Page 101 of Love Unscripted
Camille’s gaze sharpened. “Are you about to lecture me? Because I’m not in the mood. You, of all people, should understand why I wasn’t welcoming.”
Rita lifted a hand. “I’m not saying you’re wrong to feel angry.”
“I’m not angry, Mom,” Camille said quietly. “I’m tired. I don’t trust him. And you shouldn’t either.”
“I know exactly who he is,” Rita replied. “He’s not perfect. But who is? He’s still got good qualities.” A small pause. “I’m meeting him for lunch.”
Camille shrugged. “Fair enough. Listen, not to change the subject but I have something to tell you,” she said.
Rita’s expression shifted. “What?”
Camille hesitated, then told her everything—Simon’s lawsuit, how it threatenedEsther, her reluctant agreement to theShadow Peakepisodes.
Rita’s reaction was immediate.
“What?” she snapped. “I’m your manager, Camille. I should not be hearing about this after the fact.”
“I didn’t want anyone to know,” Camille said, shaking her head. “I felt cornered. I didn’t have a choice. This wasn’t… my best moment.”
Rita’s anger softened as quickly as it had come. She leaned back, exhaling.
“Well… it’s over now, isn’t it?” she said, her tone shifting toward relief. “The lawsuit is behind you. That’s what matters.”
Camille stared at her. “It doesn’t feel like a win.”
“No?”
“I deceived Aaron, Mama.” Her voice dropped. “I don’t feel good about that.”
Rita waved a hand lightly, dismissing the weight of it. “Oh, sweetheart, it’ll be fine.”
Camille frowned. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Rita said, leaning forward again. “Look, I don’t think I ever told you the story about your grandfather, Afonso.”
Camille straightened slightly. “What about him?”
Rita’s tone shifted—lower now, more reflective.
“He wasn’t always the man you knew. In his youth… he was involved with Comando Vermelho. One of the worst gangs in Rio.”
Camille blinked. “You never told me that.”
“I didn’t want you to see him in a bad light,” Rita said with a small shrug. “But you’re old enough now. Mature enough.”
She continued, her voice steady but threaded with something heavier.
“He grew up with nothing. His parents were killed when he was young. He was practically a street kid. Joining them… it felt like survival. They offered him power, protection, belonging.” She paused. “But it cost him pieces of himself.”
Camille found herself leaning in despite everything.
“Then he met your grandmother, Helena,” Rita said, a soft smile touching her lips. “She was a good Catholic girl. Volunteered at a community center in a favela. He showed up one day—rough, guarded—but protective of the children. And she saw something in him. Something worth saving.”
“And she loved him,” Rita continued, “but not blindly. She told him the truth. If he wanted a real life, he had to leave that world behind.”
Camille’s voice was quieter now. “Did he?”
Rita nodded slowly. “Yes. But walking away wasn’t simple. When he told them he was done, they came after him. They didn’t let people leave.”
