Page 42 of The Malibu Secret

"Dad," Roman says, lifting Brinley from Cameron's arms. "Meet your granddaughter."

Michael cradles her with practiced hands, his face softening. "She's Cameron through and through," he says, then catches my eye. "Beautiful work, Tally. Absolutely beautiful."

I glance toward Cameron, who's sipping wine beside Willow. "She is," I agree.

Michael bounces Brinley in his arms, her chubby legs kicking with delight. "So, Rome," he says with a grin, "when are you and Lilith planning to make one of these adorable creatures?"

Rome's face breaks into a smile he can't contain. "Well, I wasn't supposed to say anything without Lilith here, but..." He runs a hand through his hair. "Hell, I can't keep it in. We're expecting. Four months along already."

The room erupts. Everyone crowds Rome, clapping his back and offering congratulations while someone pops champagne. Glasses appear in everyone's hands except mine and Michael’s, of course. Me because I’m still nursing, Michael because he’s a recovering alcoholic.

I hang back, grateful for Roman's news stealing the spotlight. While Michael entertains Brinley and the others swarm Rome with questions, I slip away to my bedroom, collapsing onto my bed to stare at the ceiling in blessed quiet.

A knock sounds at my door about thirty minutes later. I brace myself to face Cameron—ready to shut him out even though part of me wants to pull him in and keep him here all weekend. Saturday to Monday morning would make for quite the sex marathon.

But when I open the door, it's Michael standing there with Brinley in his arms, his expression gentle and hopeful enough to draw a smile from me.

"Am I interrupting?" he asks.

"Not at all," I say. "I just needed some space from the celebration downstairs. Congratulating Roman seemed like something for family, and⁠—"

"You are family," he interrupts, carefully transferring Brinley into my waiting arms. "You gave me my first grandchild. That makes you family in my book."

My eyes well up unexpectedly. I bite back mentioning Stephanie, the grandchild he never knew because of his long absence. No need to reopen old wounds.

I gesture toward the French doors. "Want to sit outside?"

Every bedroom in this mansion has its own private balcony—all ten of them. The price tag for this chalet must be astronomical. Granddad Kensington could probably purchase a small island if he ever sold this place.

Michael follows me out, and we settle into the chairs. "So quiet up here," I remark. "Going back to the city will be an adjustment, even though I'm in the quieter outskirts now."

He clears his throat. "Yeah. So." His mouth opens, then closes, a fish gasping on land. His eyes flicker to Brinley, then back to me. I can practically see the questions forming behind his furrowed brow. Will his granddaughter be shuttled between homes like luggage? Or will Cameron and I create some semblance of a normal family? And I know exactly what he's hoping for—the gold band, the ceremony, the whole traditional package that would let him sleep at night. The worry in his eyes says it all: he doesn't want Brinley bouncing through life like a pinball, he wants roots for her.

“You want to know the score on Cameron and me, right?” I ask him.

“Yeah.” He furrows his brow. “I don’t get what’s going on down there. Cameron’s hanging out with that beautiful woman down there, you’re up here. When I asked Roman what’s going on, he said to talk to Silas. Silas then told me that he brought Willow with him because he wanted to set her up with Cameron.” He shakes his head. “Make it make sense.”

I stare at him, my chest tightening until something inside me snaps. The laughter bursts out of me like glass breaking—sharp and dangerous. God, it's all so fucking ridiculous! Me burning for Cameron. Cameron supposedly burning for me. Silas playing puppet master, except I've already cut my own strings. And poor Willow—thrown into our emotional dumpster fire while Cameron happily lets himself get distracted. My laughter turns manic, tears pricking my eyes. This weekend isn't just a mess—it's a Dalí nightmare, melting clocks and all, with the four of us - me, Cam, Brinley and Willow - trapped in a landscape that's twisting more by the minute.

I exhale, looking at Michael. "I wish I had words for this feeling." If anyone would understand the instinct to flee, it's him. The man vanished from his family's life for over two decades. Talk about running away.

"Tally." His voice softens. "I think I see what's happening here."

"Do you?" I meet his eyes.

"You're terrified of letting someone in." He leans forward. “And that’s the only thing I can think of, because I know Cameron and he wants to be with you.” He shakes his head. "The way my son watched you when you walked away downstairs—it’s like you were taking all the oxygen with you. Cameron loves completely. Always has. I wasn't there for most of his life, but these past few years have shown me he's still that same determined little boy at heart."

I force a smile, desperate to redirect. "What was he like back then? As a child?" Part of me wants to escape Michael's uncomfortable insight about my fear, but another part genuinely craves these glimpses of Cameron's past.

“Well, I left when he was 14.” He nods. “22 years I was gone, and when I came back, Cameron opened his arms to me, no questions asked. And that didn’t surprise me, because he was always so kind. So gentle.”

I smile and bounce Brinley on my lap, eager to hear more.

"In middle school, Cameron was something else," Michael says, his eyes distant with memory. "Popular kid, varsity everything—football, hockey, the rowing team. But he used that status differently than most. One time, this bigger kid was shoving a freshman into lockers. Next day, that bully showed up with a black eye, wouldn't look anyone in the face for weeks."

That's the Cam I know.

"At lunch, he'd scan the cafeteria for the kid eating alone, drag his chair over uninvited. Ask questions and actually listen to the answers. Same thing with the homeless folks downtown—he'd roll up with a bag of McDonald's, sit on the curb, and share a meal like old friends catching up."