Chapter 233
Chapter 233:
Her mother approached cautiously. “May I?” she asked, reaching for Camille’s hand.
Camille extended it, allowing her mother to examine the ring.
“It’s beautiful,” her mother said softly. “The phoenix, it suits you.”
“That’s what I thought,” Alexander replied. “A symbol of who she’s become.”
“And when is the wedding?” someone asked.
Camille and Alexander exchanged glances. “We haven’t set a date,” she said. “We wanted to get through the Grid launch first.”
“Well, now you can focus on something joyful,” Hannah said, raising her glass. “To Camille and Alexander!”
Everyone drank to their health, offering congratulations, questions about their plans, and teasing about keeping such a big secret.
Through it all, Camille noticed her father hanging back, watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. When there was a moment between well-wishes, she approached him.
“You’re quiet,” she said.
He nodded, looking down at his glass. “I missed so much of your life. Your career success. Meeting Alexander. Now your engagement.” Pain flashed across his face. “I have only myself to blame.”
Camille felt the old hurt rise within her, but also something else—a tiny wish to heal. “You’re here now,” she said. “That’s a start.” He looked up, hope in his eyes. “Is it enough?”
“I don’t know yet,” she answered honestly. “But it’s not nothing.”
He seemed to understand that this was the most she could offer right now. He nodded and raised his glass slightly. “He seems like a good man. Better than—” He stopped himself.
“Better than Stefan? Yes. Very much so.” Camille’s voice held no bitterness, only certainty.
Ł∆Ŧ€$† Ç♄₳þŧëяŞ ¡n Ġ∆lnøνεlŞ.cø₥
Across the room, Victoria tapped her glass, bringing the happy chatter to a halt. All heads turned to her, respect automatic in their attentiveness.
“I would like to say something,” she announced. Her voice, usually controlled and measured, held an unusual note of emotion.
She moved to stand beside Camille, tall and straight as always, but with a softness in her eyes few ever witnessed.
“Twenty-two months ago,” Victoria began, “I found a young woman who had lost everything. Her marriage. Her family. Her sense of self.”
The room grew utterly still. Victoria rarely spoke of that night, of how she and Camille had come together.
“What struck me then was not her pain, though it was considerable. Not her loss, though it was great.” Victoria’s gaze swept the room before returning to Camille’s face. “What struck me was her fire. Her refusal to be extinguished.” Camille felt her throat tighten with emotion.
.
.
.