Chapter 40 #4
I let out a loud, pained groan, burying my face in my hands. "Dad, please. Not this story. I have a reputation to uphold."
"Oh, hush, Alex," Carrie said, her voice smooth and brimming with delight. She rested her chin on her hand, leaning toward my dad with rapt attention. "Please, Phil, continue."
Dad grinned, clearly encouraged. "Well, she’d decided she was a professional explorer.
We found her in the middle of the night, fully dressed in her winter coat over her pyjamas, sitting in the kitchen with a backpack full of nothing but individual slices of processed cheese and a plastic dinosaur.
She told us she was 'going to find the moon' because it looked lonely. "
Carrie burst into a rich, melodic laugh that vibrated through the air. "A pragmatist even then. Cheese and a dinosaur—the essentials for any lunar expedition."
"I was a visionary!" I protested, though my face was fucking burning.
I kept groaning and rolling my eyes as the stories kept coming—each one more embarrassing than the last—but inside, there was a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the wine.
Seeing them like that—the two most important parts of my life merging so effortlessly—was more than I ever dared to hope for.
I looked at Carrie as she watched my dad, her eyes bright with genuine interest, and then she glanced at me, her expression softening into that private, soul-shattering look she saved just for me.
In that moment, a thought hit me so hard it nearly stole my breath: If I weren't absolutely fucking crazy, I’d ask her to marry me right then.
The sheer certainty of it terrified me and thrilled me all at once.
I knew we’d already talked about the future, about making this last, but, fuck me, every time something like that happened, the weight of it hit me all over again.
I had zero chance of ever letting her go.
She’d woven herself into the very fabric of my world, and I was pretty sure I’d be lost without her.
Carrie noticed my sudden silence and reached over, her thumb stroking the back of my hand. "Are you alright, darling? You’ve gone a bit quiet."
"Fine," I managed to say, my voice a little hitched. "Just realising I was never going to live the cheese story down, was I?"
"Never," she whispered, her eyes dancing with a promise of future teasing. "I thought I might need to buy you a plastic dinosaur for the trip to Rome. Just for old time's sake.”
As the dinner plates were cleared, Carrie insisted on ordering a selection of desserts for the table to share. When the platter arrived—a masterpiece of decadent chocolate tortes, zesty lemon tarts, and delicate macarons—it felt like the perfect, sugary punctuation mark to the night.
We all dug in, the previous formality of the posh restaurant completely forgotten. I found myself laughing as Dad tried to pronounce "mille-feuille" with a thick accent, and Mum practically swooned over a spoonful of raspberry sorbet.
"I don't think I've ever tasted anything quite like this," Mum said, her expression one of pure, quiet contentment. She looked over at me, then at Carrie, and for a moment, the room seemed to go still. "Thank you, Caroline. Not just for the food, but for... everything. For looking after our Alex."
Carrie reached out, her hand momentarily covering Mum’s on the table. "It was my privilege, Karen. Truly."
I sat back, watching them through a slight haze of wine and happiness. The heavy, protective armour I’d worn for years—the one that kept me guarded and perpetually fucking tired—had finally started to crumble. I didn’t need it there.
Carrie caught my eye, sliding a small piece of dark chocolate onto my side of the plate. "You're doing it again, darling," she murmured, her voice a private low frequency meant only for me.
"Doing what?" I asked, my voice thick.
"Looking at the world as if you're waiting for permission to be happy," she said, her thumb tracing a slow circle on my wrist. "You're allowed, Alex. This is yours."
I nodded, unable to find my words, and took a bite of the chocolate.
It was rich and sweet, melting away just like the last of my doubts.
We lingered over the last of the wine, the conversation drifting toward smaller things—the garden at home, the books Carrie wanted to read over the summer, the way the dog we were definitely getting needed a name before we got to Rome.
Eventually, the bill was settled — Carrie handled it with a flick of her wrist before anyone could even reach for a wallet — and we stood to leave. As we walked out into the cool evening air, the streetlights reflecting off the damp pavement, I felt utterly, blissfully content.
"That was lovely, darl," Dad said, pulling me into one last hug by the car. "We’ll see you soon, yeah?"
"Next week," I promised, squeezed between my parents.
As they climbed into their own car—the one Carrie’s driver was personally seeing to—I turned back to her. She was standing under the glow of the restaurant’s awning, her emerald-clad princess by her side, looking every bit the queen of my world.