32. Francesca
32
FRANCESCA
It’s Sunday night. My first Carter family dinner, which I’m told is a weekly tradition.
I tell myself it’s fine. That it’s just dinner. A single meal with his entire family. What’s the worst that could happen?
I’ve suffered through more dinners in my life than I can count. Stiff, formal affairs where every word was measured, every smile practiced. Where I had to be perfect, poised, the dutiful daughter. So why is this one making my palms sweat and my stomach churn?
Maybe it’s because this time, it matters. These people, this family, they’re a part of my life now in a way that feels significant. Permanent. They’re not just Graham’s family anymore. They’re mine too. At least for the next year.
And I desperately want them to like me.
I smooth my hands down the front of my dress, the soft fabric doing little to soothe my nerves. It’s a pale blue sundress, the color of a clear summer sky. Simple, classic. I paired it with strappy sandals and left my hair down in loose waves.
I hope it’s appropriate for dinner. Graham didn’t give me much to go on, just said “you always look perfect.” Which make butterfly wings brush against my ribcage inside of me, but didn’t really answer my question.
We never had Sunday night dinners with my family. We had formal, catered affairs planned weeks in advance. Cocktail attire required, polite smiles mandatory. I can’t remember the last time we gathered for a simple family meal. If we ever did.
I take a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies swirling in my stomach. It’s just dinner. With my husband’s family. Who I desperately want to make a good impression on. No big deal.
Romeo sprawls across my bed, watching me with mild disinterest as I swipe on lip gloss. He huffs dramatically, resting his chin on his paws.
I point at him through the mirror. “I can feel your judgment.”
His tail thumps once.
I exhale, pressing my lips together to even out the gloss. “I’m sorry you can’t come with. But I’ll work on them tonight, okay? It might take a little time, but I’m sure they’ll come around.” Graham once proclaimed not to be a dog person and now I catch him sneaking Romeo treats every time I turn around. I have faith the rest of the Carters will come around.
A soft knock on my bedroom door pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. “Francesca.”
I turn to see Graham leaning against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. He’s wearing a button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dark jeans hugging his muscular thighs. His hair is pulled back into that effortless bun, a few strands escaping to frame his face.
He looks good. Unfairly good. The kind of good that makes my mouth go dry and my heart skip a beat.
His gaze sweeps over me, slow and deliberate, taking in every inch from my sandals to the loose waves of my hair. Something warm and appreciative flickers in his eyes, making my skin tingle.
“You look beautiful,” he says, voice low and rough around the edges.
Heat blooms in my cheeks at the compliment. “Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”
A small, crooked smile tugs at his lips as he pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room. Romeo’s ears perk up and he lifts his head, tail thumping.
“Ready, wife?”
I take a deep breath, smoothing my hands over my dress one more time. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He crosses the room to run his hand over Romeo’s head, scratching under his ears in that way he loves.
Romeo leans into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. Graham chuckles softly, a sound that wraps around my heart and squeezes. There’s something so natural, so effortless about the way he interacts with my dog. Like it’s second nature to him now.
I watch them for a moment, soaking in the simple domesticity of it all. My husband and my dog. It still feels a little surreal, like I’m daydreaming.
Graham straightens up and holds out his hand to me. “Come on, sunshine. Time for dinner.”
I get Romeo in his kennel and let Graham lead me to the garage with his hand on my lower back. We spend the fifteen-minute drive to his parents’ house listening to Taylor Swift, and it’s amazing. He doesn’t look annoyed or put out by my song selections for a single second. He doesn’t sing along yet either, but I’m almost positive I’ll convert him into a Swiftie before our year is over.
As Graham pulls into his parents’ driveway, my nerves return in full force. Their house looks warm and inviting, with a wraparound porch and flowers lining the walkway. It’s the kind of house that feels like a home, lived-in and loved. So different from the house I grew up in.
He puts the car in park and turns to me, his expression softening when he sees me twirling the end of my hair between two fingers.
“Francesca.” His voice is a soothing murmur.
“I don’t even know why I’m so nervous,” I say around a laugh. I exhale and force a smile to my face. “Okay. Let’s do this.” I push open the door and hop out before I talk myself out of it.
