Her smile turns sad and she nods. I know she feels guilty, like she ruined my life by telling me the insurance money had run out. For the first part of the last year, I felt that way, too. But I meant what I said; she and Grace are the only family I’ve got. If I don’t take care of them, who will?
“Just promise me if it all gets to be too much, you’ll say something. I don’t want to see you drink yourself—”
“Mom!” I interrupt sternly. I soften it with a grin. “I’m fine. Really. It’s just some fun with the boys. No big deal. There’s nothing else to do around here, remember?”
She shrugs one shoulder and shoots my line back to me. “Good point.”
CHAPTER THREE - Cami
The smell of bacon pulls me out of my dream with both hands. My first thought? Where am I? Once I realize the canopy above me was mine from childhood, my second thought comes in. Drogheda’s making me breakfast.
I smile. One of the best things about spending the summer at home is Drogheda, the housekeeper and my oldest confidante, and her wonderful cooking.
As I lie in bed, enjoying the familiar smells, my third thought rushes in, disturbing the peace of the morning. It comes in a vision—two twinkling greenish-gray eyes and a sexy grin.
Trick.
I should not be thinking about him. Still. But somehow that boy got under my skin. Big time.
Pick ‘treat.’ Please, for the love of God, pick ‘treat.’
Just remembering those words makes my stomach do a flip. What is it about him?
I hear a loud clank come from the kitchen. I smile. Whenever I sleep longer than what I should, Drogheda “accidentally” drops things in the kitchen. A lot. And very loudly. Eventually it wakes me up and I go down for breakfast. She’s devious like that.
Throwing back the covers, I stretch before tiptoeing across the room to quietly open the door. Ever since I was ten years old, Drogheda and I have played a game of cat and mouse the first day I’m back from school, before she gets used to me being home for the summer. I make a point to pop up unexpectedly and scare her at some point during that first day.
We did it all the way through grade school and prep school, and we’ve done it since I’ve been in college. It’s one of those traditions that, no matter how childish it is, I’ll always continue. And I’ll always treasure.
This morning, I’m getting started early. I creep in through the back entrance of the kitchen, making my way silently through the butler’s pantry. I peek around the corner and see Drogheda standing at the stove, her back to me. She’s humming softly as she so often does when she cooks. She has a spatula in one hand, flipping pancakes.
I wait until she flips the last of the four and moves to set her spatula aside before I pounce. In three long strides, I wrap my arms around her.
“Drogheda!” I cry, squeezing her tightly and kissing her rounded caramel cheek.
Drogheda screeches and reaches around to smack my butt with her palm. She lets out a string of words in her native language before she says something in her thick accent that I can understand. “Chica, you scare an old woman half to death!”
“Oh, you love it and you know it.” I reach around her and take a piece of bacon that’s draining on a paper towel. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
Drogheda turns to me, one hand holding the spatula and the other on her hip. “Of course I’m happy to see you. The house is so empty without my picaro, my poco diabla.”
I stop chewing, pointing my half eaten strip of bacon at Drogheda. “My Spanish is a little rusty, but didn’t you just call me a little devil?”
“Me?” Drogheda asks, feigning innocence. “No, chica. You must’ve misunderstood. Why, I would never call such a sweet, innocent child a name like that.”
I snort. She snatches the bacon from my fingers and pops it in her mouth then points her spatula at me.
“Ladies don’t snort.”
I grin. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Now, you go sit down. Breakfast is almost ready.”
As she always has, Drogheda fixes herself a cup of coffee and sits with me while I eat.
“So, tell me about your plans for the summer,” Drogheda urges.
“You mean besides attending every party within a hundred mile radius and working on my tan?”
She swats at me. “Oh no! Mi Camille isn’t going to grow up to be one of those useless rich women. Tell me what you’re really going to do.”
I smile. Drogheda knows me well.
“Actually, I’d like to learn a little more about the business. I mean, I’ve always loved horses and somebody’s gonna have to take over once Daddy gets too old to oversee it all.”
“Ha,” Drogheda laughs. “Your papi will never be too old. You will have to prove to him that you can be his partner first. And then, maybe one day…”
“That’s some awfully sage advice from a pretty young thing like you, Drogheda. When did you get so smart?” At fifty-two, while she certainly isn’t young, Drogheda definitely doesn’t look her age. Her rich golden skin is still smooth and soft.
“What about that boy? Do you still see him?”
I smile. “Drogheda, his name is Brent, which you know. You are so ornery!”
She curls up her lip. “I don’t care. I don’t trust that boy. He is after something.”
I grin devilishly. “I can tell you exactly what he’s after.”
Drogheda’s face gets all stern and she points a finger at me. “Don’t you dare let him spoil you, chica! He’s not worth it. Save that for someone who loves you.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I know, I know. I’ve had the lecture a thousand times, Drogheda. You do realize that I can’t stay a virgin forever, right?”
She’d kill me if she knew it was a moot point.
“I’m not saying stay a virgin forever. I’m saying wait. Just wait.”
“For what?”
“Not for what, for who.”
“But I told you. Brent loves me.”
“No, he doesn’t. Not like he should. He loves your beautiful face and your young body and your father’s company.”
“What else is there?”
“One day, someone will love you with or without all those things. You just have to find him. You’ll know when the time is right, mi Camille, when the boy is right. And trust an old woman, that boy is not the right one.”
CHAPTER FOUR - Trick