I woke up at six-thirty in the morning to the sound of the coffee machine running, which was unusual for several reasons. First, none of us were typically awake before seven on weekdays, and definitely not before eight on weekends. Second, the coffee machine meant someone was making actual coffee rather than the carefully crafted tea blends that Sienna usually prepared for everyone. Third, and most concerning, the only person I could think of who would be up this early making coffee was someone who hadn't slept properly.

I padded into the kitchen in my pajamas to find Camille sitting at the island with a mug that was definitely too large for normal human consumption, her dark hair pulled back in a messy bun that suggested she had been awake for a while. She was wearing an oversized sweater and leggings, but even in casual clothes, she still looked like a fashion icon of sorts.

"Morning," I said carefully, trying to assess exactly how much caffeine she had already consumed.

"Good morning!" she said with enthusiasm that was definitely too bright for six-thirty in the morning. "I've been waiting for you to wake up. Where are we going today?"

The energy radiating from her was almost manic, and I found myself doing quick calculations about sleep schedules. If she had gone to bed at a reasonable time the night before, she might have gotten six hours of sleep. But knowing Camille's tendency to work late on design projects and be a night owl overall, she had probably gotten closer to four hours, which explained both the excessive caffeine consumption and the slightly manic enthusiasm.

"You didn't sleep much, did you?" I asked instead of answering her question.

"I slept plenty," she said with the kind of dismissive wave that suggested she was lying. "Besides, I was too excited to sleep properly anyway. This is my first official date since we started this whole arrangement, and I want to make sure it's perfect."

The admission was both touching and concerning. While it was true that this was technically her first official date since all this started, she had been part of my life longer than both Alexis and Evelyn. She had been the one to design my masks and clothing back when I was operating as a solo vigilante.

"We're going to an arcade," I said, deciding that her sleep-deprived state actually made her more likely to appreciate the choice rather than less.

The effect was immediate and dramatic. Her eyes went wide with genuine excitement, and she nearly spilled her oversized coffee mug in her enthusiasm.

"An arcade?" she repeated, as if she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "A real arcade? With games and prizes and all of that?"

"A real arcade," I confirmed, unable to keep the smile off my face at her reaction. "With games and prizes and probably terrible food that we'll eat anyway because it's part of the experience."

"I've always wanted to go to one," she said, and there was something wistful in her voice that hadn't been there moments before. "But I could never go alone because of the recognition factor, and I never had anyone to go with who would actually enjoy it rather than just tolerate it for my sake."

The comment hit harder than it probably should have. Despite her success and fame, despite being surrounded by people who cared about her, there were still simple experiences that she had been denied because of who she had become in the public eye. The idea that something as basic as an arcade visit had been off-limits to her felt fundamentally unfair.

"Well, today you get to find out if it lives up to the hype," I said.

"It will," she said with the kind of absolute certainty that suggested she had been building this experience up in her mind for years.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of activity. Camille disappeared into her room to work on outfit coordination, emerging periodically to ask questions about the specific type of arcade we were visiting, the demographic of people likely to be there, and whether I had any preferences about how formal or casual we should appear.

By early afternoon, she had produced what could only be described as the perfect arcade date outfits. For me, she had selected dark jeans that looked expensive but not ostentatious, a vintage-style t-shirt that had probably cost more than my monthly grocery budget, and sneakers that managed to be both comfortable and stylish. For herself, she had chosen a pleated skirt that somehow managed to be both nostalgic and contemporary, a fitted sweater that brought out the color of her eyes, and boots that looked like they could handle anything from dancing to standing in lines for hours.

"Ready?" she asked, and the excitement in her voice was infectious.

"Ready," I confirmed, offering her my arm.

The arcade I had selected was one of the newer entertainment complexes that combined classic games with modern technology, spread across two floors of what had once been a department store. The space had been designed to feel both retro and contemporary, with neon lighting and vintage arcade cabinets alongside cutting-edge VR experiences and interactive installations.

The moment we walked through the front doors, I could see why Camille had been concerned about recognition. Even in a crowded entertainment venue, we stood out in ways that were impossible to ignore. My own public profile was significant enough to draw attention, but Camille was one of the most recognizable faces in international fashion. Together, we were the kind of celebrity pairing that people would definitely notice and remember.

Sure enough, within minutes of our arrival, I could see people pulling out phones to take pictures and videos from what they probably thought were discrete distances. Some were being more obvious about it, clearly recording us as we moved through the space, though they were maintaining enough distance to avoid being intrusive.

"This doesn't bother you?" I asked as we approached the token exchange counter.

"Are you kidding?" she said, looking around at the games and attractions with the kind of wide-eyed wonder that made her seem years younger than she actually was. "I've been wanting to do this for years. Let them take pictures. I'm having an arcade date with my boyfriend, and I don't care who knows it."

The casual way she referred to me as her boyfriend sent a warm feeling through my chest. While we had never explicitly defined our relationship status, hearing her claim that connection so naturally felt significant.

"Boyfriend?" I repeated, mostly to hear her say it again.

"Boyfriend," she confirmed with a grin. "Shared boyfriend, technically, but boyfriend nonetheless."

We exchanged currency for tokens and game cards, probably purchasing far more credits than two people could reasonably use in an afternoon, but Camille's enthusiasm was infectious enough that moderation seemed unnecessary.

The next few hours passed in a blur of flashing lights, electronic music, and competitive gameplay. Camille approached every game with the same intense focus that she brought to her design work, studying the mechanics and developing strategies with impressive speed. She was particularly devastating at the skill-based games – anything that required precision, timing, or pattern recognition fell to her analytical approach within minutes.

"How are you so good at this?" I asked after watching her achieve a near-perfect score on a rhythm game that I had barely managed to complete on the easiest setting.

