Chapter 38
Alex
A month had passed, and the rhythm of our new life had mostly settled into a luxurious, slightly surreal routine.
I was currently in the kitchen, humming to myself as I pulled a pasta bake out of the oven. It was a basic, homely meal—nothing like the five-course culinary tours Carrie usually put me through—but it was a surprise.
Cooking was one of the few things I’d managed to reclaim.
Carrie still treated the housework like a forbidden zone for me, a fact I’d learned the hard way a few weeks prior.
I’d had a late start at uni and nearly tackled a stranger who walked into the kitchen, only to realise it was the cleaner.
I’d spent ten minutes in a defensive crouch with a toaster in my hand before the poor woman explained who the fuck she was.
Carrie’s apology that night had been... thorough.
Definitely worth the initial heart attack.
But as I set the table, the familiar silence of the house started to grate on me. Behind the heavy oak door of her office, Carrie was in another late-night meeting.
It was the same pattern every fucking evening.
By day, she was the formidable Dr. Carter; by night, she was commanding boardrooms and consulting on international fucking mergers.
I loved her ambition—I really did—but lately, I felt the drain of it.
I didn't move in here for the Mercedes in the drive she insisted she buy for me or the high-end skincare in the ensuite.
Those were bonuses, sure, but they weren't her.
I wanted the woman who hid her face during cheap slasher movies. I wanted the woman who commanded a kitchen like a professional chef, and then slipped on her reading glasses to lose herself in a book in bed. I wanted her time.
The "Dr. Carter" diet was great, but I was starving for an evening where she wasn't checking her watch or answering a "quick" email from fucking Singapore. I’d decided that that night, the shopping sprees and the grand gestures weren't enough. I’d give all of this back in a heartbeat just to have her fully present.
I heard the office door finally click open. A moment later, her footsteps echoed down the hallway—slow, heavy with the weight of the day. She wandered into the kitchen, already reaching for her phone, her eyes scanning a notification.
"The house smells wonderful, darling," she murmured, not looking up yet. "Give me five minutes? I just need to send a quick follow-up to—"
"No," I said softly, stepping into her path and gently taking the phone from her hand.
Carrie blinked, finally focusing on me, her expression shifting from "Corporate Powerhouse" to "Confused Girlfriend."
"Alex?"
"The phone stays on the counter," I said, my voice steady despite the flutter in my chest. "The pasta is ready, and I need to talk to you, Carrie. Not Dr. Carter. Not the board member. Just you.”
Carrie gently placed her phone face-down on the counter, her eyes never leaving mine. For a woman who had spent the last hour staring down academic boards and corporate executives, she suddenly looked incredibly small. She nodded, a ghost of a smile touching her lips.
"Of course, darling," she said softly.
She took her seat at the dining table, looking down at the pasta bake.
It was a far cry from the pan-seared sea bass or truffle risottos we usually had, but her eyes softened as she took in the steam rising from the dish.
I saw that flicker of vulnerability—the raw, unpolished version of Caroline that she kept locked away from everyone else in the world.
She straightened her posture, but her hands were clasped tightly on the table. "So," she said, her voice laced with a tremor of worry that made my heart ache. "We need to talk?"
I took a deep breath, reaching across the table to uncurl one of her hands and lace my fingers through hers. "We do. But it's not a bad thing, Carrie. I just... I need to say this."
I looked around the room—at the designer lighting, the sleek appliances, and the keys sitting on the sideboard to a car I could never have dreamed of driving, let alone having parked outside.
"I love everything you’ve done for me," I started, my voice steady. "The cars, the clothes, the way you protect me—it’s amazing. And I know you do it because you want me to feel safe. But Carrie, I didn't move into this house for the Mercedes or the 'princess' treatment."
Carrie swallowed hard, her thumb brushing nervously against my knuckles. "I know that, Alex. I only wanted to—"
"I know what you wanted," I interrupted gently. "But lately, I feel like I’m living with a ghost. I wake up, and you’re already in the gym or the office. I come home, and you’re behind a closed door until nine o'clock. I’d trade both of those cars in the driveway just to have two hours of you sitting on the sofa with me without your laptop. "
Carrie’s expression faltered, her eyes shimmering with a sudden, painful realisation.
