Haven't Forgotten My Way Home (Camren)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The liquid burned on its way down, and Lauren winced, her "yuck" expression giving way to a cough.

Toby laughed and clapped his hand on Lauren's back. "That's good stuff right there," he said, and clinked his water glass with Dinah's shot.

"If that's good I'd hate to taste what you think's bad," Lauren said and settled back into her seat, glancing around.

The bar was actually, Dinah had said, one of the nicer ones in Miami; she and Toby had taken Lauren to this one rather than Toby's usual stomping ground because "Camila would kill me for taking you someplace like that, and then Ma'am would kill me and really I'm too hot to die twice."

Lauren wasn't exactly sure what was nicer about four big-screen televisions mounted on the wall loudly blaring sports, or peanut shells on the floor, or a dark cramped booth in the corner, but the shot she'd had was already giving her a warm, fuzzy feeling and so she put her feet up on the seat across from her, shoes off and wiggling her toes.

It was odd, because when Toby had presented her with the amber-colored drink the first thought Lauren had had was "Ma'am would be so mad."

That thought was followed by "I don't have a Ma'am."

I don't have a Sir.

There had been times in Lauren's life, when she was 16, 18, or even only 21, just a year ago, when "I don't have a Sir" would have filled her with fear and regret. As a child she had had it drilled into her how lucky she was to have been matched – only they used the word "chosen," as if it was fate that she and Brad had been brought together, instead of casual boardroom meetings between her father and Brad's mother – because to be a submissive alone was a sad, sad thing. Her parents had spoken to her in hushed tones, the one time she'd asked, at the age of ten, "But what if I don't love him?" that she would learn to love him and that love didn't really matter. The only thing that mattered, her father said as he poured himself and his wife a drink, was that Lauren was a good girl and did as she was told.

Now she wondered if her mother had ever loved her father, and vice versa. When was it, she wondered, that her ancestors had decided that the worst thing was being alone, to the point that generations after generations were joined into claims of convenience? Had anyone, throughout the entire Jauregui line, ever been able to truly love, or did they just... go through the motions because that was what was expected of them? Perfection. Image. The family honor.

And now, that perfect line had broken... with her. Because of her. She hadn't seen her parents since she was 18, not since a disastrous holiday when she'd been so nervous she'd burnt the food. They'd eaten pizza because it was the only thing Brad knew, and Lauren still remembered the look of disappointment on her father's face... and the worry on her mother's.

Lauren had learned never again to burn the food, but it was too late. Her parents had never returned to visit. Though most of that was because her sir had kept making up excuses for why they couldn't come over, why he was too busy, why Lauren wasn't "trained" enough to make him proud.

Lauren looked at the drink.

Sir would be so mad.

I don't have a sir.

Her next thought was "Miss Camila wouldn't mind as long as I'm responsible." Because it was on their list, the one that Miss Camila kept taped to her refrigerator. The one in varying shades of pink and green, highlighting the section titled What Miss Camila Needs. That made Lauren smile, but then the smile disappeared.

"They're going to fire her," she said for the third time that night.

"Yep," Toby answered her for the third time.