Page 176 of Stranger to Love

Carrie’s hands twitched. "What do you mean 'see me'? We talk at Christmas and birthdays. That is the arrangement, Richard! I send the money, and they give me my space."

"I know!" Richard backed up a step. "But they’re already in the car. They’ll be here in about half an hour."

Carrie slammed the door in his face with a force that rattled the wall frames. She turned back, her face a mask of pale, cold fury. "Thirty minutes," she whispered. "They haven't been in this house in over five years. Alex, they can't—" She stopped, looking at our rumpled bed in a mix of panic and protectiveness.

I slid out of bed, wrapped my arms around her waist from behind, and rested my chin on her shoulder. Slowly, the rigidity left her. She sank into me with a bruised exhale.

"I don't hate my parents," she murmured, her voice stripped of its usual iron. "We just... they just..."

She didn't finish, and I didn't push. Carrie grew up in the kind of grinding poverty that leaves scars. She had spent her entire adult life building this fortress, keeping them at arm's length so they couldn't pull her back down into the grey. If they were anything like Richard—expectant and ungrateful—family time probably felt like a heist.

"It’s okay," I whispered, turning her around to look her in the eye. "We’ve got thirty minutes. That’s plenty of time to get the Dr. Carter armour on."

"They’re going to be difficult, Alex. They don't understand my life, my choices. You."

I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Then let them be difficult. This is your house, Carrie. Your rules. I survived three years at The Dam dealing with aggressive drunks; I can handle a couple of disgruntled parents from the Midlands."

A tiny smile touched her lips. "You’re far too confident for someone who hasn't met my mother yet."

"I've got the best teacher. Now, get in the shower. I’ll make the coffee—the strong stuff."

Carrie disappeared into the ensuite. A moment later, she re-emerged, crossing to the wardrobes. She pulled out a sharp pair of trousers and a silk blouse for herself, then hesitated over my side of the closet. She set a smart-casual knit jumper and well-tailored jeans on the bed.

"You can choose what you would like to wear, darling," she said, her voice a little too detached. "It doesn't matter to me if you’re in joggers. I don't want you to feel... performative."

I stepped into her space, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Liar."

Carrie rolled her eyes. "I am merely being supportive of your autonomy, Alex."

"Right. Of course," I teased. Seeing the tension still coiled in her shoulders, I decided she needed a reminder of exactly who she was when she wasn't being her family’s provider. I leaned back in, my voice dropping to a low purr. "Actually... I like it when you choose what I wear, Mommy."

The effect was instantaneous. Carrie froze, her breath hitching. A dark, delicious spark flashed in her eyes, replacing the dread with a sudden, sharp heat. Her fingers tightened on the fabric of my jumper.

"You are a menace," she rasped, her voice dangerously silky. "And you have impeccable timing."

"Just wanted to make sure you remembered whose house this is," I winked. "Now, get in that shower. I’ll be down in the kitchen, looking exactly how you want me to look."

I got changed quickly, applying a touch of mascara and lip balm for a little extra ego armour. Downstairs, I squared up against the battleship that was Carrie's coffee machine, eventually getting a rich, dark roast brewing to mask the lingering smell of Richard’s desperation.

Speaking of, the man himself wandered into the kitchen, wearing an expensive button-down. He walked past me, set his empty mug on the counter directly above the dishwasher, and turned to leave.

I didn’t even look up. "Funny," I quipped. "The dishwasher door seemed to work perfectly for me this morning. Must be a localised gravity glitch.”

Richard paused, a muscle jumping in his jaw. He slid his mug into the rack with a pointed clatter, but lingered, leaning against the marble counter.

"Look," he started in a fake-confidential tone. "I get that you and CC have your... thing going on. It’s all very modern. But Mum and Dad? They’re old school. They aren't going to understand you, and they certainly won't understand why you're living here. Maybe it’s best if you just head out for the day? Avoid the mess.”

The coffee machine finished with a hissing flourish. I slowly turned to face him, fixing him with a look I learned from the woman upstairs—one that made people feel two inches tall.

"Excuse me? Did I mishear you, Richard? Because it sounded like you were trying to kick me out of my own home."

Richard rolled his eyes. "Look, it’s family business, okay? CC shouldn’t have to be worrying about you while we’re having our family talks. She has enough on her plate without having to explain your presence."

A cold, sharp clarity settled over me. I stepped toward him, closing the distance until he was forced to stand up straighter.

"Did you ask them to come, Richard? Is that what this is? You’re using them as backup because Carrie isn't caving to your latest demands? What's the goal today—a new flat? A 'loan' for a business venture that'll never happen?"

Richard’s face reddened, his eyes darting toward the hallway. "I don't know what you're talking about—"