Chapter 72
DERRICK
My phone buzzes.
I expect it to be Charlie.
It’s not.
It’s Sienna.
I open it.
Sienna: Hey, babe, how did lunch go?
Derrick: Killed it. His mum loves me. But all mums love me. I’m adorable.
Sienna: That you are. I’m so happy for you.
Derrick: How are my babies going?
Sienna: Being spoiled rotten by my parents.
Derrick: Bet they are loving having those rugrats home.
Sienna: Yes, and it’s been a godsend with my morning sickness.
Derrick: How are you feeling?
Sienna: Like death, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.
Derrick: I swear your husband has a breeding kink. Once you pop this one out, he will have you knocked up again.
Sienna: Noooo. Three is enough.
Derrick: Yeah, right.
Sienna: Anyway. What I was texting you for was a weird official-looking letter arrived at Mum and Dad’s for you.
Derrick: For me?
Sienna: Yeah, but it was addressed to your old name.
I still.
Sienna: It’s from an office in Sydney.
My heart starts beating uncontrollably.
Derrick: Did you open it?
My feet pick up pace.
Sienna: No. It’s your mail.
Derrick: Open it.
Sienna: I can’t do that.
Derrick: Yes, you can.
I’m practically sprinting back home.
Sienna: We fly home tonight. I can bring it to you as soon as I get home.
Derrick: I can’t wait that long.
Sienna: If it’s something bad, don’t you want us around you?
Derrick: Yes, but I have lunch with Charlie’s dad tomorrow, and now I’m going to be stressing about this fucking letter.
Sienna: Maybe it’s a parking fine you’ve forgotten to pay from years ago.
Derrick: Do you think?
Sienna: I’m sure it’s nothing. I love you. Whatever it is, we will deal with it. See you tomorrow night. And don’t stress about it, please.
Derrick: I’m going to stress about it.
Sienna: I know but you can’t change it.
Derrick: You shouldn’t have told me. I could be in unknown bliss right now.
Sienna: I’m sorry. I thought you should know.
Derrick: Why do I have a sick feeling in my gut now?
Sienna: Because your brain is jumping to conclusions. D, it’s going to be fine, I promise you. I love you. I have to go, do not spiral.
I’m spiraling.
Derrick: Love you too. Kiss my babies and I’ll see you tomorrow night.
I’m not so sure about that because I haven’t used the name Derrick Joneson since I legally changed it at eighteen.
Not once.
Not ever.
What the fuck is in this letter?
Charlie picks me up the next day, looking like he’s stepped out of a Ralph Lauren campaign, linen shirt tucked into tailored trousers, smile soft and easy. He leans across the car console and kisses me, slow and warm, fingers brushing my jaw in that way that makes my chest go stupid.
“I missed you,” he murmurs against my lips.
“I missed you, too.”
It comes out quieter than I expected.
He pulls back, studying me, the line between his brows tightening. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, plastering on a smile. “Just tired.”
He doesn’t buy it. His eyes flick over my face.
“Are you sure?”
“Positive,” I say, kissing him quickly again before he can press the issue. “Let’s go meet your family before I hyperventilate in front of your dad for making him wait.”
That gets a small smile out of him, but he still looks worried.
Fuck.
My hands fidget with the hem of my shirt all the way to the restaurant. I can feel Charlie’s eyes on me even as he reverses out of my driveway, his hand resting on my knee like he’s claiming it. Or grounding me. Or both.
Normally, that touch would calm me.
Today, it just makes the anxiety coil tighter in my stomach.
I can’t stop thinking about the letter.
About the name on it.
About everything I left behind.
About what could possibly be coming for me now.
“Talk to me,” Charlie says softly after a minute of silence. “You’re quieter than usual.”
“I’m fine,” I say again.
He gives me a sideways look. “You keep saying that, but your knee is bouncing like you just drank six espresso shots.”
Shit.
I clamp my hand down on my leg to stop it.
“Sorry. I’m just … nervous about lunch.”
That part isn’t a lie. I am nervous. Meeting the mum felt easy, fun, even, but meeting the dad? Entirely different energy. Dads are harder to charm. Dads look for cracks and weaknesses and any excuse to hate the guy dating their son.
And I’ve got cracks. I’m full of them.
“Dad’s going to like you,” Charlie says firmly. “He already likes you. Especially after all the gushing Mom did about you. She showed him your work. They googled the shit out of you last night.”
“Oh God,” I groan.
“Yeah. He doesn’t understand fashion, but he understood who your clients are and said that you have an impressive client base.”
My heart pulls tight. “He said that?”
“Yep. So, you have nothing to worry about.”
He squeezes my knee again, his thumb rubbing small circles.
And I wish I could relax. I wish I could let myself sink into this moment the way I did yesterday. But that letter is sitting in the back of my mind like a ticking bomb.
Charlie drives us into Beverly Hills, turning down a side street toward a restaurant that looks like a place where waiters wear suits and drinks cost more than my electricity bill.
As soon as he parks, he leans over again, lips brushing mine.
“Whatever’s going on in that pretty head of yours, we’re dealing with it together after lunch. ”
My throat tightens.
Fuck, I love him.
“I know,” I whisper. “Promise.”
He lifts a brow. “So, something is going on?”
“Sienna and Evan are coming around tonight to talk to me about something. I’d like you there,” I confess to him.
