Page 38 of The Malibu Secret

So yeah. Between the kayak thing, the doubles tennis thing and just the way that Silas keeps shooting me the stink eye while looking at Cameron and Willow approvingly, I couldn't miss what was happening between Willow and Cameron if I tried.

The after-dinner show is what clinches it. Two fucking baby grands sitting side by side in the old man's palace—who lives like that? Cameron and Willow slide onto the benches like they'd been itching for this moment all night. She hits every note he does, both of them criminally wasting their musical gifts on regular paychecks. They volley lyrics back and forth—from Elton's heartbreakers to Billy's ballads, then Tori Amos’ raw confessions and Radiohead's beautiful misery. Her voice pours out sweet and smooth against his perfect whiskey-rough edges. I watch them lean into each other between verses, their hands flying across ivory, and thought: shit, that's what belonging to someone looks like.

Watching them together hurts like someone's taking a cheese grater to my insides. Cameron and this Willow chick—they just fit. Their voices blend on "Goodbye Yellow Brick Road" like they were born to harmonize, their fingers dancing across the piano keys in perfect sync. Fuck. I can already see how this plays out: them building their little love nest while I'm home alone with Brinley, Cam and I passing her back and forth like some kind of human baton. I never thought I'd be another statistic, another mom with a custody agreement. But here we are. Game over.

I tell myself this was what I wanted.

But that's bullshit. What I really want is to wake up one day as someone who doesn't break out in a cold sweat when Cameron talks about picking out china patterns. Someone who sees his kind eyes and steady hands and thinks "forever" instead of "trapped." Someone better than me.

The ink on my skin tells my story, but I can't tattoo myself a new personality. Cameron deserves his white picket fence dream.

So I'll smile and nod when he mentions Willow's name, even while my stomach twists into knots that would make a sailor proud.

Chapter Thirty-One

CAMERON

I hate to admit it, but Willow's growing on me. Smart, successful, single—she ticks every box my family thinks I need. And this weekend? My brothers might as well have worn T-shirts saying "Operation: Hook Cameron Up With Willow."

The kayaking setup was their first move. I'd naturally assumed Tally and I would share one, until Silas oh-so-helpfully pointed out that "poor Willow" was all alone and needed a partner. Then Max—that traitor—jumped in with some bullshit about wanting to paddle with Roman because of their "triathlon training schedule." Right. As if I couldn't see through that excuse to pair Tally with Celeste, leaving me no choice but to climb into a kayak with Willow. The whole time, Max avoided my death glare while Silas smirked. Subtle as a heart attack, these idiots. And Max? Never thought he'd join the matchmaking schemes. Asshole.

I caught myself enjoying Willow's company out on the water, then immediately felt a stab of guilt. When she tossed her head back and that musical laugh spilled out, something in my chest lightened. She gets my jokes—the stupid ones, the dry ones, all of them—in a way most women don't. Tally appreciates my humor too, but with Willow it feels... different. We ended up abandoning the kayaking for swimming, circling the overturned boat like sharks. Every failed attempt to climb back aboard sent us into fresh fits of laughter, the kayak flipping and dunking us back into the water again and again.

Tennis doubles were next on the agenda. Perfect, I thought. I can partner with Tally and make up for the kayak situation. But Max had other plans.

“Cameron with Willow, Tally with Asher," he announced, clipboard in hand. My stomach knotted. This felt different than before—at least in the kayaks, Tally had been with her best friend. Now she was paired with Asher, who she barely knows.

"Actually, I think—" I began.

Silas caught my eye and mouthed, "Unanswered prayer," our code for hopeless causes.

Right. Tally doesn't want me. Willow does.

I resigned myself to my tennis partner, who turned out to be incredible. We demolished the competition, our high-fives and victory dance looking like we’d been a team forever.

Now I'm in the kitchen making dinner for everyone while Tally feeds Brinley. Willow gets sent in to help me, and she's chopping vegetables as I stir the sauce for chicken parm—Tally's favorite. I glance through the doorway at her bent over the high chair, that familiar ache spreading through my chest. Loving someone who doesn't love you back is its own special kind of torture, especially with Willow hovering nearby, clearly being pushed in my direction. And, yes, I do love Tally. Desperately. But what is it they say? If you can't be with the one you love, love the one you're with? Yeah, right.

Dinner gives way to the evening's entertainment, and I discover Willow at the piano. Her fingers dance across the keys with practiced ease as she launches into "Piano Man." I can't help joining in, our voices blending in perfect harmony. We flow from Billy Joel to Elton John, then Lady Gaga to Tori Amos, finishing with Radiohead's "Creep” and “Karma Police." Something clicks between us—a musical shorthand that feels eerily familiar, as if we've been performing together for years.

Later, I find Tally alone on the deck, her face tilted toward the stars. When she turns and smiles at me, my stomach twists. I'd been half-hoping for jealousy, for some sign that seeing me with Willow all day had bothered her. That smile—so genuine, so uncomplicated—leaves me more confused than ever.

Tally's lips quirk into something not quite a smile. "So, Willow, huh? You two planning a big weekend?" She punches my arm with just enough force to sting.

"Yeah," I manage, searching her face. "I was going to⁠—"

"Listen, Cam." Her voice catches. She blinks rapidly, those beautiful eyes suddenly glassy. "I want you happy. That's all." She turns away, but not before I catch the tremor in her jaw.

The lake stretches before us, black and still. Tally leans further over the railing.

"You deserve everything good," she finally says, voice steadier now. "And I can't be that for you. When I see you with Willow, I see possibilities. Real ones."

“Tally, I don’t want-”

She tilts her head back. "Stars are something else out here."

"They are. Tally⁠—"

"Don't." Her tattoos seem darker against her suddenly pale skin. "Take Willow out. Give it a real shot. Brinley and I will manage. She's sleeping through most nights now anyway." Her fingers trace invisible patterns on her jeans. "The sooner you accept we're not happening, the sooner you find someone who can give you what you deserve. And Cameron?" Her eyes meet mine. "You deserve everything."