Camila has lived and worked all her life in Hawthorne Manorhouse. It's all she's ever known along with the kindness shown by her boss after her mom's death. But now she's gone too and her future is uncertain.
The Manorhouse is to be inherited by som...
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I've always thought that the woman who'd make me regret my actions and hope I could turn back time was not born yet. The joke's on me.
Throughout my life, even though I was never in love, or fully committed to someone, I've always been possessive. I don't share. Ever. But ever since Camilla came into my life, I tend to lose control over the way I react.
Look at where that got me... I've been successfully avoided for an entire week.
She's been successful in making me feel like I am the boogeyman or like I have the plague. Or both.
She was right though. I let my temper get the best of me and went too far. It even led to her cutting her hand and, unfortunately, that was when it dawned on me that I had to knock it down a little.
I can't help but miss her. We see each other every day and yet, we barely talk. I haven't even felt her smooth silky lips or kissed her luscious plump lips. I need to make things right.
There's a soft knock on my door and my head snaps up, immediately. Is it her?
"Come in," I answer right away, trying not to seem too eager.
"Your Grace?" Camilla's soft voice is like a melody to my ears.
I even take a moment to close my eyes and just enjoy it.
"You have visitors downstairs. They've come to see you."
"Visit me?" I ask, confused. "I am not expecting anyone today. Who is it?"
Her posture is stiff and her hands are gripping each other tightly in front of her. It's only when her eyes are cast down that she answers in a weak tone, "Your family."
I can't help but sigh in annoyance. Will my mom keep coming here every week, now?
Growing up, getting out of the family house and getting a place to live on my own, has been a must. A need. A dream.
That's why I jumped at the opportunity to come here when my aunt's conditions required so. The Manor is also much more comfortable and well decorated than the one I grew up in.
But now that I finally have my place, does she have to keep barging through the door like she owns this one as well?
"I'll meet them downstairs in a few minutes, thank you, Camilla."
She nods and silently begins heading out. That's when impulse takes over and I call her name.
We've both been miserable this past week and it stuns me how fucking attached I already feel to her. So soon.
She turns back to face me with a questioning face. Maybe expectant? Yes, she seems expectant.
I open my mouth and close it several times, lost about what should I tell her. There's so much I want to say but nothing seems right...
