaggerated sigh, the picture of suffering.
“You have no idea how boring this house has been.”
“I can imagine,” Camille said dryly, “given you’ve mentioned it roughly every ten minutes since I arrived.”
“Excuse me.
I’m simply sharing my pain with you.”
“I’m well aware.
Terribly sorry you’ve been trapped in your enormous mansion with no way to reach the outside world.
Feeling better now?”
“Much,” Kelly said, entirely satisfied.
Mary returned with a tray a few minutes later — wine, glasses, a neat plate of cookies — and slipped away again before Kelly snatched one up.
“Moment of truth.” She broke it in half, held out a piece, and Camille eyed it the way she’d eye an unmarked package.
“You first.”
“They’re not poisoned, Cam.
I made these with love.” Kelly took a large bite, chewing with smug satisfaction.
“See?”
Camille tasted hers, cautious — and her eyebrows shot up despite herself.
“Wait.
These are actually good.”
A throw pillow hit her square in the shoulder.
I spent three hours on those.”
Camille laughed — a real one, loud enough to surprise even her — and for one unguarded second the weight she’d been hauling around since breakfast eased its grip just slightly.
Kelly noticed instantly.
Her teasing dropped away like a mask coming off.
“I haven’t seen you laugh like that in weeks,” she said, gentler now.
The smile slid off Camille’s face before she could stop it.
Kelly reached across and laid a hand over hers.
“What happened?”
Camille’s eyes dropped to the untouched glass in front of her, tracing a bead of condensation down the side without really seeing it.
“It happened again.
This morning.”
“Breakfast?”
She nodded, throat tight in a way she hadn’t expected.
“I asked Dad if Parker had found anything new about Mum.
Same answer he always gives — investigation’s still open, he’ll let me know.” Her fingers curled slowly around the stem of the glass.
“I don’t believe him anymore.
Every time I bring her up, something in him just — closes.
Like there’s a door he’s standing in front of and doesn’t want me looking past.”
Kelly said nothing, just let the silence hold space for the rest of it.
“And then Helen started in.”
“What did she say this time?”
A short, humorless laugh escaped Camille.
“Told me to stop chasing ghosts.”
“That woman should win an award.”
“For what?”
“For finding the exact wrong thing to say at the exact wrong second, every single time, without fail.
She’s bad energy, Cam.
I genuinely don’t know how you share a roof with her.”
“Some mornings, neither do I.”
“She’d better watch herself.
I will personally give her a piece of my mind.” Kelly pulled her into a hug, fingers combing gently through her hair the way she used to when they were fifteen and everything felt like the end of the world, and for once Camille let herself be held without pulling away first.
Eventually Kelly straightened, clapped her hands together with sudden decisiveness.
“That’s it.”
“That’s what?”
“Enough sadness for one afternoon.” Her eyes lit with a familiar, dangerous excitement.
“I have something for you.”
“I’m already frightened.”
“You should be.” Kelly grinned.
“Tomorrow night.
La Cuisine Bar.
I was going to go alone, since I figured you’d say no — but I’ve changed my mind.
I’m not accepting no as an answer.”
Camille’s brow furrowed.
“The charity thing?”
“It stopped being just a charity thing weeks ago.
It’s the biggest event on anyone’s calendar this month.” She leaned forward with a grin.
“The Macford Group is sponsoring it this year.
Every major CEO, investor, and socialite in the city wants an invitation.”
Camille went still for a second, the name landing somewhere she hadn’t expected it to.
“Macford.
As in Liam Macford?”
Kelly’s eyebrows shot up.
“You know who that is?”
“I met him.
“At Dad’s anniversary party.
I spilled an entire glass of wine on him.”
Kelly’s mouth fell open.
“You did *what?*”
“It was an accident.
Someone bumped into me.” Camille shook her head, still faintly mortified even weeks later.
“He wasn’t even that upset about it, honestly.
Just — strange.
Everyone in the room acted like he was some kind of celebrity, and I had no idea why until my dad practically fell over himself introducing us.”
“That’s because he basically is one, Cam.
A terrifying one.” Kelly leaned forward, delighted.
“The Macford Group is one of the most powerful business empires in New York.
Business, real estate, hotels, finance, shipping — you name it, they’re in it.
Whenever they put their name behind an event, people fight over invitations.” A pause, sly.
“And you’re telling me you already met him and didn’t think that was worth mentioning until right now?”
“It didn’t seem important.
He said about ten words to me and left.” Camille shrugged, reaching for another cookie.
“I figured that was the end of it.”
Kelly chuckled.
“You’re so lucky having to meet him face to face Cam, some of us only dream about him.
But you should know that when the Macfords are involved, this party we’ll be the event everyone talks about.”
“Not interested.” Camille reached for another cookie.
Kelly snatched it out of her fingers before she got close.
“You are now.”
“Kelly—”
“No.
I refuse to let my best friend spend another weekend hiding inside that mausoleum you call a home.”
“I’m not in the mood to party.” Camille drew her knees up onto the couch, suddenly tired in a way that had nothing to do with how little she’d slept.
“I know you’re not.” Kelly’s voice dropped, softer now, all the teasing gone out of it.
“That’s exactly why you need it.
I’m not asking you to forget any of it.
I’m asking for one night.
One night to laugh, one night to breathe, one night to feel twenty-three instead of dragging fourteen years of grief around like luggage you never get to put down.”
Camille said nothing for a long moment, worrying the inside of her cheek, staring at the cookie crumbs scattered across the table like they might rearrange themselves into an answer.
“I don’t even have anything to wear.”
“Don’t you dare use my closet as an excuse.
I already picked something out for you.”
“Of course you did.” Something between resignation and fondness tugged at Camille’s mouth.
“So that’s a yes?”
She hesitated once more — and then Kelly’s eyes, wide and pleading and utterly shameless, finished the job.
“…Fine.”
Kelly froze mid-breath.
“Wait.
Was that an actual yes?”
“Yes.” The smile came without permission this time.
The shriek that followed was loud enough to bring Mary jogging back into the doorway in alarm.
Kelly threw herself off the couch and wrapped both arms around Camille so hard it knocked the air half out of her.
“I knew you’d say yes.”
“You’re impossible,” Camille said into her shoulder.
“And yet.” Kelly pulled back just far enough to wink.
“You still love me.”
Camille didn’t argue with that one.
She only wished, driving home an hour later with a stolen cookie in one hand and Kelly’s dress hanging in a garment bag across the back seat, that she’d known what that single yes was about to cost her.