Cashmere & Cameron – Rough Start

Henfordshire

Cody spotted me before I even had the chance to wave, and the second his eyes landed on me, his whole face softened like he’d just found water in a desert. He ran — actually ran — through the arrivals hall and pulled me into a hug so tight my ribs filed a complaint.

“Sugar,” he murmured into my hair, “you look like you ain’t slept in a week.”

“I haven’t,” I said, squeezing him back. “Now shut up and come home with me.”

I grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the exit, ignoring the looks from strangers who definitely thought we were dating and not, you know, related. I had planned to rent a car, but the idea of driving in a foreign country was just … a hearty hell now. No. Absolutely not. I hired a car and blamed “traffic,” which was technically true because Henfordshire was a tourist trap with chronic weather issues. My hair had given up on life weeks ago.

We slid into the backseat, and Cody immediately launched into the story of why he’d agreed to come so fast. I was snorting for laughter, while the driver’s jaw dropped so hard I hit the privacy button before we got banned from this limo service for good. By the time we pulled up to the townhouse Mom and Brad rented for me — so I wouldn’t have to live in a dorm with strangers — I was crying from laughing. Which was a nice change from crying for… other reasons.

Cody laughed too — tired, warm, relieved — and let me haul him inside. He made it three steps before collapsing face‑first onto the couch like a Victorian woman fainting.

“Cody,” I said, nudging him with my foot. “You need clothes.”

“I need death,” he mumbled into the cushion.

“Too bad. We’re going shopping.”

“No ma’am. That is cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Oh, please. Suck it up, cowboy. You grew up here. You should be showing me around.”

“I grew up in rural Henford, not in Britchester! Plus, I tried to forget all of this. And no I ain’t goin’ nowhere fast. I am tired and I stink.”

“You do stink. Why do you stink?”

He lifted his head and glared at me.

“Oh. Right. You plowed the back forty with that lady when Dad came home, then you had to run, then you slept in your truck, and before that you were helping the bar with stock turnaround. Got it.”

He sighed — the long, suffering kind — and sat up. My face must’ve been doing the thing Mom always warns me about, because he softened.

“Listen, buttercup. You find us somethin’ to eat, point me toward yer shower and yer washin’ machine, and once I’m human again, we’ll go somewhere. But not all day. Okay?”

I launched myself onto the couch and hugged him. “You are the best uncle ever.” Then I recoiled. “Oh my God, you really do stink. Good thing I booked you first class. No one had to sit next to you, and everyone probably assumed you were rich and eccentric. But Cody, next time? First‑class lounges have showers.”

He grinned. “I know. One of them ladies showed me. Too bad we got busy doin’ other things and I never got ’round to that shower before boardin’.”

“Oh my God, you’re disgusting.”

He showered while his clothes tumbled in my washer/dryer combo, and I made sandwiches and coffee strong enough to resurrect the dead.

Then: shopping.

Shopping with Cody was like shopping with a feral raccoon. He hissed at sweaters. He recoiled from anything with a collar. He acted personally offended by the concept of “Henford‑chic.”

“Briony, I ain’t wearin’ this,” he said, holding up a cream cable‑knit like it was a venomous snake. “Yer father saw me look at some of the stuff ya bought me for that Sulani trip and he won’t shut up about it.”

“Dad’s not here, so chill. And you will — hey, that rhymed. You’re in a kingdom now. Blend.”

“I ain’t blendin’ with nothin’.”

He tried it on anyway.

And of course he looked stupidly good in it.

“See?” I said. “That’s Henford‑chic man‑candy right there. You want to continue your tradition of nailing everything that isn’t nailed down? This is the uniform.”

He glared at me in the mirror. “I look like I’m fixin’ to read poetry at a royal tea party.”

“Exactly.”

We found a rhythm. I went to classes. Cody explored town, got lost, got found, got hit on by three girls and one aggressively confident guy on day one. After that, he didn’t need convincing to dress the part.

He became my “date” for parties — mostly because he was tall, warm, and made me feel safe even when I was tipsy and surrounded by strangers. A girl alone at college is always a risk. Cody knew exactly how far to let me go before pulling me back from the edge. We dared each other to flirt. He’d nudge me toward a cute guy. I’d shove him toward a girl with suspiciously perfect boobs to see if they were real. Spoiler: they were paid for by her dad. Cody didn’t mind.

