14. Camilla

14

CAMILLA

After waking from my Jack-induced coma, I throw on some clothes and get to work on finding my mother. I've been neglecting the search for far too long.

"How are things going?"

"You know, the engineering thing? Yeah. it kind of fell through there."

"How many women called Juana Gonzalez are engineers, Dave?"

"I'm working on it, I'm working on it…she might not be employed right now, you know?"

Yeah, I know. She might be any number of things. She might be unemployed, she might be in a different country, hell, she might be dead. I don't fucking know. That's his job .

"Look, you want to take a break? We can take a break."

I chew on my lower lip and look down at my hands. If we take a break, I'm giving up.

"We can start again when we've had some time to cool our heads and, you know, give her time to leave more of a footprint. Time is sometimes the best thing for an investigation."

I droop further forward. "Yeah, a break might be good."

"This is fickle work, sweetheart. Very fickle."

Suddenly, the way he says "sweetheart" feels so condescending it makes me want to scream. With all the money I'm paying him, "sweetheart" shouldn't be in his lexicon.

"I am doing what I can for now. And if I get a lead, you know, if something comes through, I'll let you know, and we can start back up. For now, why don't we hit pause and take a break?"

I find myself saying, "Yeah," without really thinking about it. "That would be good."

"Okay, okay…that's good." Dave stops for a moment. "I'm sorry I'm coming up short, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart" still doesn't sound great, but it sounds nicer next to an apology.

"It's okay. Fickle work, like you said."

He laughs, big bravado. "Exactly. You're catching on. Talk soon."

This time, I get to hang up on him before he hangs up on me. I wonder if we'll talk soon. Or if we'll ever talk to one another again.

I'm tired of the search. So tired.

But maybe I'm tired of feeling like it's out of my hands. Maybe I just need to put my nose to the grindstone and come up with something, anything to find out who she is.

I start by taking into account all the information I have, running through names and addresses connected to her. I'm pouring through records, paying money for people lookups for the hundredth time, and, after an hour, find myself perusing a website that's entirely in Spanish, trying to make sense of how I got here.

The best lead I get is for a faculty member at a school in Arizona. Juana Gonzalez. Intro to engineering. When I click on her linked name, I get a very short bio that doesn't even have a photo attached.

She has a bachelor's from the University of Nebraska, her master's from Berkley, and a handful of professorial gigs after that.

My motivation drains in an instant. Dave wouldn't pass his muster as a private investigator if he didn't take these trivialities into account. I'm sure he's been here and done that. My brief delusion of grandeur drifts away, and I'm left once again not knowing anything more about Juana Gonzalez.

When the words start to run together on the page, I place my head in my hands and let out a grand sigh.

I've done so much and yet gotten nowhere at all. That's how this whole search has been. So much money, so much work, so much time.

And nothing.

Still no birth mother.

What if I gave up? Really gave up. Held up my hands and said, "I'm done."

I look down the barrel of the rest of my life. Could I die happy never knowing who Juana Gonzalez really is?

I think maybe I could. And in the next instant, I think maybe I couldn't.

I never thought I'd get here. Especially not so soon. But I'm tired and have a world of other things on my mind.

I'm now the business partner to a billionaire which feels like a fantasy in and of itself. Coupled with the fact he's given me the best orgasms of my life, I'm in a waking dream.

I lean back in my chair and let my head drop back, groaning.

My phone buzzes on the table. For the first time since I returned to New York, I don't grab it as soon as I hear it. It's probably my dad asking me how I'm doing, letting me know they heard about some other awful crime that happened a block away from my apartment, asking me to come home.

I wonder if a visit home would feel good. Or will it just make the ache of missing my birth mom worse?

My phone buzzes again. I lift it and, without looking at the notification, turn off the phone. I need to be away from the world for a bit. Get my feelings in order before I make anybody deal with me.

It's quiet for a few moments.

I'm on an island. The same island I've always been on. Camilla Graff, a girl who doesn't know where she comes from or who she really is.

My silence is interrupted by the buzzer for my apartment. I jump out of my chair. That's not a text message on a phone I can turn off.

I didn't order food, I'm not expecting a package this late at night…maybe it's one of my neighbors who has been locked out. Wouldn't be the first time.

I patter out of the kitchen and down the hallway to the intercom box beside the front door. I press the talk button. "Can I help you?"

"Camilla?" It's Jack.

My heart swells.

"Can I come up?"

"Yeah, of course. Third floor. Apartment C." I press the button for the building door, unlock and open my own, and step back against the wall, waiting for him.

It doesn't take Jack long. in seconds, his feet scramble up the stairs. In a hurry. To get to me.

When he appears in my doorway, he looks so big. He's a tall man, but not a giant. And yet, when he's standing in my doorway, he crowds it. Like nothing could get past him.

