The Story Of Carnage: The Complete Carnage Collection: Books 1-5 by Lesley Jones

Author:Lesley Jones [Jones, Lesley]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-02-16T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

I wake to a dark bedroom and an empty bed. I stretch and look around for a clock so I can see what the time is. My body clock is all over the place still from the jet lag and I’ve no idea if it’s morning or night. I get up and head for the shower. I feel like I’ve spent a week working out at the gym, even my fingernails ache.

I wash as quickly as possible. The shower is where I usually do my thinking, and right now, I really don’t want to be thinking too much.

I’m in love. I’m in love with Cam and all I want to do is enjoy it. I don’t want to think and overthink the rights and the wrongs of our relationship. I don’t want to feel guilty for being in love. I want just a little bit of time off from feeling sad. I just don’t want to be sad, for a little while at least.

I find a clean T-shirt and a pair of boxers in Cam’s walk-in wardrobe and put them on. I find a comb and run it through my hair, and then put it up in a bun. It’s a mess and needs washing but I can’t take a chance with Cam’s shampoo. It’ll probably end up a frizzy mess if I use his blokey stuff. I once again clean my teeth with his toothbrush and head downstairs; I come to a halt halfway down when I see two women I don’t know in the kitchen, one is cooking, one is sitting at the breakfast bar, typing on a laptop computer.

I look them over as I try to work out who they could be. The woman cooking has her back to me. She has short blonde hair. I can’t tell any more than that. The woman sitting on the stool though, I have a clear view of. She’s also blonde. She looks a little younger than me. She’s dressed in business wear and it’s not cheap. I know for a fact her shoes are Louboutin and the handbag sitting on the floor next to her is from this year’s Fendi collection. I may have spent a year consumed with grief, but I still knew my fashion.

The woman turns around with what looks like a huge frying pan filled with scrambled eggs and her bright blue eyes immediately connect with mine. She looks across to the other woman who still hasn’t noticed me. I take the last few steps down the stairs as the older woman says, “Good morning. Cameron didn’t tell me he had a guest. I’m sorry if I woke you.” Her tone is friendly and her smile seems genuine. She looks about sixty and very attractive, in a no-nonsense sort of way.

I hate that I’m blushing so much. I feel like I’ve been caught red handed doing something I shouldn’t and I try not to dwell on that thought too much. I smile, probably looking a

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