Lucian's POV...
She stood there.
Not answering my question. Just... standing. Her hands clasped in front of her. Her eyes everywhere but on me.
And guilt was killing me.
I just had sex with another woman. Hours ago. Patricia. Drunk and naked and wrong.
And Camilla didn't know.
She stood there, in front of a table full of food she probably didn't even touch, waiting for something I couldn't give her.
I couldn't look at her.
Too foolish. Too guilty. Too aware of what I'd done.
But I was famished.
I sat down hard in the chair. The one at the head of the table. My place.
I pulled off my suit jacket. Let it fall over the back. Grabbed the napkin—the maids hadn't even arranged the cutlery properly. Everything was disorganized. Wrong.
I didn't care.
I picked up a spoon. Dipped it into the nearest bowl. Stew. Rich and dark.
I lifted it to my mouth.
And I stopped.
The taste hit me like a memory.
Not fancy. Not gourmet. Not what my chefs make.
Home.
It tasted like home.