We always went home together, laughing, drunk on cheap cider, warm beer, and bad decisions.

It was perfect.

This – THIS – was college as I imagined it.

Campus shut down two weeks before Christmas break.

Some pipes burst under the main quad, the construction crews tore up half the asphalt, and the administration basically said, “Good luck, kids, don’t sue us.” Classes were canceled, we were buried under assignments, and everyone got sent home early like we were being evacuated from a war zone.

Brad sent his jet immediately — because of course he did — inviting both of us to Brindleton Bay so I could “shadow him at the office” and “get a feel for the internship environment.” Not exactly my dream holiday vibe, but I was drowning in assignments and Brad is basically a walking, talking cheat code for anything academic or medical‑adjacent. If he said jump, I was already in the air.

Cody tagged along because he was my emotional support cowboy at this point. And because he had, no exaggeration, four dozen voicemails from his parents and my dad and was absolutely not ready to face any of them. Dad and Beau even called me to get him on the phone, but Cody begged me not to, so now he owed me his soul.

Internship in San Myshuno

The first few days were fine. Professional. Calm. I felt grown‑up and competent, walking around the Cunningham Medical Inc.™ headquarters like I belonged there. People were weirdly nice to me — which I later realized was because I was the stepdaughter of the CEO and therefore a minor deity. They kissed Brad’s ass. They kissed my ass. They even kissed Cody’s ass, which made him unbearable, he was flirting with every female employee under sixty, until Brad sent him to the basement to haul boxes. Then he would flip them around and have Cody take them back down.

When I asked Brad what he needed all those boxes for, he smirked and said, “Nothing. Just entertainment. Keeps him busy, out of my hair, out of my staff’s hair and won’t offend him, as he feels like a contributing member of the team, even though his sole contribution is for my personal amusement. Human version of a hamster wheel for Cody.”

I snorted. Classic Brad.

Then came the day everything went to shit.

Cody and I were on a coffee run — Starbucks orders for the whole executives as they had a meeting with Brad. Cody carried the two biggest trays. I carried one with four cups and the list. We were laughing about something stupid, probably his inability to pronounce “venti,” when I froze mid‑step and Cody slammed into me, swearing as he almost dropped the trays.

But I didn’t care.

Because there he was.

Beckett Ashby.

My ex. My heartbreak. My unfinished business. The one who got away.

And he wasn’t alone.

The girl with him was beautiful — tall, glossy hair in that impossible to achieve shade between platinum blonde and white, perfect skin, the kind of girl who looks like she wakes up in soft lighting. My stomach fell through the sidewalk.

“Briony — what the heck?” Cody muttered.

I couldn’t breathe.

Beckett turned.

I panicked.

I grabbed Cody by the shirt and kissed him.

Hard.

He made a startled noise — half gasp, half choke — but didn’t shove me off. Probably couldn’t, considering the coffee trays. When I pulled back, he was blinking like he’d been hit by a bus.

“What the hell—”

Too late. Beckett was already walking over.

“Briony?” he said, eyes flicking between me and Cody.

“Oh, Beckett, what a… I would call it a surprise, but that would imply I’m enjoying this.” I gestured vaguely with my coffee tray. “My boyfriend Sebastian here and I are just grabbing drinks for our fun crowd. Pre‑holiday party. Just out here, having fun. You know.”

Becks looked down at our badges. Out here having fun, my ass.

FUCK.

I saw the moment he recognized Cody.
“Uh… haven’t we met before?” he asked Cody.

Double‑fuck.

I laughed too loudly. “Oh, you haven’t. Sebastian is a model; those male models all look the same. You’ve probably seen him in a campaign.”

Cody’s head snapped toward me so fast I thought he’d get whiplash.

“Male model?” he mouthed.

I elbowed him.

Beckett frowned. “Right. Well… could I talk to you alone for a moment?”

Alone? With Beckett? Absolutely not. I could not be trusted alone with him. I would melt into a puddle of hormones and bad decisions. I would climb him like a tree. I would embarrass myself and my ancestors.

“Anything you can say to me, you can say in front of my boyfriend. Sebastian.”

Cody nearly died. He nudged my leg with his — subtle, but making me jerk— while I gave Beckett the fakest toothpaste‑commercial smile in history.