Graham’s out of the car and rounding the hood, his mouth curved down into a frown. “You’re supposed to wait for me to open the door for you.”
I bump my shoulder into him with a smirk. It’s like pressing against rock. “How chivalrous of you.”
His palm hovers over my lower back as we walk to the front door. “Squeeze my hand if you want to leave. At any time, okay?” he murmurs into my hair, his lips brushing the top of my ear.
I tip my face toward him. “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine. Parents love me.” It’s not a lie exactly but it’s not a universal truth either. I haven’t met many parents in this situation.
“Everyone should.”
I bite the inside of my cheek and steal a glance at him. Before I can reply, his dad, Lucas, is opening the front door with a wide grin.
“It’s the newlyweds!” Lucas greets us, holding his arms open wide.
Graham stiffens when Lucas steps toward me, intent on a hug.
I chuckle under my breath. “So nice to see you again. Thank you for having me.”
He pulls back and looks at me. “Don’t be silly. You’re family now, Francesca.”
Lucas's words hit me square in the chest. Family . It's a foreign concept to me, this easy acceptance and warmth. But as he ushers us inside with a smile, I feel a flicker of something dangerously close to hope ignite in my heart.
“C’mon, son, your mother’s been buzzing around the house all day. She's so happy all her kids are here,” Lucas says, pulling Graham into a hug.
I knew walking into Graham’s family home would be different from my own. I knew I wouldn’t be greeted by stiff smiles and disapproving once-overs. I knew Hazel wouldn’t pull me aside with a thinly veiled warning about my behavior.
But still. I wasn’t prepared for this.
The moment we step inside, warmth crashes over me. The din of laughter and conversation, the smell of garlic and herbs wafting through the first floor, the sheer amount of things around. Family photos line the walls of the hallway, and my feet slow before I even give myself permission to stop.
A photo nestled among the others catches my eye, and I pause, drawn to it like a magnet. It’s a snapshot of a young Graham, probably around kindergarten, with Beau on one side and Cora on the other. And he’s holding a baby Abby, her chubby cheeks split in a gummy smile.
But it’s Graham’s expression that arrests me. His grin is wide and unguarded, dimples carving deep into his cheeks. His eyes are alight with pride and pure, unbridled joy as he holds his youngest sister.
“I knew it.”
“What’s that, sunshine?”
I look at him over my shoulder, a grin quick to form. “You definitely have dimples.”
His lips twitch, but his eyes give him away. They’re more green than brown today, and they’re absolutely shining with amusement. “Have you been thinking about me, wife?”
“Probably not half as much as you’ve been thinking about me.”
His lips curve into a slow, devastating smile that makes my stomach flip. He leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “You have no idea how often you consume me.”
His low, rumbling voice sends a shiver down my spine. I swallow hard, trying to compose myself even as heat floods my cheeks. Before I can formulate a response, Hazel appears in the foyer, a bright smile lighting up her face.
“I thought I heard voices. Come in, come in. Dinner’s ready.” She beelines for her son, pulling him down into a hug. As soon as she lets him go, she shifts her attention to me, holding her arms open for an embrace.
Okay, so the Carters are definitely the hugging type.
“You have a beautiful home,” I murmur into her shoulder.
“Oh, thank you, dear. You’re welcome anytime.” Hazel pulls back from our hug, smiling brightly at me. “We were starting to think Graham was keeping you all to himself,” she says, cupping my shoulders.
Something flashes across Graham’s face. Guilt? Annoyance? He schools his expression too fast for me to tell.
“Mom,” he says, half warning, half resigned.
Hazel ignores him. “Francesca, sweetheart, you’re gorgeous. Come in, sit down, make yourself at home. You drink champagne, right? Tell me you drink champagne because we have some for a toast to you guys. Don’t tell Cora I spoiled the surprise.” She winks at me.
“Of course,” I say with a chuckle.
“Wonderful. Why don’t you come give me a hand while the boys set the table?” She shuffles me into the kitchen, already reaching for a bottle.
I throw a glance over my shoulder at Graham, who watches me go, something unreadable in his gaze.