Chapter 40 #2
I chuckled, feeling that familiar heat rise to my cheeks as I pulled on the silk trousers. "You’re impossible."
"I’m appreciative," she corrected, finally standing up to finish her own ensemble. She slid into her heels, adding a few inches to her already commanding height. "There was something about seeing you transition from a stressed-out student into... this. It was a very powerful drug, Alex."
She walked over, standing behind me at the full-length mirror. Her hands rested on my shoulders, her dark hair a stark contrast to my emerald jacket. For a moment, we just looked at our reflection—a far cry from the girl in the bar uniform and the lonely professor.
"You look like a woman who owns the world," she whispered into my ear.
"I feel like a woman who owns the heart of the person who runs it," I replied, turning in her arms to steal one last kiss before we had to be respectable for my parents.
Carrie smiled against my lips, her hands smoothing the lapels of my new suit. "Let’s go show your parents exactly how well their daughter is doing. And then, we could come back here and I could finish that 'quality control' report."
I laughed, shaking my head as I adjusted the collar of my new suit. "You always had to make it sound so professional, didn’t you? Reports, quality control, supervision... honestly."
Carrie’s smirk only deepened, that sharp, knowing look that usually preceded me losing my train of thought.
Before she could retort with some witty academic comeback, I reached out and snatched her wrist, pulling her firmly against my front.
The air left her lungs in a tiny, satisfying huff as she hit my chest, her dark hair brushing against my chin.
I leaned in, my lips ghosting over the shell of her ear as I dropped my voice to a low, dangerous whisper.
"You don’t have to call it a report, Carrie," I breathed, feeling her pulse jump beneath my fingers. "You can just say you want to rip my clothes off and make me forget my own name tonight."
I felt the shiver go through her—a literal tremor of reaction that travelled from her shoulders down to her heels.
I fucking loved it when I could affect her like this, when it wasn't just me trembling from the things she did or said.
Her hand, which had been resting casually on my waist, gripped the silk of my blazer with a sudden, possessive force.
She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, her gaze dark and heavy with a promise that made my stomach flip.
"Careful, princess," she murmured, her voice thick and raspy.
"We had a reservation in twenty minutes, and your parents were already on the way.
If you kept pushing me, I might decide that a celebratory dinner was far less important than making good on that request right now. "
I smirked, feeling bold in my new skin. "Then I guess you'll just have to spend the whole dinner thinking about it. Consider it a lesson in restraint, Professor."
Carrie let out a soft, growling laugh, her eyes narrowing with a mix of affection and predatory intent. "Oh, you were going to pay for that. Dearly."
I smirked, my gaze lingering on the dark waves framing her face, and I pulled her back toward me. "Before we left," I murmured, "I thought you were forgetting something."
I laced my fingers into her hair, the silken strands catching on my skin. Carrie let out a long, dramatic sigh and rolled her eyes, though she didn't pull away.
"Really, darling?" she asked, a playful edge to her voice. "Was I never allowed to wear my hair down? Not even for a celebratory dinner with your parents?"
"The problem was, you looked jaw-dropping," I countered, my smirk widening as I gently gathered the tresses.
"And I actually wanted to be able to concentrate on enjoying my meal with my family.
I couldn't do that if I was busy wanting to launch myself at every person who looked at you for a few seconds too long. "
Carrie raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Alex, please. You're being dramatic."
"I was being realistic," I corrected her, reaching for the claw clip she’d left on the vanity. "People practically fell over themselves when you walked into a room with your hair up, Carrie. When it was down like this? It was a public safety hazard. I was doing the city a favour."
Carrie let out a soft, melodic laugh, finally surrendering as she tilted her head to let me work. "So, you were admitting you were possessive, then?”
Abso-fucking-lutely.
"Incurably," I whispered, expertly twisting the dark mass and securing it with the clip.
I left a few soft tendrils to frame her face, the compromise between 'Dr Carter' and the woman who belonged to me.
I stepped back to admire my handiwork. Even with her hair up, she looked regal—but at least then I felt like I might be able to make it through an appetiser without losing my mind.
Carrie turned to the mirror, adjusting a stray strand with a smirk.
"Well, if it kept your eyes on your dinner and off the other patrons, I supposed I could survive being 'restrained' for a few hours.
But don't think I had forgotten your little challenge from earlier, Alex. You might demand my hair up, but never forget who was in charge here, Princess.”
My stomach dropped at the sheer heat in her gaze; I hadn't forgotten for a single fucking second.
She grabbed her clutch and offered me her arm, her expression shifting back into that elegant, effortless poise. "Shall we? I believed we had some proud parents to meet."
When we reached the restaurant, the driver hopped out to open Carrie’s door, and she immediately turned to offer me her hand.
I didn’t actually need help getting out of a car, but I’d always let her indulge in her obsession with etiquette—especially when it meant she got to show me off.
She held my hand firmly, leading me into a restaurant I didn't even know fucking existed; the kind of place that would have been light-years out of my price range before Dr. Carter.
We were ushered to a secluded table where my parents were already seated, and my heart gave a frantic leap at the sight of them.
My mum had actually put on a little makeup and done her hair in an elegant up-do.
I hadn't seen her in a proper restaurant in years.
I could tell she was in a bit of pain—the way she held her shoulders gave her away—but her smile was radiant when she spotted us.
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.