Chapter 34
Dr. Carter
I honestly could not believe that I had managed to orchestrate that evening.
When I had first suggested inviting Mia and Adrian over for dinner, I had known precisely what kind of exquisite, frantic panic it would induce in Alex.
For the last week, I had dropped subtle, wicked hints about what the "menu" might entail, letting her overactive imagination convince her that I expected some grand display of public exhibitionism in our own dining room.
I had cooed at how beautifully she flushed every time the topic arose, stretching out the torment until she had finally broken and begged for clarification.
Watching the sheer, dizzying relief wash over her when I had rolled my eyes and dismissed the notion had been worth every second of the game.
I adore pushing her to her limits, but I would never truly place my princess in a position that made her feel genuinely unsafe.
Besides, our little interlude under the tablecloth at Carlos had provided enough high-voltage thrill to sustain us both for the time being.
I had taken a final sip of my water, standing by the kitchen island as I had waited for her to come downstairs.
I had chosen her outfit myself—naturally—and bought it without giving her a choice in the matter.
The tight leather trousers contoured the spectacular lines of her legs, and the long-sleeved sheer top over that delicate lace bralette struck the exact balance of vulnerability and breathtaking allure I had desired.
I knew she had felt a wave of relief when she had realised it wasn't a skirt; her fragile nerves had required at least one physical barrier that night.
My thoughts had been abruptly interrupted by a whining, petulant tone behind me. The heavy atmosphere in the hallway had possessed absolutely nothing to do with our impending guests.
"I’m not using my connections for you, Richard," I said, my voice cutting through the space, cold and precise as a scalpel. "Not when you’ve proven yourself to be entirely unreliable."
"It’s the least you can do," Richard snapped back, his voice thick with a grating entitlement that had made my fingers tighten against the marble counter.
"The least I can do?" I let out a short, humourless laugh. "You are living in my house for free, eating my food, and don't think I haven't noticed you making a significant dent in my Macallan. You’re lucky I haven't put you on the street."
"Mum and Dad think you should help me, too," he complained, sounding more like a coddled teenager than a grown man.
"I am not the provider for this family!" The words ripped from me, a rare, volatile crack in my icy composure.
"I bought them a house. I ensured they never have to work another day in their lives. That was my payment for being their daughter. I am not responsible for my little brother’s lack of ambition, no matter how entitled you feel you are. "
Out of the corner of my eye, I had caught a shadow on the bottom step.
Alex. She was pressed against the wall, holding her breath, having clearly absorbed every single syllable of the exchange.
A strange pang of vulnerability had hit me—I hated that she had to witness the sordid, parasitic reality of my family—but I had quickly smoothed my expression.
I had checked my watch. Our guests would be there any second. I had locked my eyes onto Richard, my tone dropping into a lethal, quiet command before he could speak another word.
"You are going to go into the guest room, Richard. You are going to lock the door. And you are not to come out under any circumstances for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”
He shot me a look of pure, impotent venom, but my posture radiated such absolute authority that he turned on his heel and fled the room.
The moment his footsteps had faded, Alex stepped fully into the kitchen, pretending with all her might that she hadn't just overheard a family crisis.
The lingering irritation in my chest had instantly evaporated.
My gaze swept over the leather and the sheer fabric, a wave of unadulterated hunger tightening my stomach.
"You look beautiful, princess," I murmured, my voice returning to its smooth, melodic hum.
She forced a smile, crossing the tiles to press a soft kiss to my cheek. "Not as beautiful as you."
I felt a thrill of pride. I had chosen a dark green silk dress that clung to my curves like a second skin, my hair pinned up in a messy yet structural bun to expose the elegant line of my neck. "Do you need any help, baby?" she asked, eyeing the food prep on the island.
"No, not at all," I replied, stepping into her space. I reached up, my fingers grazing the heavy necklace I had bought her, centring her in our space. "Are you looking forward to dinner, darling?"
She nodded, leaning into my touch. "Yeah, I am, actually."
"Me too," I murmured, a predatory little glint flashing in my eyes. "I didn’t exactly get to know them properly when we went to Carlos."
