Billionaire, I Am Not Your Wife! novel Chapter 206

Chapter 201: Getting To Know Lake

Cameron’s POV

Claim

A pause. The comfortable kind-the kind we were getting better at, the kind where neither of us needed to fill it. I looked out at the garden. The bird that had been on the wall earlier was back, or a different bird was there, and I thought that Drew would know which and would have written it in his small notebook with the careful handwriting.

“Tell Lake,” I said, “that the boardroom has a very good view.”

Lucian made a sound that was almost a laugh. “He’s going to want to go immediately.”

“I know.”

“He’s going to announce himself to every single person in the building.”

“I’m counting on it,” I said.

A real laugh, this time. Brief, quiet-the real one that didn’t perform itself. “Cameron.”

“Lucian.”

“Go do your important job,” he said. “I’ll talk to Lake tonight.”

“Tell him the view is good,” I said. “And that we have snacks.”

“What kind of snacks?”

“I’ll find out what he likes and we’ll have those.”

Silence.

“You’re going to spoil him,” Lucian said.

“I’m going to start from a deficit,” I said. “It’s going to take a while to get to spoiling.”

A pause. Then: “He likes jollof chips and those tiny sausages they have at parties.”

I made a note. “Done.”

“Cameron.”

“Yes.”

“I mean it. Thank you.” The careful warmth, fully present now. “For this morning.”

“It was overdue,” I said.

“Still.”

I looked at the bare branches of the Japanese maple. My father had planted it the year Sedona was born,

<Getting Tokom bake

Clam

which meant it was twenty-eight years old and had been in this garden for every event this family had moved through every departure and return, every crisis and celebration. It stood there in November with its particular structural honesty, all its actual shape visible, nothing hidden.

“Lucian,” I said.

“Yes.”

I thought about the right word. Not too much. Not something that outpaced where we were or where Lake was or what the next months had to hold. Just the word that was true.

“I’m glad I told them,” I said.

A quiet pause. “Me too,” he said.

We hung up.

I sat in the window for another few minutes, alone in the room with the morning light and the maple and the specific, clarified feeling of a thing finally set down in the right place. Not resolved-not fully, not yet. Lake was still processing. The dinner hadn’t happened. The custody case was ongoing. December was coming with things I didn’t yet know.

But my parents knew.

And my mother was counting grandchildren. Three of them-Nick, Lake, Drew-with the satisfied precision of a woman who had been waiting for something to add up and had finally been given the numbers.

I thought about the long version of what that meant. If Sedona and Dante found their way to each other- and they would, I was fairly certain they would, I had watched my sister try not to be in love with someone from across a garden and I knew the look-then Drew would come with him. If Lake eventually decided that Cameron Preston was a tolerable presence in his father’s life, then Lake would come with Lucian. And Nick was already ours, was already the Preston family’s, was already in my mother’s arithmetic as the first name on the list.

Three children, in a family that had spent three years being quietly smaller than it needed to be.

My mother had not hesitated over any of it. She had simply done the math.

I thought about Sedona’s blue card sitting on her nightstand -*I didn’t mean it. I love you. Nick*-and thought that she was right about the important things, my mother, even when she said them in the language of meal planning and dinner invitations and headcounts.

We were all welcome. All of us. Whatever shape we arrived in.

I stood up, straightened my jacket, and went to face the day.

I started coming on Tuesdays.

This was not formally arranged. There was no conversation in which Lucian and I sat down and decided that Tuesday evenings would be the designated time for Cameron Preston to attempt to become a tolerable presence in the life of a four-year-old who had filed him under *bad men* and not yet reopened the case. It evolved, the way practical things between us tended to evolve-Lucian mentioned one

Getting To know take

Claim

Monday that he was making jollof rice the following evening and that Lake had asked if Drew could come over, and I said I could bring Drew if Dante needed the evening, and Lucian paused for precisely one second and said that would help*, and that was how it started.

I brought Drew that first Tuesday. Dante had a call with Maria about Sedona’s circuit schedule that was running long, and Drew had been at the facility all afternoon and needed somewhere to land. I picked him up at four-thirty-Drew, who shook my hand at the facility entrance and said *thank you for collecting me, Cameron* with the gravity of a small diplomat-and we drove to Lucian’s building in the early November dark.

Drew was quiet in the car in the way he was always quiet-not uncomfortable, just interior. He watched the city through the window with his cataloguing expression.

“Do you know what we’re having for dinner?” he asked, at one point.

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