I was lying on the couch in the living room, staring at the ceiling with the kind of peaceful boredom that felt almost luxurious after everything that had happened. The penthouse was quiet except for the distant sounds of conversation coming from the kitchen—Camille's voice, unmistakably energetic, punctuated by Sienna's softer responses and what sounded like Alexis's more measured tones.
It had been a couple of days since the museum exhibition. A couple of days since Camille had decided to kiss me in front of what felt like every camera in existence.
The fallout had been immediate and overwhelming.
Articles. Social media posts. Think pieces analyzing what the kiss meant for my public image. Speculation about our relationship. Photos of that exact moment plastered across news sites and gossip columns alike.
Camille, naturally, thought the whole thing was hilarious.
