The lavish bedroom suite at the Bellagio reminded her where she was and of yesterday’s events. Considering she’d spent her wedding night alone, her sleep had been surprisingly restful. She forced herself up and out of bed and stumbled into her private bathroom. A quick shower would put things into perspective. Too bad it didn’t work. Half an hour in the shower hadn’t done anything except give her insecurities time to awaken and fester. She stared at her reflection in the mirror and raked a comb through her damp hair. When was Julian going to wake up and take a long, hard look at her? There was nothing regal about Camille. Or refined. She was pretty sure Julian could secure the hand of just about anybody in marriage. Why her? Because it isn’t real. She had to keep reminding herself of the conditions that brought about this union. For her own sake, she couldn’t get lost in the fairytale factor that emanated around Julian. Her mother had probably seen it, although to a lesser degree, in dear old dad.
