She gives me a knowing smile. “It’s nice to see you in love.”
“What are you talking about?” I scoff, feeling my cheeks heat.
Her laugh makes me feel like a little girl called out on a white lie. “Darling, I’m not blind. Or deaf,” she sighs, rolling her eyes. “Your brothers—”
“It was Lincoln, wasn’t it?”
“No,” she giggles. “It wasn’t.”
“Then it was Graham.”
“Camilla, stop it.”
“They’re overbearing, Mother,” I hiss. “They won’t leave it be. I don’t have to parade whoever I’m seeing in front of the family if I don’t want to. Shit.”
“Camilla Jane!” Her jaw drops open. “That’s no way for a lady to talk.”
“This is also no way to be treated,” I volley back.
“They’re just worried about their little sister. You can’t blame them.”
“Oh, I can.”
She sits back in her seat, getting a new strategy together. It’s the look in her eye, the way the greens flare through the blues that has me forcing a swallow.
“I had a chat with Ford yesterday after the baby announcement. He’s worried, Camilla.”
“I give up,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “I see now why Sienna wants to move to Illinois.”
“That isn’t nice.”
“This isn’t nice either! Don’t you see?”
She ignores me. “Ford hinted that the boys want to call up Nick Parker—”
“The private investigator?” I cry, recognizing the name from Barrett’s campaign. “Mother!”
“I told him not to,” she promises. “I said that was a step too far.”
“You think?”
“But, honey, you’re going to have to let us meet him.”
She sips her water, the lemon a bright spot as it gets flipped below the ice. I focus on that and not the impending doom that’s burrowing in my gut, making the Cobb salad I just ate threaten to come back up.
“I want you to know,” Mom says, wiping her lips with a linen cloth, “that I trust your judgement. If you like this man, then I’m sure he’s an admirable person.”
“I do like him.”
“Do you love him?”
It’s easier to ponder this question in the privacy of your own mind. There, you can answer or not, tell the truth or not, shove it off to the side if you prefer while you go do something else. It’s impossible to consider this question sitting across from the one person that can read you like a book.
“Camilla?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then you don’t,” she says simply. “If you love someone, you know it.”