CHAPTER 17 -TELLING THE PARENTS
Hunter
The restaurant is colder than I remember, but maybe that’s just my nerves.
As a CEO, I don’t get rattled often but meeting our parents to tell them about our taboo relationship would put any man on edge.
We’re the first ones here, and the maitre d’ walks us past a parade of strangers—old money, new money, shiny suits and manicured nails—to a private room lit by chandeliers that look like inverted ice sculptures.
The linen on the table is a snowy white, and Tara floats beside me, in a modest green dress that covers her arms, and goes decorously to the knee.
She’s calm and beautiful. Or at least, she’s faking it better than I am.
I let her sit first, then take the seat beside her, close enough that our knees touch. The room is quiet, every sound thickly muffled by carpet and the hush of money.
“I can’t believe you wore a suit,” she whispers, voice low enough that nobody outside this room will ever hear.
“Don’t you know? Dressing up is armor,” I say, tugging the cufflink tighter. “Thought I’d need it.”
She gives me a look—the new look, the one that’s sweet and spicy at once. She’s not wrong. There’s a lot riding on our conversation with our parents, and I feel every pound of it in my chest.
A waiter appears, all cheekbones and deference. “Can I bring you anything to start?”
“Just water, please,” Tara says, with a smile.
“I’ll take the same,” I say, and the waiter dissolves back into the ether.
We’re alone. The silence grows, shaped by a thousand things we can’t say.
She folds her hands on the table, fingernails buffed to a pretty shine. “What’s the plan?”
“Honesty,” I say. “To a point.”
“Define ‘point’.”
I grin, but the smile doesn’t go anywhere. “No mention of Sanctum. Or the auction. Or anything that might require an FBI background check.”
She stares at me, blue eyes big and unblinking. Then she nods. “So just the truth, minus all the best parts.”
“Exactly.”
She presses her lips together, fighting a smile, and leans in. “Are you going to hold my hand under the table the whole time?”
I move my hand from the table and rest it on her thigh, just above the knee. Her skin is warm, smooth, and she tenses for a fraction of a second before relaxing into it.
“I was thinking higher,” I whisper.
She flushes, but doesn’t move my hand. “You’re incorrigible, Hunter.”
“You love it.”
She bites her lip and smiles sweetly. “Yes. I do.”
We sit like that, my hand on her knee under the table like a pair of teenagers at prom, while the rest of the world spins just outside these soundproofed walls.
The parents are late. They’re always late. But it gives us time to rehearse the parts that matter.
“If they ask how I’m doing, I’ll say—?”
“Recovering,” I say. “Dissociative fugue. Selective amnesia. Medical terms. Keep it clinical. No mention of how you spent the last month in your stepbrother’s bed.”
She snorts, and it’s the most honest sound I’ve ever heard in a restaurant this expensive. “That was the best part.”
“But you’ll do it?”
She nods, just once.
I squeeze her thigh. “You’re a natural, sweetheart.”
She leans in so close I can feel her breath in my ear. “You don’t know the half of it.”
The parents arrive, and we break apart so fast the air crackles.
My mother glides in first, all pearls and neutral tones, like the world’s most sophisticated landmine.
Tara’s dad follows, taller than I remember, hair grayer and suit more wrinkled, but still moving with the bone-deep confidence of a man who’s never met a problem he couldn’t throw money at.
I stand, give them the smile I reserve for board meetings and IPOs.
“Catherine. Robert. Good to see you.”
Robert grunts, and my mom dabs the air beside my cheek in the direction of a hug. I sit before they do, on purpose. Power move. Tara covers a laugh with her water glass.
They take their seats. Robert across from Tara, Catherine directly across from me. It’s symmetrical, like a chessboard. I don’t know who’s black and who’s white.
The waiter appears again, pours the water, vanishes. The tension stays.
“So,” Catherine says, drawing the word out. “How are you, darling?”
Tara straightens her back. She looks like a different person than the girl I found on the street a month ago. “I’m good,” she says. “Better every day.”
“That’s wonderful,” Catherine purrs, not sounding particularly convinced. “Hunter says you’re making excellent progress.”
Tara’s smile is rehearsed but not fake. “He’s been helping me a lot. With the memories. And everything else.”
Robert clears his throat. “We were very concerned, Tara. You vanished after the car accident. We only knew what your friend Eliza told us. And then when Hunter said you were staying with him, you wouldn’t answer your phone, your emails—”
“I know,” Tara says. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture practiced but somehow vulnerable. “I’m sorry about that. It was confusing because like I told you, I was experiencing some temporary amnesia. So I didn’t really remember you, believe it or not.”
