Nothing But The Truth

27: Now That You Know

And we were back to this again, as if we had never left. It felt like just a month ago when I overheard him on the phone with Camilla. But this time, I was filled with apprehension. I feared that history might repeat itself, that Derrek and I would break up once more, even though we hadn't officially reconciled. I needed the answers I couldn't obtain last time, and I was determined to stay until I got them.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Derrek inquired, shifting his gaze to me after he tucked his phone away in his pocket. His eyes betrayed exhaustion—every bit of joy and energy he had shown moments ago seemed drained by a single phone call. I wanted to know why.

"Care to explain what just happened?" I crossed my arms, demanding some answers.

"What do you mean?" He raised an eyebrow, appearing genuinely perplexed. An annoyed sigh escaped me, and I pinched the bridge of my nose momentarily to quell the building frustration.

"That phone call just now. Why do you look like you've just been told you have twenty-four hours to live? And who the hell is Camilla?"

"'Twenty-four hours to live'?" He latched onto that phrase from my barrage of questions. "I can't be looking that bad, can I?"

"Derrek," I interrupted, frowning at him. He heaved a sigh of surrender and returned to his earlier spot on the edge of the bed. I joined him, sitting down beside him, and observed as his fingers intertwined on his jean-clad thighs.

"It's a lot to explain, and honestly, I don't know where to start," he mused with a brief, humorless chuckle.

"Let's start with Camilla," I suggested, holding my breath. The conversation about Derrek's relationship with Camilla was a touchy subject. What if he was cheating on me? But then again, they could just be friends, and I would seem foolish for doubting him.

"She's my cousin," he stated, leaving me unimpressed.

"Camilla's your cousin?" I repeated, skeptical. It seemed hard to believe that someone with a different racial background could be his cousin—she was white, and he was black.

"Yeah," he affirmed, a simple nod. I stood up abruptly, feeling a surge of frustration.

"If you didn't want to tell me the truth, you could have at least come up with a more believable lie." I walked over to my purse on the bedside table, heading for the door.

"Tiara!" Ignoring Derrek's plea, I was about to open the door when reality hit me: this was my hotel room. It was Derrek who should be leaving, not me.

"This is my room," I informed him, arms crossed defensively. Observing as he approached, I maintained my stance. "You need to leave."

"What? Why?"

"You're not ready for an honest conversation with me. There's no point in you being here. Please, leave." I gestured towards the door, urging him to depart. I couldn't believe I had hoped for a different outcome this time.

"What are you talking about? I'm being honest right now," Derrek insisted, a note of exasperation in his voice. I scoffed.

"Really? So, Camilla is truly your cousin and not some woman you were seeing behind my back?"

"Absolutely not!" He recoiled, clearly disgusted by my implication. "Camilla is genuinely my cousin. She's my Italian cousin from my mother's side." His explanation clicked into place suddenly; I had momentarily forgotten that Derrek had Italian heritage. Of course, it made sense for him to have a cousin who wasn't of the same race.

A wave of embarrassment and foolishness washed over me. Feeling utterly stupid, I stood there, staring at the floor in shame.

"Tiara?" Derrek's voice softened, and guilt seemed to shadow his expression.