“Sure…” Camille murmured smoothly, adjusting the cuff of her pristine white robe. “Come in.”
Liora stepped inside without a word, her arms crossed tightly across her chest. She moved with a stiff gait—not from injury, but from lingering soreness—and Camille observed the cautious way she eased into each motion. The door closed behind her with a sharper thud than intended.
Liora avoided her gaze entirely, striding directly to the window where she positioned herself with her back turned. Camille allowed the silence to settle, giving it space to unfold.
Beyond the gss, the morning light bathed the gardens in a pale golden hue, while inside, a palpable tension thickened the atmosphere like an unspoken companion.
“Would you like some tea?” Camille inquired lightly. “Or anything else?”
“I want tea,” Liora responded.
A brief pause hung between them.
“But not the kind you drink.”
Camille blinked once, her composure unbroken.
“I’m sorry…?”
Liora pivoted slowly to face her, her jaw tightening with resolve.
“Oh, come on. You’re always angling for something. I know what I want.” She held her ground. “What’s your story?”
Camille regarded her daughter with careful scrutiny—the crossed arms, the flushed cheeks, the subtly widened stance that betrayed recent exertions.
“I’m just trying to get settled,” Camille replied mildly.
A deliberate pause followed.
Then, with measured intent: “…And judging by the way you walked in here…”
Liora’s expression faltered.
Camille tilted her head slightly.
“…and what I heard st night.”
Liora straightened abruptly. “HOW could you hear anything st night? You weren’t even here.”
Camille arched a brow.
“I assure you,” she stated calmly, “I was here most of st night.”
“Most?” Liora snapped back.
“Yes.”
“Prove it.”
Camille exhaled softly, as if wearied by the dramatics.
“Do I really need to go there?”
Liora merely stared, unyielding.
Fine.
Camille’s tone shifted to one of thoughtful reflection.
“I never knew your voice could go that high,” she observed. “And you really do prefer being on top.” A faint shrug accompanied her words. “What was it… ten, maybe twelve between the two of you?”
Liora’s jaw flexed visibly.
She turned back toward the window.
“I lost count,” she muttered under her breath.
Camille permitted a faint smile to curve her lips.
There it was—not pride, not embarrassment, but something deeper and unnamed.
Liora drew in a slow breath, striving for steadiness.
“So,” she ventured in a carefully neutral voice, “you weren’t with her st night?”
Camille offered no immediate response.
Liora remained facing away.
“You weren’t in your room.”
“You checked?” Camille asked softly.
“I noticed.”
Camille advanced a step closer, not in threat but to bridge the gap.
“You’re not actually here about me,” she murmured quietly.
Silence enveloped them.
Liora’s shoulders grew taut.
“Were you with her?” she pressed.
“With who?”
The pause lingered, heavy with implication.
Liora swallowed hard.
“…Noa.”
There it was, the admission suspended in the space between them.
“Yes,” Camille confirmed evenly. “I was with Noa st night.”
Liora whirled around, her face abze with heat.
“I knew it.”
Camille caught the fleeting emotions—jealousy, confusion, a sentiment yet to be defined.
And Camille, ever true to her nature, could not resist the opportunity.
She stepped forward.
“Oh yes…” she intoned lightly.
Another step.
“I had…”
Another.
“…the hottest…”
Another.
“…steamiest…”
Now mere inches separated them, and Liora’s breath caught involuntarily.
“…spiciest…”
Camille leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a intimate whisper.
“…cup of tea I’ve ever had with her.”
She withdrew just enough to observe the shift in Liora’s expression.
It registered in half a second.
Camille smiled.
“I meant tea,” she crified with sweet precision. “Actual tea.”
Liora stared, momentarily stunned.
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you,” Camille countered gently, “are not as indifferent as you pretend to be.”
The humor dissipated, leaving a shifted atmosphere in its wake.
The talk had officially begun.