“Now you’re taking the piss,” he grumbled.
What I didn’t tell him was that I needed a dry pair of knickers on before my parent got here.
?? ?? ??
Meeting Sophie, Eric and their two children had been a breeze. Even FaceTiming with his parents had been fun. Gianna and Nicholas were so relaxed that it made me question whether living in England was a mistake. Although I suspected Gianna had been a little tipsy, so there was that.
I’d been drawn to his mum’s warmth. Apparently, that was the famous Italian mama effect. It also explained exactly where Alistair got his dark hair and eyes from.
“If you want me to greet your parents with a hard on, keep looking at me like that,” he whispered as my parents got out of the car.
“Any excuse,” I whispered back, forcing a smile on my face as my parents faced us.
Dread seeped in the moment I met my mother’s eyes.
I saw it—the flash of dismay as her gaze flicked over my appearance.
Alistair stepped forward to greet my dad, calm and solid, while I remained frozen in place.
“Is that purple dye in your hair, Calista?”
Fuck.
I glanced at Alistair.
He heard it. My full name.
I’d hoped I could delay that reveal a little longer.
His expression didn’t change, but his eyes? They promised retribution.
Of course, all that did was ruin yet another pair of knickers.
I smiled sweetly through my mother’s disapproval.
“Yes. I fancied a change.”
She frowned, brushed past me, and walked straight into our home like she owned it. I followed her inside and watched as she peered into the various rooms, inspecting everything like it was some kind of open house. Then her back stiffened, and she marched straight into the living room.
My dad lingered near the door.
“Hi, Dad,” I said quietly.
“Hi, Callie,” he replied, offering a brief, awkward hug before following his wife.
“Calista?” Alistair drawled from behind me.
“Ugh. Don’t. It reminds me of my mother’s lectures on her saintly ways,” I muttered. “I’m legally changing it.”
One day.
I let Alistair handle the pleasantries while I fetched their drinks—Prosecco for my mother, fruit punch for my dad. The kitchen was warm with the scent of herbs and roast beef. Normally, I’d be salivating over one of Alistair’s roast dinners, but today my nerves had shut down my appetite.
I was on my way back when I heard her.
“You’re a little old for her, don’t you think?”
I paused, hidden just beyond the doorway.
