Page 191 of Stranger to Love

God, I was getting fucking emotional.

My dad stood the moment he saw us, looking sharp and dignified in the charcoal suit Carrie had bought for him.

"Darl, come here!" He opened his arms wide, and I eagerly stepped into his embrace.

I saw them every week, but the feeling was so different then that I wasn’t living under their roof. The best part was seeing how settled they’d become. They seemed lighter, happier—especially with Dad having a job that actually gave him his evenings back. It warmed my heart to see it; they rushed so much of their own lives when they fell pregnant with me, and then they were finally finding themselves again. It was like I was watching them fall in love all over again. Stop getting fucking emotional, Alex.

"I am so proud of you," my dad beamed, pulling back to look me over. "You look fantastic, darl. Truly."

"Thanks, Dad," I said, playfully elbowing him before walking around to Mum. I leaned down to give her a long, warm hug. "You look beautiful, Mum."

"Thanks, love," she whispered, her smile shy but genuine.

"How are you feeling?" I couldn't help but ask, my protective instincts flaring up as I scanned her face for any worrying signs.

Mum sighed, shaking her head gently. "I'm fine, Alex. Don't worry about me today." Her smile widened. "I am just incredibly proud of you."

I chuckled, blinking back a sudden prickle of tears, and looked up to see Carrie pulling out of a hug with my dad. She looked completely at peace, her usual sharp edges softened by the company of my family. She walked over and gave my mum a gentle hug, her voice soft and sincere. "You look lovely, Karen."

"Thank you, Caroline," Mum replied. "You both look absolutely beautiful."

Carrie gave me a look that was pure warmth before wrapping an arm around my waist and guiding me to our seats opposite them. As we settled in, the waiter appeared with menus, and after a brief discussion, Carrie ordered a couple of bottles of a vintage red—a label none of us recognised, but one she insisted was essential for a celebration of this caliber. The waiter nodded deferentially and scuttled off to retrieve the wine.

Once the wine was poured and we’d all ordered, the table settled into a comfortable hum. We’d spent the last ten minutes joking about the fact that Carrie basically had to translate the menu for us; even though it was written in English, it wasn't a version of fucking English we recognised. I mean, what the fuck was a gravlax?

As the waiter disappeared with our orders, a hush fell over the table. My dad cleared his throat and picked up his glass, and I immediately had to start chewing on the inside of my cheek to keep from fucking losing it.

He started a speech, his voice thick with a rough, honest kind of emotion. He talked about how I got there myself—and he clarified that he wasn't talking about the posh restaurant, the tailored clothes, or the cars. He paused to give Carrie a knowing wink, a silent reference to his birthday when she’d stood in the Mercedes dealership, cool as a breeze, while he was practically sweating through his shirt as she told him to "just pick one”. The memory of it made me hold back a laugh.

But then his gaze settled back on me, his eyes shining. He said that I was the one who got myself to that place. He reminded everyone how hard I worked, pulling double shifts just to afford the chance to go to university, and that I was the one who put in the hours to finish the year with straight firsts in every single module.

The whole time he was talking, Mum was desperately dabbing at her eyes, trying not to let the tears ruin her makeup. I looked over at Carrie, and my breath caught. She was looking at me with a soft, unwavering intensity, as if I was the only person in the entire world. It was overwhelming—the sheer amount of love at that table was enough to make my head spin. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I felt like I finally belonged exactly where I was.

As Dad finished his speech, the air felt charged with a pride so thick it was almost tangible. "To Alex," he said, raising his glass high.

"To Alex," Mum and Carrie echoed in unison, the crystal clinking with a delicate, musical chime.

I felt the prickle of tears threatening to spill, so I did what I always did: I retreated into a bit of fucking awkwardness. I looked down at my plate, mumbling, "Yeah, yeah... thanks," as I waved a hand dismissively, desperately trying to play off the fact that my throat felt like I’d swallowed a golf ball. "It’s just some coursework, init? No big deal."

"It is a very big deal, Alex," Carrie said softly. Her voice wasn't the commanding tone of a professor right then; it was just Carrie. She reached under the table, her hand finding my knee and giving it a firm, grounding squeeze. "Don't diminish your light just because you're not used to it being this bright."

I looked up, meeting her gaze, and the smirk she gave me was so full of warmth it almost hurt.

"She's always been like this, Caroline," Mum chuckled, finally dabbing the corner of her eye with a silk napkin. "Give her a compliment and she looks like she’s looking for the nearest exit. Stubborn as her father, this one."

"I heard that," Dad grinned, taking a hearty sip of the wine. He let out a low whistle as the vintage hit his palate. "Blimey, that’s actually alright, isn't it? Better than the stuff in the box, anyway."

The table broke into easy laughter, the heavy emotional weight lifting into something light and celebratory. I finally let out the breath I’d been holding, leaning back into the plush velvet of my chair. I watched them—my parents, who finally looked rested, and Carrie, who looked like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

"So," I said, trying to regain my 'cool' as I picked up my own glass. "Now that the mushy stuff was out of the way... who was going to explain to me what 'confit' actually meant before the food got there?"

Carrie leaned in closer, her shoulder brushing mine. "It means it was cooked slowly in its own fat, darling," she whispered, her lips grazing my ear. "Much like how I’m going to spend the rest of the evening slowly making you pay for that restraint comment from earlier."

I nearly choked on my wine, my face heating up instantly, while my parents blissfully carried on talking about the bread basket. She was going to fucking kill me one day. She’d say something so fucking sultry in my ear that I would actually choke and not come back again.

As the appetisers arrived, the conversation shifted to the upcoming trip. Carrie began describing the villa she’d booked on the outskirts of Rome—a place with ancient stone walls, a private vineyard, and a view of the rolling hills that sounded like something out of a dream.

"I’m just looking forward to having her to myself for a while," Carrie said, her hand momentarily appearing above the table to brush a stray hair behind my ear. "No lectures, no deadlines. Just the sun, the wine, and Alex."