Page 216 of Double or Nothing

The takeout is long cold when Bryce finally makes the move to shift us. He lifts me to my feet along with him and offers Jack a hand. There’s an electric spark in their eyes as Jack accepts the help, gripping his hand so tight, he relies on Bryce to pull him up from the floor.

It gives me so many butterflies, I feel sick.

I toy with the rest of my noodles, but the cacophony of emotions is too strong to eat.

Excitement, fear, pain. Pain at the idea this could be over. Euphoria that I ever got to be a part of this. And a spark for the future. A dare to dream.

I don’t know what time we finish up showering and get to bed. My alarm was already set hours ago, and Jack’s too as a backup.

I’m going to be ready for Camilla. I’m going to pull a Bryce and find the backbone I know I have inside, even when I’m terrified.

Bryce is already long gone for the office by the time I’m getting ready for my Camilla Stour verdict. Jack shakes his head at my formality. I’ve gone beige. Beige and tasteful.

“You aren’t dutiful daughter here, Alice. You are you. Show her you.”

Good job I have so many of my clothes now stashed in his wardrobe.

My next selection is a totally different vibe, saying nothing whatsoever of Parker. My dress is loose and floaty. Yellow. My cardigan is my favourite. A mass of tie-dyed colours that express my soul.

“Any good?” I ask Jack, and he ponders, fingers on his chin before he smiles.

“Stunning. You. Beautiful!”

“I hope she feels the same.”

“You’ll soon find out.”

Yep, the clock is ticking.

He walks me to the elevator, checking out my pitch like a coach. Yep, I’ve got this.

It doesn’t stop the flood of nerves on the way home in the cab, but they don’t consume me. Nothing does. Not with my newfound backbone.

I’m changing. Growing. Just like Bryce is.

I just hope it holds strong and carries me through.

Camilla Stour arrives at eleven precisely with a knock at my door.

Not one minute early. Not one minute late.

She’s a fair few inches shorter than me, but still feels formidable, standing on my doorstep in a tailored navy coat with a burgundy leather folder beneath one arm. She’s got dark, observant eyes and brown hair cut neatly at her jaw, its silver streaks displayed rather than concealed. Confident.

Of course she would be.

Her narrow glasses frame her face, and everything about her looks deliberate, right down to her polished burgundy boots.

A younger man waits behind her with two black cases.

“Alice,” she says. “Hello.”

“Camilla. Thank you for coming.”

“This is Daniel,” she says. “He handles preliminary photography.”

My heart jumps.

Photography sounds promising. Serious.