He wears a perfectly tailored suit, a crisp button down, leather shoes. All business through and through.

I want to rip that expensive suit to bits and climb him like a tree.

There's a shopping bag in his hand which he places down in the threshold before taking a step toward me. A smile spreads on his face, causing my heart to leap into my throat. "You're beautiful."

I glance down at myself and pull on the sleep shorts peeking out from under my bulky sweatshirt.

"Don't say you're not," he says, reading my mind. "You have no idea how you look in my eyes."

I only manage a shy smile. I don't know what to say, his body and energy overwhelming the space between us.

Jack reaches for me, and I fall into his arms without hesitation, allowing him to pull me into a kiss.

It's as if we haven't seen each other in months rather than a day. Feeling he missed me so much makes me lightheaded. Knowing I missed him so much terrifies me.

When his mouth parts from mine, he nuzzles his nose against mine and whispers, "I had to come see you."

"I'm glad you did." I tighten my grip on his shoulders, kissing him again.

Jack moans into my mouth, and my insides melt. But to my surprise, he breaks the kiss again and hefts me into his arms, allowing me to wrap my arms and legs around his torso. He cups the back of my head with one hand and rocks me back and forth. "I missed you."

I tuck my head into his neck, let myself be rocked. Be his baby girl. But I can't ignore the quality of his voice, the trembling edginess. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he rasps. "I'm fine."

I don't believe him. I lift my head, find his dark brown eyes, and cup his cheek with my hand, my thumb skimming his lower lip. "Tell me."

Jack swallows. "Did you miss me, baby?"

He's ignoring my question. For a reason, I'm sure, but I remain curious. I won't push, though. Won't pry. That will just build resentment. He'll tell me in time. Won't he?

"Of course, Daddy. I missed you so much."

All the weight of the day melts from his face with his eye-brightening smile. "I have something for you. Come."

He drops me back on my feet and fetches the bag.

"You didn't have to get me anything."

"I think you're forgetting the whole concept of this ‘I'm Daddy', thing, Cam," he says with a grin, stepping into the house. "Which way to the bedroom?"

I laugh, closing the door behind him. "Wow, you're moving fast."

He laughs, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not trying to–"

I interject, grabbing his hand and pulling him to my bedroom. "This way."

My apartment is nothing like Jack's penthouse, but for me, it's a palace.

I've come a long way since I moved to New York. From student housing to shoeboxes crammed full of roommates, to a studio, and finally to my very own place with a bedroom separate from the kitchen and living room. I've felt like a queen ever since I moved in.

Once we're in the bedroom, Jack glances around. He's quiet.

I have to force myself not to get fidgety. "What?"

"Nothing, I just…" He grabs at my eyelet fabric duvet, looks at the floral-patterned curtains. "Much more girlish than I expected."

I glance around. I suppose lots of the decorating is similar to my childhood bedroom. All frilly and floral and pink. You might think a little girl lived here instead of a twenty-something. Or someone's grandmother.

"I think you might like this, then," Jack says, his voice low in his ribs as he hands me the bag.

I take it, eyeing him. "I'm nervous."

He tucks his hands behind his back. "Don't be."

I place the bag on the bed and reach in, moving tissue aside until my fingers land on smooth silk. I pull the garment upward until it's hanging between my fingers.

My mouth drops.

It's the most stunning nightgown I've ever seen. Peach-colored and thin with a bow right at the neckline and ruffles along the skirt and the short sleeves.

I could picture a Victorian heroine sneaking around a manor house wearing it.

Or I could picture me wearing it. Daddy's baby girl.

"I saw it, and I knew you had to have it," he says in a soft yet assured tone.

"It's beautiful," I say. "But it must have been so expensive, I don't know why you'd–"

Daddy steps up to me, taking my chin in his palm. "Look at me, princess. And listen."

I don't make a sound. I wait for Daddy to tell me what he needs to.

"There is no expense I will spare to make sure that you are taken care of. Nothing is too much for you." He grabs a handful of the nightgown, fingering it so delicately.

I wish I was the nightgown, wish his fingers were playing upon me.

"I'd buy you a nightgown of diamonds."

"That sounds uncomfortable." I giggle.

Daddy smiles at me, eyes crinkling at the corners. Like I'm something dear.

Because I am. I have to get used to that.

"You understand what I'm saying?"

My eyes widen and I nod. "Yes, Daddy," I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Daddy."

"I'd like you to try it on for me."

I bunch the nightgown up to my chest, wanting to jump and clap my hands and do a happy dance all at once.. "Yes, Daddy. Give me a couple minutes and–"

"No, that's not what I mean." Jack takes the nightgown and lays it out on the bed so it resembles a woman on a fainting couch. Then, he grabs the hem of my sweatshirt and begins to lift it.