Chapter 2 - The 286 Pages
Camille snatched up the phone.
Too late.
Adrien had read enough.
“What did you agree?”
“Nothing you need to discuss tonight.”
“My fiancée just asked whether I found your calendar.”
“You weren't supposed to be here.”
“That is becoming painfully clear.”
Camille pressed two fingers to her forehead.
Her fever was making everything harder.
“Adrien, please.”
He had heard Camille say please countless times.
Please sign here.
Please don't antagonize the ambassador.
Please remember your aunt's anniversary.
This please was different.
It meant leave this alone.
Adrien didn't.
“What does Celeste know?”
Camille sat down.
“About Ardan House.”
“How?”
“She found out months ago.”
“And I didn't?”
“That wasn't her fault.”
“I didn't say it was.”
“You were about to.”
He looked at her.
Again, she knew what he was going to say before he said it.
That had always comforted him.
Tonight it was unbearable.
Adrien placed the shipping file on the table.
“Open the manual.”
“No.”
“Camille.”
“No.”
“I want to know what takes 286 pages to explain.”
“Your life.”
He stared at her.
She reluctantly placed the binder down.
Adrien opened it.
The first page contained a simple heading.
FOR MY SUCCESSOR.
Below it:
Mr. Kovac does not need someone who obeys him. He needs someone who notices what he refuses to notice himself.
Adrien read the sentence twice.
Camille looked away.
He turned the page.
The sections were meticulous.
Corporate calendar.
Family obligations.
Travel.
Medical appointments.
Security protocols.
Personal preferences.
Emergency contacts.
Wedding.
He stopped.
Nearly forty pages.
“You wrote forty pages about my wedding?”
“Your family is complicated.”
“That is diplomatic.”
“I practiced.”
He flipped through.
Aunt Milena must not be seated beside cousin Stefan.
Sophie becomes overwhelmed by crowds; reserve quiet room near reception hall.
Adrien's mother will claim she doesn't need assistance with stairs. Arrange it anyway without calling it assistance.
Celeste dislikes public schedule changes. Tell her privately before altering anything.
Adrien skips meals under stress. Ensure food is available before photographs.
His hands slowed.
Every page contained evidence of attention.
Not employment.
Attention.
Six years of it.
“What happens when you're gone?”
“The person replacing me reads the binder.”
“And becomes you?”
“No.”
Her answer was immediate.
Adrien looked up.
Camille's expression softened.
“No one becomes someone else.”
“Then what's the point?”
“To make the transition easier.”
“For whom?”
She hesitated.
“You.”
That answer angered him more than it should have.
“You've planned your departure so thoroughly that I apparently don't even get to be inconvenienced by it.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Would you prefer I sabotage your company on the way out?”
“I'd prefer you had told me.”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“Three times.”
He frowned.
Camille counted.
“February eighth. I asked whether we could discuss my five-year plan. You received a call from Vienna.”
“I remember Vienna.”
“Of course you do.”
She lifted another finger.
“April twelfth. I asked for dinner because I wanted to discuss something personal.”
Adrien remembered.
He had canceled.
Celeste needed him at a charity event.
“And June?”
“June twenty-first. Your office. Six forty in the evening.”
He remembered that too.
Camille had stood in his doorway holding a folder.
He had said, Not tonight, Camille.
The memory felt different now.
“What was in the folder?”
“My first business plan.”
Adrien looked toward the corkboard.
“You could have tried again.”
Camille smiled sadly.
“I did. For six years.”
That sentence sat between them.
His phone rang again.
Celeste.
This time he answered.
“Adrien?”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“You sound strange.”
“I'm at Camille's.”
Longer pause.
“I know.”
His eyes narrowed.
“How?”
“Because she texted me.”
Camille looked irritated.
Adrien turned slightly away.
“Why did you ask whether I'd found the calendar?”
Celeste sighed.
“Because this was not how you were supposed to learn.”
“Learn what?”
“Camille's leaving.”
“I gathered that.”
“No, Adrien.”
Celeste's voice became quiet.
“You haven't gathered anything.”
Camille closed her eyes.
Adrien felt the room shift.
“What does that mean?”
“Go home.”
“Celeste.”
“Not tonight.”
“Everyone seems very interested in deciding what I shouldn't know tonight.”