A delicious, violent shiver ran down her spine at the reminder. She smirked, matching my gaze. "That's very true. You were... occupied."
The doorbell had rung, a sudden jolt of electricity breaking our private bubble. Alex followed me to the foyer, her nerves practically humming against my back. I unlocked the heavy front door, and the very second it swung open, Mia had practically teleported across the threshold.
She lunged at my girl, pulling her into a suffocating, boisterous embrace that involved a great deal of high-pitched squealing. I stood back, maintaining my calm, professional exterior, though my internal monologue had been operating at a rapid pace.
Mia. She was undeniably crass, overly energetic, and possessed absolutely no concept of personal boundaries.
Under normal circumstances, a woman like her would have exhausted me within thirty seconds.
But as I watched her squeeze Alex, I reminded myself of why we were there.
Mia was fiercely, unshakeably loyal to my girl.
She had been there when Alex was struggling, when she was bone-tired and broke, and for that alone, I respected her.
I wanted to fit into Alex's world. I wanted her friends to see that I was not just an untouchable academic on a pedestal—I was a permanent fixture in her life, and I was willing to meet them halfway.
Alex playfully shoved her away, her eyes flickering to me with a nervous, protective caution, clearly expecting me to unleash a territorial glare. Instead, I offered a relaxed, amused expression.
Mia turned her bright, unfiltered gaze to me.
Before I could brace myself, she lunged forward and pulled me into a quick, exuberantly tight hug.
It took a considerable amount of restraint not to stiffen, but I allowed it, catching the triumphant, shocked smirk she threw over my shoulder at Alex.
Adrian stepped forward next, clearly intending to follow his girlfriend’s lead, but I moved with lightning speed—extending a firm, professional handshake that kept him exactly three feet away.
Alex let out a quiet, breathless chuckle. Boundaries, darling.
"Please, let me take your coats," I said, the flawless hostess once more.
As I hung them in the cupboard, Mia and Adrian kicked off their shoes, Mia letting out a low, appreciative whistle as she surveyed the high ceilings and minimalist decor. "Blimey, Dr. Carter. Your place is insane."
I smirked, catching Alex's eye over Mia’s shoulder. "I’ll take that as a compliment."
"You should take everything I say tonight as a compliment," Mia winked, "especially after I’ve had a few drinks."
"Mia, please," Alex groaned, her cheeks dusting with pink. "Let's try to keep the filter on for at least twenty minutes."
"What can I get you to drink?" I had asked smoothly, though the question had been a mere formality—I had already noted their preferences the evening we had all gone to Carlo's together.
I guided them into the kitchen, moving behind the marble island with practiced elegance.
Without waiting for an answer, I poured a generous glass of crisp white wine for Mia and cracked open a cold pint for Adrian.
When I reached for the heavy crystal decanter to pour out a deep, velvet vintage Bordeaux for Alex, Mia shot her a thoroughly confused look.
Alex used to be a strict rum-and-coke girl, but months of my subtle tuition had cultivated a magnificent palate for fine wine in her. I poured a glass for myself, then slid my arm around her waist, pulling her firmly against my side to issue my silent claim.
"To a good night with friends," I said, raising my glass.
"Cheers!" they echoed.
"God, it smells incredible in here," Adrian noted, leaning his elbows onto the polished marble counter as I began plating.
A rich, heady aroma filled the room—earthy black truffle, reduced heavy cream, and the sweet, nutty depth of freshly shaved Parmigiano-Reggiano melting into the heat.
I worked with seamless, practiced precision, using silver tongs to twirl the handmade tagliatelle into perfect, elegant nests on deep ceramic pasta bowls.
A final, generous grating of cured truffle rained down over the steaming dishes, sending a fresh burst of decadent scent wafting across the island.
"I keep telling her she needs to open a restaurant or a bistro," Alex gushed, her eyes shining with that fierce, brilliant pride that made my chest tighten. "She’s wasted in that lecture hall."
I rolled my eyes at her, though internally, my heart did a strange, warm dance. "A restaurant sounds like a lot of late nights, Alex. I prefer my current audience."