“We’re just glad you’re safe,” Catherine says in a gentle tone.
“Thanks to Hunter,” Tara says. She glances at me, then looks back at my mom. “Hunter’s the one who tracked me down after the accident, actually. He made sure I got the care I needed.”
I see my mother’s mouth tighten, just a sliver. She knows I’m hiding something, but she doesn’t know what.
“And you’re feeling more like yourself?” Robert says, his voice deep. “You’re recovered now?”
“Yes, pretty much. Some memories are still missing, but I’m getting them back, little by little.”
Catherine leans forward, elbows on the linen. “You poor thing. I can’t imagine how frightening that must have been.”
Tara nods—soft, but with a glint of steel underneath. “It was. But honestly, sometimes it was a relief. Being blank for a while. I didn’t have to be anybody. I could just… be.”
I squeeze her thigh, just once, and she lets the silence stretch.
Robert fidgets with his water glass, and I realize he’s not just uncomfortable—he’s nervous.
Not for Tara, but for himself. He’s never faced a problem he couldn’t outwork, outspend, or outdrink.
But this is different. His little girl is a bit of a stranger now, and he doesn’t have a blueprint for that.
The waiter brings the wine, and Catherine asks for a Chardonnay. Tara orders a glass of red, surprising everyone. I ask for the bottle, and Robert goes with bourbon, neat.
The drinks arrive, and the silence has started to feel uncomfortable. Our parents aren’t stupid and they can tell something’s off, so I decide it’s time.
“Tara and I have some news,” I announce.
Catherine’s mouth opens, but my lovely stepsister beats her to it.
“Hunter and I are together,” she says, eyes fixed on her father. “As in, dating. We’re in a relationship.”
The silence that follows is so absolute I think the chandelier bulbs dim a little.
Robert blinks, once, then twice. Catherine stares at me, then at Tara, then back at me.
Robert is the first to recover. “You’re what?”
Tara takes a breath. “We’re dating, Dad. I know it’s a lot, but it’s not as crazy as it sounds. We’re not biologically related, and we didn’t grow up together. It just happened when I was in recovery at Hunter’s place. We got to know each other, and fell in love in the process.”
I watch the blood drain from his face, then return in a rush. Catherine, to her credit, sips her wine and studies me over the rim.
“I understand this is awkward,” I rumble. “But we thought you would want to know.”
Robert’s jaw works, grinding invisible gears. “When did this start?”
Tara glances at me, then back at her dad. “Again, Dad, it was after the accident. When Hunter took me in, I didn’t remember anything. He was kind. Patient. I fell for him before I even knew who he was to me.”
Catherine’s hand trembles, just once, before she sets her glass down. “So you didn’t realize he was your stepbrother.”
Tara shrugs, her expression neutral.
“Hunter might have told me, but I can’t remember. I was an amnesiac and nothing really makes sense when you’re in that state. It’s like you’re walking around in a daze, and information can go through one ear, and out the other.”
Robert frowns.
“You realize how this looks, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Tara says. “But it’s fine. Hunter and I love each other, and that’s enough for both of us.”
I can see the old Tara and the new Tara, blended together in the cool calm of her voice and her poised expression. She’s unbreakable. I’m so proud that this is my woman and beam, watching her.
Robert looks at me, accusation loaded in his stare. “You seduced my daughter.”
I shake my head. “No. If anything, it was mutual. I tried to keep my distance because I knew I had a vulnerable woman on my hands. Trust me.”
Catherine laughs, brittle and sharp. “But you failed to keep your distance, apparently.”
Tara’s hand covers mine on her thigh, squeezing. “We’re adults,” she says in a firm tone. “This isn’t some forbidden thing. We’re just people who care about each other.”
Catherine is quiet for a long time. Then, in a voice so soft I almost miss it: “Are you happy, the both of you?”
Tara nods. “I am, definitely.”
That should be enough, but I know it isn’t. My mom looks up again, sharp and focused. “Do you want children?”
I blink, thrown. Do we? I have no idea because we haven’t talked about it.
But suddenly, I get a visual of my beautiful stepsister, smiling at me with a big tummy.
My child is in her, and a rush of possession sweeps through my veins so strong and heady that I literally feel disoriented.
I can’t speak, but fortunately, Tara answers for both of us.
“Yes, someday. If it happens, it happens.”
Catherine nods, her eyes flickering. “You’re not genetically related, so that’s less of a concern than I feared.”
Robert lets out a bark of laughter—dry, brittle. “God, you two. What a pair.”
He doesn’t sound angry now. Just tired.