“Because Camille is sick and because you're angry.”
“I am not angry.”
Camille actually laughed.
Celeste heard.
“That,” Celeste said, “is exactly why I'm worried.”
Adrien hung up.
Camille looked at him.
“That was rude.”
“Apparently we're discussing manners now.”
“No. We're avoiding the fact that you came here for a file and have spent forty minutes investigating my life.”
“Because you've scheduled yourself out of mine.”
Her expression tightened.
Adrien heard himself.
Again.
Out of mine.
He looked down at the binder.
A tab near the back caught his attention.
PERSONAL — DO NOT TRANSFER.
He touched it.
Camille immediately stood.
“No.”
Adrien stopped.
“What is it?”
“Mine.”
“In a manual about me?”
“Yes.”
He removed his hand.
That surprised her.
“I won't open it.”
“Thank you.”
“But you're going to tell me.”
“No.”
“Tomorrow.”
“No.”
“When your fever breaks.”
“No.”
“Next week.”
“Still no.”
His mouth almost curved.
Camille knew the expression.
It meant he had encountered resistance and had decided resistance was temporary.
“Don't,” she warned.
“Don't what?”
“Turn my resignation into a negotiation.”
“Everything is a negotiation.”
“My life isn't.”
Adrien's expression changed.
Camille held his gaze.
“That's why I'm leaving.”
He absorbed that.
She softened slightly.
“I don't hate working for you.”
“That is a glowing testimonial.”
“I mean it.”
“Then why?”
“Because I woke up at thirty-eight and realized I knew the birthdays of sixteen people in your family better than I knew what I wanted for my own.”
Adrien said nothing.
“I know your mother's medication schedule. I know your goddaughter's dance teacher. I know Celeste's preferred florist. I know which whiskey your board chairman drinks and which restaurant your uncle pretends not to like because his ex-wife owns part of it.”
She smiled faintly.
“And somewhere along the way, I realized there wasn't anyone doing that for me.”
Something in his face shifted.
Camille continued.
“So I started.”
“Started what?”
“Taking care of my own life.”
She gestured toward Ardan House.
“This.”
Adrien looked around again.
For the first time, he didn't see boxes.
He saw evidence of a woman building herself an exit.
He closed the binder.
“I'm sorry.”
Camille stared.
Adrien Kovac apologized so rarely that she genuinely wondered whether fever had affected her hearing.
“What?”
“I said I'm sorry.”
“I heard you.”
“Then why ask?”
“I wanted to enjoy it twice.”
Despite himself, he smiled.
Camille smiled too.
For one dangerous second, the tension disappeared.
Then Adrien's gaze fell on the sealed envelope again.
October 18.
“What is in that?”
“Something I wrote.”
“For me.”
“Yes.”
“Why can't I read it?”
“Because you're not married yet.”
The smile vanished from his face.
“What does my marriage change?”
Camille looked toward the calendar.
“Everything.”
Adrien stepped closer.
“Tell me.”
“No.”
“Camille.”
“You came here for the shipping file.”
He picked it up.
“You're right.”
She looked surprised.
He walked toward the door.
“Take medicine. Drink water. I'll send someone tomorrow for anything urgent.”
“I don't need—”
“That's not a negotiation.”
She rolled her eyes.
He opened the door.
Then stopped.
“Camille.”
“Yes?”
“Don't disappear without telling me.”
Something fragile crossed her face.
“I won't.”
Adrien nodded and left.
Camille locked the door.
She stood there listening to his footsteps fade.
Then she returned to her desk.
Her phone rang.
Celeste.
Camille answered.
“He knows.”
“I know.”
“He saw your message.”
“I figured.”
Camille sank into the chair.
“What do I do?”
Celeste was silent for several seconds.
Then she said, “Tell him before the wedding.”
“I can't.”
“You have to.”
“No.”
“Camille, if Adrien reads that letter after marrying me, he'll hate all three of us.”
Camille closed her eyes.
“He'll marry you.”
“You still don't understand.”
“What?”
Celeste's voice dropped.
“I found the other letter.”
Camille froze.
“What other letter?”
“The one Adrien wrote six years ago.”
Camille stopped breathing.
May you like
Celeste continued quietly.
“It has your name on it.”