“Okay,” he answers, and I can see he has a million and one questions, but he knows now is not the time to ask. Instead, he leans in again and kisses me as if trying to reassure me everything is going to be okay. “I’ve got you whatever it is.”
And I know he means it. I’m just not sure what is coming for me.
Charlie jumps out of his car. The valet has been waiting for us to finish my mini freak out, and walks around and opens the door for me, like the gentleman he is. He takes my hand in his and gives it a squeeze.
“Ready?” he asks.
No.
Not even a little.
But I nod anyway. “Yeah.”
We walk into the restaurant, he gives his name at the door, and we are ushered in by the Ma?tre d'. He leads me toward a table near the back, where a tall man with serious eyes and Charlie’s exact mouth shape stands when he sees us.
Charlie’s dad. He pulls Charlie into a hug so warm and heartfelt I feel my chest twist. Then his dad turns to me, reaching out to shake my hand with a surprisingly bright smile.
“Derrick,” he says warmly. “We finally meet.”
I swallow hard, forcing a smile. “It’s an honor, sir.” I shake his hand before greeting his mother and sister and taking my seat.
Charlie barely hides his smirk. He knows I’m dying. He squeezes my hand under the table as we sit.
“Relax,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”
I wish that were enough.
But all I can think about, even as his dad starts talking, even as Charlie beams at me like I’m the only person in the room, is the letter waiting to ruin everything.
Charlie’s mum is talking about the gala they’re attending in a couple of weeks, something about old friends flying in from New York, when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
Sienna.
Charlie is mid-conversation with his sister when my fingers flick the screen open under the table.
Sienna: We landed early.
I swallow hard and force myself to look up, nodding along to something Charlie’s dad is saying about a work trip to London, but the words don’t land. They float past me like muffled noise.
My phone buzzes again.
Sienna: Please don’t stress. We’ll bring it over tonight. Can’t wait to hear how lunch is going.
Charlie glances at me … and the second he sees my face, the smile falters.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
He squeezes my thigh under the table.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, his eyes landing on the phone in my hand, which is rude of me to be looking at.
I nod too fast as I put my phone away.
He raises one eyebrow, the ‘I don’t fucking believe you’ eyebrow, but turns back to his dad, giving me space. Bless him. I don’t deserve him.
I try to focus.
I try to pretend I’m listening.
I try to act normally.
But my mind is a scary place, and it is going to some dark corners, wondering about what is in this letter.
I’m so in my head that I didn’t even realize I’m gripping my napkin so hard it’s scrunched into a tight little ball until Charlie’s fingers slip under the table and pry it gently out of my hand.
He doesn’t look at me.
Doesn’t draw attention.
He just softens his palm against my knee, in one quiet, steady touch.
That almost undoes me. I want to lean into him. Tell him everything. But not here. Not in front of his parents.
“Derrick?” his mum says warmly. “What do you think of the dessert menu? They do the most divine lemon meringue here.”
I blink, lost. “Oh … uh … sounds amazing.”
We say goodbye to Charlie’s parents, who are wonderful, and I feel bad that I wasn’t one hundred percent myself.
Charlie’s hand slides into mine as we walk toward the car the valet has just brought around, his thumb rubbing gently over my knuckles like he already knows I’m barely holding it together.
He helps me into his truck and gives me a quick peck, and I watch him walk around and get in.
He turns the ignition, and we take off into the weekend traffic.
His jaw is tight, his eyes searching mine with a level of concern that nearly cracks me open. “D,” he says softly. “Talk to me.”
I stare out the windshield, needing a minute to breathe.
“It … could be nothing,” I say.
“But it must be something to have you this distracted during lunch.” My knee starts again, and he calmly places his hand on it. “What’s happened?” he asks. “Is it Sienna? The kids? Work?” His voice gets softer. “Is it … us?”
“No,” I say instantly. That part I’m sure of. “Not us. Never us.”
His exhale is relief and worry tangled together. “Then what?”
I swallow. Hard. “I’ve received a letter,” I whisper.
He blinks. “A letter?”
“From Australia.” My throat tightens. “Addressed to my old name.”
His brows draw together. “Your old name?”
“When I turned eighteen and left behind my old life, I changed my surname from Joneson to Jones. I wanted nothing tying me to my family.”
His confusion shifts quickly into understanding, then into something sharper. Protective. “Derrick …” He squeezes my hand like he’s anchoring me. “What did it say?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Sienna and Evan are coming over tonight to open it with me. She thought it would be better if we opened it together.”
He nods. “Do you want me to be there?”
“Would you?”
“Of course.” He smiles, lifting my hand to his lips as he kisses my knuckles. “You and me.”
“What happens if it’s something bad?”
“Won’t change how I feel about you,” he reassures me. “Do you know who it’s from?”
I shake my head. “No. It’s all a mystery.”
He nods. “We’ll deal with it tonight. Together. I don’t care if it’s your old name, your past, your childhood, whatever the fuck it is, nothing in that letter changes how I feel about you.”
My eyes burn. He has no idea what that means to me. “I’m scared,” I admit, barely audible.
“I know. But you’re not alone anymore.”
He takes off again in traffic, our hands still locked together. And as he drives us home, his thumb keeps stroking across my skin, gentle and constant, like he’s reminding me with every breath, you’re safe. You’re loved. I’m here.
But no matter how tightly I hold his hand, the dread doesn’t leave.
Because whatever’s in that letter, it can’t be good news.