Beckett stared at Cody. Then at me. Then back at Cody.

“Briony,” he said slowly, “I’ve been to your family’s events. I know I’ve seen him there. I can’t say I remember who exactly that is, but I know he is not your boyfriend, nor a Sebastian. So why… this?”

My face burned. My lungs forgot how to lung. And then the girl — Miss Soft Lighting meandered over— wrapped her arm around Beckett’s and whined, “Baby, I’m cold…”

I wanted to knock her teeth out.

“Excuse us,” I squeaked, grabbing Cody’s sleeve and dragging him away at a full sprint. He barely kept up without dropping the trays.

We didn’t stop until we were behind the building, hidden from the street. I collapsed against the wall, shaking. Cody hovered, unsure, placed the coffee trays on a stack of discarded pallets, took mine from me and placed it next to his, then gently put his hands on my shoulders.

“Sugar,” he said softly. “Breathe.”

I tried. Failed. Then the tears hit — hard, ugly, catastrophic. He pulled me into his chest, steady and warm.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “I got ya.”

When I finally stopped sobbing, he sighed.

“Briony… we could’ve figured somethin’ out. You can’t just kiss me like that. I get it, I know why, and it’s okay — we’ll chalk it up to panic and forget it. But we can’t have that happen again. We’re close, yeah, but I’m still yer uncle. That’s… too wrong. Maybe I should fly home.”

Panic shot through me again. I clung onto him harder, nearly breaking him in half.

“No! Cody, please. I panicked. This was literally my worst nightmare. Please don’t leave me too. Please.”

He shook his head. “You can’t just—”

“You understand,” I snapped. “I know you do. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. But you know how easy it is to do dumb shit when you’re spiraling. You have the same thing with Tansy.”

His whole body stiffened. “I do not.”

“Oh really?” I shot back. “Is that why you screwed a married drunk chick at my dad’s house? And that attendant at the airport? And probably half the campus while I’m in class? Cody that’s not normal either. You are spiraling over Tansy and do dumb shit and I just did the same over Becks. I knew this would happen. I knew it! FUCK!”

His jaw dropped.

We eventually pulled ourselves together, walked back to the office with lukewarm coffee, blamed Christmas traffic, and pretended nothing was wrong.

Happy Fucking Holidays

Christmas came and went. It was lovely — Brindleton Bay blanketed in snow, just the local Cameron‑Cunningham circus, Brad’s two oldest children came, Cody had gone home to Chestnut Ridge, but it was cozy and chaotic in the best way.

New Year’s was set for San Sequoia. Brad’s entire family flew in and Mom and I, obviously. Aunt Iris and Uncle Jas with the whole Del Sol Valley entourage came. Uncle Con‑Bear and family. Dad and the Chestnut Ridge crew all came, including Cody. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

On the 31st, I was out doing last‑minute shopping when I had spilled the nail polish I had planned on wearing over the dress I had planned to wear, when I ran into Beckett again.

“God, you’re everywhere,” I blurted. It was either that or stare at him like a stunned goldfish.

He smiled that shy smile — the one that had ruined my life at least twice — and nodded. “Dad had some last‑minute business come up, here of all places. It was either go with him, here, or celebrate in Newcrest with my mother and her new family. No thank you.”

“What about your girlfriend?”

The look he gave me hit like a hot‑cold slap.

“I… um… she had plans.” He lied. I knew he lied.

“Briony, can we grab a coffee?”

We did. Just coffee. Right? No big deal.

Except: big deal.

He asked me out for New Year’s. And I — SERIOUSLY — said yes.

Just dinner. Home before the countdown. Totally innocent.

That was the plan.

He picked me up at 7 p.m.

I stumbled back into the front door sometime around 2:30 a.m., heels in hand, doing the walk of shame to my old room.

Oh yeah. THAT happened. We went there. I became that girl — the one who sleeps with her ex in his hotel room.

Happy New Year to me.
Hopefully that didn’t set the tone for how my entire year would go.

But if you think that was the worst of it, congratulations — you made the same mistake I did. Turns out there is a next level to self-loathing yet.

It started with me spewing coffee all over both my grandpas the next morning when I read Beck’s text.

