Crazy about Cameron: The Winslow Brothers #3(37)

“You’re disgusting,” said Margaret. “Can you swallow before you talk anymore?”

Priscilla made a show of swallowing, then swiped her napkin across her lips, and somehow her henna-tattooed hand managed to be elegant and kooky at the same time. “You only get distracted like this when you’re thinking about a boy. Who is he?”

Margaret shook her head. She wasn’t ready to share her burgeoning feelings for Cameron with her sister. She still wasn’t sure what was going to happen between them, and it would hurt if her sister knew she’d been falling for him and it ended up not working out.

“I’ll tell you if it actually goes somewhere, okay?”

Priscilla searched her sister’s face, her expression serious. “It’s, uh, it’s not Shane, is it?”

“No. But speaking of Shane, it’s your turn on the hot plate. What’s the deal between you two? Did anything ever happen between you and Shane?”

“No deal. Nothing,” said Priscilla quickly, cramming yet another muffin into her mouth.

“What the heck, Pris? Are you eating for two or something?”

Priscilla’s face froze for a split second before she started laughing, yellow corn muffin crumbs falling from her lips. “Good one.”

Margaret laughed with her, but was determined not to be sidetracked. “Shane. You. Spill it.”

“Nothing ever happened. There’s nothing to share. I swear.”

“Maybe nothing physical ever happened, but something happened. Don’t deny it. You two are, I don’t know, electric around each other. It’s like . . .” Me and Cameron, she thought with a bit of surprise, feeling her lips wobble into a grin.

“Obviously he’s not my type,” said Priscilla, gesturing to the waiter to bring her another orange juice.

“That doesn’t always matter.”

“He doesn’t approve of me.”

“When he looks at you, his eyes say different.”

Suddenly Priscilla’s brown eyes grew desperate and deep. “Please don’t . . . don’t judge me, Mar. No matter what happens. No matter how things look. Okay?”

“Hey,” Margaret said gently, reaching for her little sister’s hand, trading teasing for worry. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” said Pris, sniffling softly. She squeezed Margaret’s fingers. “Life throws curveballs sometimes.”

“True enough. But you’re scaring me. Tell me what’s happened. Let me help, Pris.”

Priscilla bit her lip, sucking it into her mouth before letting it go. “You mean it? You want to help me?”

“Of course. Always.”

“With no strings attached?”

“I love you,” said Margaret. “Whatever you need.”

“Then promise not to ask me any more questions,” she said softly. “But help me dress like you for the gala tonight. I need to look like you. I need to . . . fit in.”

Margaret flinched, gripping her sister’s hand with more force and intensity.

“Like me? Pris, what the hell is going on with you?”

“You promised not to—”

“You’re you, Pris. You’ve always been a free spirit, since you were a little kid. Why do you want to dress like me tonight?”

“I need to,” she said softly, reaching for the last muffin. She stuffed it into her mouth, looking utterly miserable.

Margaret stared at her sister, trying to read her face. “You’ve got to tell me why.”

“I can’t. Anyway, no more questions . . . or I’ll leave.”

“Don’t leave.” Margaret nodded. “I’ll help.”

“You’re sure, Margaret? About Shane? You’re sure you don’t have any feelings for him? You’re sure he’s . . . available?”

“Pris, you don’t need my permission.”

“But I want it.”

“Then you have it.” Margaret grinned, trying to trust her sister, though her worries lingered. “And I won’t ask you any more questions for now. But fair warning, little sister. Someday you’re going to tell me everything.”

***

As a rule, Cameron didn’t mind galas.

He’d grown up attending them, and while his brothers sometimes found them tedious, Cameron liked big events. He liked the music and open bar. He liked checking out beautiful women looking their best. He enjoyed running into old friends and making new ones. Cameron was in his element at social events, which is probably why Margaret’s vineyard held such allure for him. It was a natural extension of his happiest self.

Well.

Usually happiest self.

Unless the current object of his affection came strolling into a ballroom with her supposedly ex-boyfriend who had recently proposed to her. Then Cameron didn’t feel very happy at all.

Margaret had always known how to do that blow-your-mind thing where she lost the buttoned-up business suits and tight hair and came to galas dressed to the sexiest nines. Tonight was no exception.

Holding on to Shane f*cking Olson’s arm, his girl walked into the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton, Philadelphia in a floor-length black dress with a V front that went from her neck to her goddamned waist. He could just make out the gentle swell of her small breasts on each side of the f*cking V that practically bared her chest to the entirety of Philadelphia. Taking several steps forward, he started shrugging out of his tuxedo jacket before stopping himself and freezing about twenty feet away. He’d been about to race to her side and cover her up, which would have made a scene, something he was quite sure Margaret wouldn’t have appreciated.