Page 114 of Where the Snakes Sleep

Was that because of her?

Did he choose it deliberately?

Did he spend his entire life walking toward the place that swallowed her because that was the only way he knew to remain close?

I think of him in the lab and how controlled he is in there, how nothing happens without him understanding exactly why.

Control.

That makes sense now too.

So much of Camille suddenly makes sense that I resent him for it. I didn’t ask to understand him this much. Understanding makes being angry much harder.

I would prefer simple anger, simple betrayal, and instead, I have this clusterfuck.

A man whose mother vanished when he was eight. Whose father spent years being treated like a suspect because Henri apparently manufactured stories about their marriage.

Wait.

Alain.

Camille has never once mentioned his father. I mean, sure, he never mentioned his mother either, for obvious reasons, but what happened to his father?

Maybe Alain rebuilt his life. Maybe he remarried. Maybe he moved away from all this, and Camille grew up somewhere safe, raised by a father who eventually learned how to exist around the shape of his grief.

I want that to be true, but I have a gut feeling it’s not.

God, fuck.

Our first conversations. His interest in what I planned to do with the property.

The offers to help, and the questions about renovations.

How much had he asked about the house?

I try to remember. Everything seemed casual at the time. Neighborly, you know?

A little intense because Camille is intense about everything, but nothing that screamed: “I have spent half my life investigating your grandfather because I believe he knew what happened to my murdered mother.”

I resisted him at first, but then—

My breath catches.

The pool.

Camille naked in the water.

I knew he knew I could see him. I fucking knew it.

At the time, I treated it like a game. It was mutual attraction.

A gorgeous man, fully aware that I was watching and enjoying the attention.

But Camille admitted he noticed my attraction. He admitted that. Not in some sinister confession, obviously, but enough.

He knew.

What if that wasn’t flirting for flirting’s sake? What if it was strategy?