No pressure, but last night was amazing. Made me realize a lot of things. We need to talk again, in person. I’ll try to come to UBrite next week.
P.S. I still love you.
P.P.S. I broke up with Chelsi.

“Briony! The hell’s wrong with ya?!” Grandpa Jack hollered, while Grandpa Chase cursed loud enough to wake the neighbors, both rubbing wildly around on themselves to dry off from my coffee shower.

I didn’t hear any of it.

I was floating. Pink clouds. Heart pounding. He loved me. He broke up with Miss Perfect Filter Face for me. Damn, I must be a great lay. And he loves me. LOVES ME!

“So sorry!” I chirped, grinning like a deranged Barbie.

Later, I sat by the pool when Cody came out and dropped beside me. We didn’t speak at first. Then I shoved my phone in his face.

“Damn, girl.”

“I KNOW, RIGHT?! Cody, I’m so freaking happy!” I threw my arms around him, and he hugged me back.

And that’s when the universe decided to end me.

Mom stormed out like a missile, followed by the entire family like an entourage.

“Get away from her!” she hissed, grabbing Cody by the collar, he struggled upright, I jumped up as she practically shoved him aside with mad anger. WTF?!

“Hey, Bri, what the heck?!” Cody protested, barely catching himself from falling — right before Dad and Grandpa Jack shoved him again, yelling, furious.

I had no idea why. I thought maybe he slept with another married woman. I went to help, but Mom spun me around so hard my teeth clicked.

“What are you thinking?!”

“What?!”

“Briony, I get it — heartbreak sucks — but you are not three years old running rampage on a tantrum! You can’t just do whatever you want because you didn’t get what you wanted! Your actions have consequences — for you, for me, for your grandparents, for Brad! Being eighteen doesn’t give you blanket absolution!”

“Mom, I have ZERO clue what you’re talking about!” I snapped, temper flaring. Then I saw Dad punch Cody.

Punch. Cody. My Cody.
Oh HELL NO!

I shoved Mom aside and ran toward them.

“Briony, get — this don’t concern ya,” Grandpa Jack said, grabbing me and holding me back while Dad hit Cody again. Cody was bleeding, on the ground.

I bit Grandpa Jack like a rabid squirrel. He yelped. I broke free and shoved Dad — well, tried to. Was like shoving a tree trunk.

He turned on me, face twisted, angrier than I’d ever seen him. We yelled at each other, loud, messy, chaotic.

Then Mom shoved her phone in my face.

A social media post.

A photo.

My heart stopped.

It was me. And Cody. Making out on a San Myshuno sidewalk. Like X-rated type of kissing. His hand on my breast. My hand down his pants. WTF!?!?!?!? WHAT!? THE?! ACTUAL?! FUCK!?!

Except… that never happened. 100% fiction!

The real kiss had been one second, awkward, both of us holding coffee trays and not even remotely romantic by any stretch of imagination. It had to have looked as awkward as it was and as sad as the dumb idea behind it.

This was AI. Deepfake. Edited. But it looked real enough to ruin a life.

“That’s not real,” I whispered. “That’s not—”

But it didn’t matter.

The internet exploded. Cyberbullying. Rumors spreading like gasoline on a bonfire. That photo and my family’s name plastered everywhere — celebrities, VIPs, Brad’s empire dragged into it.

And the headlines… God. The headlines.

Kissing Cousins? Nope — The Camerons Prefer Uncles.
Cunningham Medical Empire Hit With Uncle-Niece‑Gate Fallout.
Is This the End of the Cameron Entertainment Biz Reign?
Girlboss, Gaslight, Gatekeep… Your Uncle?

And the comments were worse.

People dissecting my body. My clothes. My family. My mental health. My worth. My everything. Suddenly I had serious addiction issues, one step in the grave, evidently. HUH?!

Every member of my family who had ever been photographed with another family member got dragged into it — analyzed, speculated about, accused. No matter how harmless, every Cameron in name or blood, especially those that were somehow famous were accused of terrible things.
Didn’t help that Blaine Cameron Sr. saw it as a personal challenge and started smooching everyone and anything that didn’t run away fast enough. He had zero shame and apparently thought this was fucking hilarious, while the rest of us drowned in the rumor mill.

And to top it off?

Britchester suspended me for a semester “pending review.”

Happy New Year to me.