If I Were A Boy (camren)

Chapter Thirty-Two

Camila's POV

"How's your salmon, Karla?" Austin questioned me in a polite tone which almost made me gag. "If it isn't poached correctly I could always send it back-"

"No, it's fine," I flashed the most fake smile I could mask on to cover up my pounding headache and then instantly returned my focus back onto my expensive meal.

Ever since Austin's singing career didn't flourish the way he had hoped it to, he had achieved his father's old company and was now the recognizable CEO of a building management company. Due to his high-class level, Austin was invited out constantly to discuss deals and other future events with other old, prosperous businessmen — along with their teenage looking wives who were only bonded to the men for life because of economic reasons.

Once I was released from the hospital for the weekend, my overbearing husband had seized the opportunity and dragged me along to one of the fanciest restaurants in the area; where I thought we were going to enjoy a delectable dinner as a couple. Instead I was faced with the truth of this being just another meeting where Austin could basically show me off like an award winning trophy or, in other cases, use me to keep the other suited man's wife occupied as they discussed secretive deals. 

"Are you alright?" The newest woman that was still unknown to me was seated across my position at the decorated dinner table. As the words were questioned from her lips, she started to wave her hand aimlessly in front of me to grab my attention. 

"What? Oh," my cheeks flushed lightly in embarrassment once my mind retraced itself back to the real world. "Sorry I'm not feeling so great tonight."

"This restaurant doesn't have the finest cooks in the world," she leaned forward in attempt to keep the remark to a whisper, her blonde curls dangling over her shoulders gently during the action. "Maybe it's food poisoning?"

"Actually, I was discharged for the weekend from St. Peter's Hospital yesterday," I confirmed with a slight release of a chuckle. "It's probably just the painkillers doing their job."

"That makes so much more sense!" The Blonde rose her voice and straightened her posture right up in success, but immediately slumped back down once her sugar daddy of a husband gave her a disapproving glance that wasn't so subtle. She carefully veered forward again before continuing, "I don't want to be rude, but if the pounds of makeup on your face was turned into food- we could save all the kids in Africa."

"Shit," I carelessly cursed and eyed my surroundings cautiously until I replied to the woman, "Is it really that bad?"

"I'm a make-up artist," she clarified as we made direct eye contact; I suddenly noticed the amount of comfort that was pouring from her hazel eyes and her assuring words. "It's only noticeable to me, honey. I promise." She reached her hand outwards and clasped onto the neck of an almost empty wine glass, "But, if I may ask, why so much? Is it to impress" -she slightly tilted her heads in the direction of Austin who was blabbering away- "him?"

"It's to cover up some minor injuries," I smiled lightly at her concerned frown that came from my response. "Don't worry it's nothing life-threatening..."

"Grace," she completed my drifting sentence with her own formal name and then took a long sip of her alcoholic drink. 

"Camila," I answered for Grace as her lips remained on the glass, unable to ask for my name in return. Once the woman with lighter hair finished off her drink she had waved our waiter for another. Then she folded her hands together on top of the delicate cloth and stared at me in an interested manner. 

I kept myself together as a few moments passed and Grace still hadn't uttered a word. Being polite was one of the top priorities to obtain when going out with Austin and it was a characteristic I had never broken, but this woman seemed different; almost as if she was testing me. The waiter had eventually returned with another cupful of red wine and positioned it right in front of the gawking woman. I had to admit that it was starting to bug me now. So I did what I could do: I spoke up.