"Same way I'm good at fashion design," she said, moving on to a shooting gallery game. "Pattern recognition, attention to detail, and the ability to make rapid adjustments based on feedback. Plus, I've been secretly studying arcade game strategies online for years."

"Secretly studying?"

"I told you, I've always wanted to come to one of these places," she said, taking aim at a series of moving targets. "I wasn't going to show up unprepared."

Her planning paid off spectacularly. By the end of the afternoon, we had accumulated enough tickets to purchase several of the higher-tier prizes, though Camille seemed more interested in the experience than in the actual rewards. She approached each game with genuine joy and curiosity, completely absorbed in the immediate challenge rather than worrying about outcomes or appearances.

Watching her play was almost as entertaining as playing myself. She had a way of getting completely lost in whatever she was doing, her usual social awareness and professional composure replaced by pure, uninhibited enjoyment. It was a side of her that I had seen hints of in private moments, but never so completely and unselfconsciously.

As the afternoon wound toward evening, I could see that her earlier sleep deprivation was starting to catch up with her. She was still enthusiastic about the games, but her movements were becoming slightly less precise, and she was leaning against me more frequently as we moved from one attraction to another.

"We should probably head home," I suggested as she yawned for the third time in ten minutes.

"Already?" she said, though her protest lacked conviction. "I feel like we just got here."

"We've been here for four hours," I pointed out gently.

"Four hours," she repeated with amazement. "It felt like thirty minutes."

Maurice was waiting with the limousine when we emerged from the arcade, loaded down with prizes that we would probably never use but had been too caught up in the moment to resist claiming. The chauffeur greeted us with his usual professional warmth, taking our accumulated winnings and helping us into the back seat before beginning the drive home.

The interior of the limousine was dim and comfortable, a stark contrast to the bright lights and constant stimulation of the arcade. Camille settled into the seat beside me with a contented sigh, the adrenaline of the afternoon finally starting to fade.

"That was perfect," she said softly. "Better than I had imagined it would be."

"I'm glad," I said. "You deserved to have that experience."

"We both deserved it," she corrected. "When was the last time you did something that was purely fun? No mission objectives, no training requirements, no strategic considerations. Just... fun."

The question made me pause. I couldn't actually remember the last time I had done something solely for enjoyment, without any secondary purposes or underlying goals. The realization was somewhat depressing.

"Point taken," I admitted.

She shifted in her seat, moving closer until she was pressed against my side. The contact was warm and comfortable, and I could feel some of the tension I hadn't realized I was carrying start to dissipate.

"Thank you," she said, her voice quieter now as exhaustion began to take hold. "For taking me somewhere I've always wanted to go, for not caring about the cameras, for just... letting me be normal for a few hours."

"You were never not normal," I said. "Famous, yes. Successful, definitely. But always normal where it matters."

She was quiet for a moment, and I thought she might be falling asleep against my shoulder. But then she shifted again, this time positioning herself more directly facing me.

"Can I ask you something?" she said.

"Always."

"Will this be better than our first kiss?"

The question caught me off guard, though it probably shouldn't have. Our first kiss had been a long time ago, it wasn't as romantic as she would of like, so I did promise to give her a better one when we go in a date.

"Are you planning to kiss me again so I can make a proper comparison?" I asked.

"Maybe," she said with a smile that was equal parts mischievous and sleepy. "If you want me to."

"I definitely want you to," I said.

She leaned closer, bringing her hand up to rest against my cheek. "Good," she whispered, and then her lips were on mine.

This kiss was everything our first one hadn't been – slow and deliberate, unhurried and certain. There was no external pressure driving it, no crisis or emergency creating artificial urgency. Just the two of us in the dim interior of a moving car, finally taking the time to properly explore what had been building between us for over a year.

She tasted like the cotton candy we had shared at the arcade, sweet and nostalgic and perfect. Her lips were soft and warm, and the way she kissed me suggested she had been thinking about this moment for a long time.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were smiling.

"So?" she asked, settling back against my shoulder with obvious satisfaction. "Better than the first time?"

I pretended to consider the question seriously, though the answer was obvious. "Well," I said thoughtfully, "it wasn't perfect."

Her eyes flew open in mock outrage. "It wasn't perfect?"

"No," I said, struggling to keep a straight face. "But it was much, much better."

She laughed, the sound bright and genuine in the enclosed space. "You're terrible," she said, but there was fondness in her voice rather than criticism.

"But accurate," I pointed out.

"But accurate," she agreed, settling back into the comfortable position against my side. "Next time will be perfect, though."

"Next time?"

"Definitely next time," she said with certainty that suggested she was already planning ahead. "I have very high standards to maintain."

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I said, wrapping my arm around her as the limousine carried us home through the evening traffic.

She was asleep within minutes, finally succumbing to the exhaustion she had been fighting all day. I spent the rest of the ride watching the city lights pass by the windows, thinking about how different this felt from the other dates I had taken recently. Each of the women brought something unique to our relationships – Evelyn's quiet strength, Sienna's caring warmth, Alexis's professional competence, and now Camille's infectious enthusiasm and carefully hidden vulnerability.

The complexity of balancing all of these relationships was daunting, but moments like this made it feel worthwhile. Seeing Camille finally get to experience something she had been wanting for years, watching her guard come down completely as she lost herself in simple enjoyment, reminded me why I had fallen for all of them in the first place.

By the time we arrived at the penthouse, she was deeply asleep against my shoulder, looking younger and more peaceful than I had ever seen her.

I didn't want to wake her up immediately, so I simply watched her sleep for a bit. I felt at peace with everything. I'd give anything to repeat these last 4 days forever.

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