"I've been trying to provide," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I thought if I made your life perfect, if I cleared every obstacle, then you’d... you’d be happy."
"I am happy," I insisted, leaning forward. "But I’m happiest when it’s just us.
Not the provider and the student. Just us.
I don't want more things, Carrie. I want more time. I want the woman who gets scared of the stupid horror films I make her watch, and the one who sits in bed with her reading glasses on, laughing out loud at her books. I want the woman who’s actually here. "
A single tear escaped and tracked a path down her cheek. She looked at the phone on the counter like it was a venomous snake, her shoulders trembling.
Seeing her like that—broken and vulnerable—made me feel like a total prick. I’d never made her cry before. The urge to take it all back, to apologise and tell her I didn't mean it, was overwhelming. I just wanted her attention; I didn't want to break her heart.
Carrie quickly swiped at the tears, her jaw tight as she tried to rein in the composure that usually protected her. But it was too late; the cracks were already there. I couldn’t just sit across the table and watch her crumble under the weight of her own efforts to be perfect.
I pushed my chair back and rounded the table in two strides. Before she could protest or apologise, I was right there, pulling her chair out and kneeling between her legs so I could look up at her.
"Carrie, look at me," I said, taking both of her hands in mine. She eventually met my eyes, her lashes still wet. "I am so in love with you. I know how hard you work, and I know that in some twisted way, you actually enjoy your insane hours. I’m not asking you to stop being the powerhouse you are."
I squeezed her hands, my voice softening.
"But I need you. Can we make a rule? A cut-off time in the evening, or a 'no-laptop' zone?
Something so we both know that time is set aside for us.
Because, honestly? Since moving in, I feel like I get less of you now than I did when we were sneaking around between classes. "
Carrie’s breath hitched, and she leaned forward, resting her forehead against mine. She smelled like the expensive perfume she’d put on twelve hours prior and the faint scent of the office, but her skin was warm and real.
"I didn't realise," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut. "I thought... I thought I was making up for lost time by ensuring your future was secure. I’ve spent so long being the one who has to hold everything together that I forgot how to just be with someone. I’ve never done this before, Alex.”
She pulled back just enough to frame my face with her hands, her thumbs tracing my jawline with a desperate kind of tenderness.
"Seven o'clock," she said, her voice regaining a bit of its firm, decisive edge.
"From seven o'clock onwards, the phone stays in the office.
The laptop stays shut. And the only thing I focus on is the woman who was brave enough to tell me I was being a fool. "
I let out a shaky laugh of relief, leaning into her palm. "You’re not a fool, Carrie. You’re just a lot."
"I am a lot," she agreed, a genuine, tired smile finally breaking through.
She looked at the pasta bake on the table and then back at me.
"And yet, you’re the only person who has ever looked at 'a lot' and asked for more.
I don't deserve you, Alex, but I’m going to spend every evening from seven o'clock proving that I can keep you. "
I shook my head, my hands sliding up to cover hers where they still cupped my face.
"You deserve everything, Carrie. If I could provide all of this—the security, the house, the life—I would do it for you in a heartbeat. But I can’t give you those things yet.
What I can do is this. I can ensure you get my time as much as I get yours. "
Carrie’s gaze wavered, her eyes searching mine as if she was trying to memorise the sincerity there. She was so used to being the one holding the shield, the one with the money and the plan, that the idea of someone taking care of her—even just her time—seemed to stun her.
"I’m not just a project for you to fund, Carrie," I said, my voice dropping to a soft, fierce murmur. "I’m your partner. And partners don’t just live in the same house; they live in each other’s lives."
She let out a long, shuddering breath, the last of her professional rigidity finally dissolving.
She pulled me upward until I was standing between her knees, her arms wrapping tightly around my waist as she buried her face against my stomach.
I could feel her heart thudding against me, a fast, frantic rhythm that finally began to slow.
"I’ve spent half my life building walls," she mumbled into the fabric of my shirt. "I suppose I started building them here, too, without even realising. Thinking that if I gave you enough things, the walls wouldn't matter."