“I’m not free, am I?” she says.
“You want freedom?” I ask. “Fine. I’ll give you freedom.”
Then I storm out of the dining room, leaving Camila to our half-finished meal.
“You and me both,” I sigh.
Bree stares at me so long that I wonder for a second if the screen froze. “You’re with him. Him him?”
I have to smile at that. Bree stopped swearing when she had Peter, thirteen years ago. But if therewere ever a time to take it up again, it’d be right now.
“So the house you’re in right now is his?”
“Sorry. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”
“Stop saying that,” she snaps.
“No, no, I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I’m just… stunned. And worried. Cami, this is kidnapping.”
“And legally, morally, spiritually, psychologically… I could keep going.”
“I get it. But B
