Page 145
For us.
Chapter 42
Camila
Morning autumn sunlight warms my face. I squint my eyes, untangling myself from Xander.
“Where are you going?” he grumbles, pulling my waist back into him. I giggle as my back hits his chest, and his arm snakes around my waist. “What’s the rush?”
Xander stiffens, his arm slowly unwinding itself from me.
“What?” I ask at the sudden reaction.
“Camila…” he starts, voice low. “Please, get your cat off my back.”
Xander lets out the most girly squeal as he rips away from me, jumping off the bed and knocking Sid off in the process, where he was cuddled into Xander’s back. I laugh as Sid panic-sprints around the room, and Xander jumps onto an empty chair to get away from him.
“Sid,” I laugh. “You’re scaring him again.”
Sid jumps back up on the bed and settles in between my crossed legs. He flicks his paws at Xander.
“See! He’s trying to fight me!” he accuses.
“You know,” I start, wiping dampness from beneath my eye. “I wonder how you got him here in the first place.”
“I didn’t,” he grumbles, slowly climbing off the chair. “Ezra put him in the car for me.”
I use this as an opportunity to slide out of bed and pad over to the ensuite bathroom. Sid prances out of the bedroom, probably going to wait for his food. I study my delicate features in the mirror. I look lighter today. The bags under my eyes aren’t so prominent, and there’s a ghost of a permanent smile on my face. One that I haven’t seen in a long time.
I shower and wrap myself in a towel since I forgot to bring in a change of clothes, the steam billows out after me when I emerge from the bathroom. Xander is laid out on the bed, all muscle and tattooed skin, looking like something out of a magazine. But the scowl on his face looking at my old phone is unmissable.
“Another text from Luke?” I ask, placing my used clothes in the small suitcase.
He nods, but I don’t bother with questions about what the text says. I know very well it’ll be the same old threat. And judging by Xander’s face, he’s currently plotting Luke’s death.
He jumps out of bed and strides over to me, placing a gentle kiss on my lips and discarding my phone onto the bed.
“I’m going for a shower,” he says, and I nod back at him.
The door clicks shut behind him, and I rummage through my case. Realising I don’t have a clean top, I spot a wardrobe in the corner of the room. Xander has to have some spare clothes in here. Otherwise I’m stuck wearing the same shirt I changed into after mine and Xander’s forest sex, which I’m still reeling from.
Padding over to the wardrobe, I open it and start rummaging through the multiple white shirts hanging neatly inside. There are a few normal t-shirts folded at the bottom of the wardrobe, but one pile looks a lot higher than the other.
The shower starts, filling the room with gentle rain sounds.
Crouching, I pick up several t-shirts in one hand, revealing a small box tucked beneath them.
It’s an old shoebox; it has dents everywhere, and the orange colour on it has faded.
Checking behind me, I make sure Xander hasn’t come out of the bathroom yet. Especially because this specific box looks like it might hold some old memories inside. And I’m nothing if not curious about him. So, I pull a t-shirt over my head, slide on a pair of jeans and socks, and bring the box over to the bed.
Sitting down cross-legged, I place it in front of me and lift the top. The first thing inside it is a very old piece of green material. It has some years to it, there’s obvious dirt on it, and it’s threadbare. I pick it up with two fingers, careful not to disturb the barely hanging-on material. It has a few bits of fluff on it, like the one that might’ve been made into a teddy bear once. I place it carefully on the bed.
The next item is a pile of photos, all turned upside down and held together in an elastic band. I turn them, unravelling the band. The first picture is the same one of Jacques and Xander downstairs. I huff out a laugh at Jacques’ bald head again. The next picture is of him and his dad, both holding ice cream with a beach in the background. Xander’s face is covered in chocolate ice cream, and he has a shit-eating grin similar to his dad’s, but his dad’s focus is on Xander. Smiling at him, watching his little boy enjoying his ice cream. My throat tightens. It reminds me of me and my mum. I was her world, and she was mine. I never knew my dad, but I never felt like I missed anything in my life until now. Looking at this photo of Xander and his dad.
I shake off the feeling, sliding the photo behind the rest. The next one is of Xander again, at some form of birthday party. There are a lot of people around, but one person in particular catches my eye. There’s a woman sitting in a chair, watching Xander.
The flash of the camera makes her eyes glow red, but you can almost feel the hatred for Xander coming through the photo. That must be his mother.
