Chapter 5: Her Robe

Camille was in my kitchen when I walked in.

She stood at the counter in my cream silk robe, with my yellow mug in her hands.

The emerald was on her finger, and she had not taken it off to make coffee.

"Hallie," she said, and put the mug down quickly. "I didn't know you were coming."

"I live here."

"Of course. Of course you do." She pulled the robe closed at her throat. "I only wanted something warm. My bag is still out in the car."

"Take the robe off," I said.

Her face went pink.

"My mother gave me that robe," I said. "Please."

She went upstairs without arguing and came back in a pair of Dalton's sweatpants, holding the robe folded over both arms.

She held it out, and I took it.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I really didn't think."

"I know."

That was what made it so hard to hate her.

Benton leaned in the doorway to the hall, with his arms crossed, watching her with no expression at all.

"I'll pack," I said. "You can stay down here."

"May I help?"

"You can stay down here," I said again.

I packed for an hour.

Clothes, shoes, the recipe cards my mother had written in pencil, and the quilt from the end of our bed.

Benton carried boxes to the car and did not comment on any of it.

At the bottom of the stairs I stopped outside Dalton's study.

I had never been allowed in there with the door open.

It was open now.

His desk was neat, with a leather blotter, a laptop and a paper calendar from the hotel.

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