“Camille...”
“I need time to think about this.” I got out of the car and stalked away from him. He followed, but kept his distance, respecting my need for space. We boarded the jet, and I made sure to take a seat far away from Jack. I needed to be alone for a while. I needed to sort this out.
I needed to figure out if I could still love this man, when I had just found out I didn't even know who he was.
* * *
I didn't talk to Jack when we got back to the States. He gave me his personal cell phone number and asked me to call him when I was ready. Though for a little while, I was too busy to consider what I might say to him, for which I was grateful.
My entire team had to be debriefed on what had happened, giving full reports to the people at Tremaine Industries. In order to keep us from getting into trouble with the government for removing the artifacts from Syria, we all agreed to sign Non-Disclosure Agreements. The items we'd recovered would be quietly shipped to places where they could be studied and kept safe, and we were all paid substantial bonuses as compensation for the danger we'd faced. The details of our work were quietly swept under a rug, and we were able to get back to our lives.
The morning sickness started not long after I returned home, and I decided it was time to see a doctor and confirm what I already knew. The tests came back positive—I was pregnant. With the baby of a man who wasn't at all what I'd thought he was.
I sat at home one afternoon with his number punched into my phone, working up the courage to hit 'send.' I normally wasn't a girl to be shy about calling a man, but this was a call I'd never had to make before. Finally I let out a long sigh and hit the button, then held my breath while I waited for him to answer.
“Camille,” he said as soon as he picked up. “How've you been? I've been waiting to hear from you.”
“I'm...I'm good,” I said, nervously picking at the threads on my shirt. “Listen, baby, you and I need to talk.”
“That's good,” he said. “Talking is good. We've got a lot to talk about.”
“Honey, you don't know the half of it.”
He was quiet at that, and his voice was hesitant when he spoke. “Camille, is everything all right? Listen, I know this was a crazy situation...”
“We'll talk in person,” I said. “This ain't something to discuss over the phone.”
“All right,” he said. “How about dinner? Something quiet. Intimate.”
“That sounds good.” We worked out the details and I hung up the phone, trying to ignore the churning in my gut. I wasn't sure if it was nausea from the pregnancy or from my nervousness, but either way I felt like I was going to throw up.
Jack picked me up later that night. He brought flowers, though I refused to give him any brownie points for that. We went to a restaurant with a private dining hall. There wasn't another soul there besides the staff. I wondered if Jack had bought out every table in the place in order to give us more privacy.
Once we were settled in and we'd decided on what to eat, Jack uncorked a bottle of champagne and poured us each a glass. “I'm glad for the chance to see you again, Camille,” he said, raising his glass. I raised mine and tapped it gently against his, then set it down without taking a sip.
“So, how have you been?” He leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table. He still looked like the same old Jack. He was dressed simply, in slacks and a black t-shirt, and to look at him you never would have guessed that he was a billionaire.
Billionaire. I couldn't get my head around how much money a billion dollars really was. I'd grown up poor and worked my way through college to earn my archaeology degree. I was still paying off my student loans.
“I'm fine,” I said, my voice tight. I'd planned out everything I had to say, but it was getting all jumbled now that I was here. “Listen, Jack, we need to sort this out. About us. If there is an us, I mean.”
“I'd like there to be,” he said. “I know you must still be mad at me, but can you at least understand why I did what I did? I mean, it's not like I can travel under my own identity. You saw what happened...those men somehow figured out who I was, and they came after me.”
I hadn't thought about that before. It's likely the terrorists didn't just want to stop us from violating their holy grounds. Jack Tremaine would have been a valuable hostage. Even if they didn't care about money (most extremists didn't), they could have made a public example of him. Killing a rich American industrialist would raise them up in the eyes of those that supported their cause.
“I understand,” I said. I took a sip of my water, wishing I could try the champagne so I could calm my nerves. “But what happens now? It ain't like we can have a normal relationship.”