Page 127 of Stranger to Love

She stayed there for a moment, just breathing me in, before she pulled back and reached for the heavy jewellers bag on the bed. This was more than I could’ve hoped for, fuck my chest felt all fluttery. She looked at me with a soft, watery smile, her poise slowly returning, though her hand still rested protectively on my book.

"Now," she said, her voice regaining its low, commanding hum. "Open yours. I think you'll find our themes for the year are quite... aligned."

I pulled the slim velvet box from the bag, my fingers fucking trembling slightly. When the lid clicked open, I found myself staring at a necklace of dark, oxidised silver. It was fucking breathtaking—a delicate, intricate pendant that caught the morning light in a way that felt moody and sophisticated, exactly like the woman who bought it.

I chewed on my lip, my heart skipping beats as I stroked the cool metal. The only proper jewellery I owned was tucked away in a dusty box—heirlooms from my grandmother that I’ve never been able to wear because they felt like they belonged to a different life, a different version of me.

Fuck. But this? This was chosen for me. By her.

"It’s beautiful, Carrie," I whispered, my voice thick.

"Flip it over, Alex," she murmured, her gaze fixed on my face, watching for my reaction with that familiar, intense focus.

I lifted the pendant, my thumb rubbing the smooth metal on the back. As I tilted it toward the light, I saw the engraving in a sharp, elegant script: My darling.

Fuck, I couldn’t cry.

A rush of heat and emotion flooded my chest. It was a simple phrase, but after last night and the way she held me, it felt like a fucking brand. It was a silent, shimmering claim that I could wear against my skin every single day.

"I wanted you to have something that reminded you of who you belong to," Carrie said, her voice dropping into that low, possessive register that made my stomach fucking flip. "Even when I'm not in the room to remind you myself."

I looked up at her, my eyes stinging. "Put it on me?"

Carrie smiled, a soft, triumphant expression. She took the necklace from the box and moved behind me. I lifted my hair, fucking shivering as her cool fingers brushed against the back of my neck. As she fastened the clasp, she leaned down, her lips grazing the spot where my shoulder met my neck.

"There," she whispered, her hands resting on my shoulders as she looked at our reflection in the mirror leant against my wall. The dark silver sat perfectly against my skin, a permanent tether to her. "Perfect."

Just as the moment threatened to pull us back under the fucking covers, a thunderous bang echoed from the hallway, followed by the smell of sizzling butter and the high-pitched trill of a Christmas carol.

"Pancakes are up!" Dad bellowed from downstairs. "Ten minutes, you two! Or I’m eating the bacon myself!"

Carrie let out a soft, resigned sigh against my neck, though I could see the ghost of a smile on her lips. "It seems our private Christmas is over, princess. Duty calls.”

"Carrie," I rasped, stopping her from standing. I tugged her back toward me, seeking a kiss I desperately fucking needed. She didn’t fight; she sank into me, and I held her tightly, the weight of the silver heavy against my chest. This woman was more than I ever could have fucking dreamed of. And somehow, impossibly, she actually wanted me.

The tiny kitchen was filled with the scent of sizzling bacon, sweet batter, and the kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the stove. Dad was in his fucking element, flipping lopsided pancakes with a flourish that occasionally sent a drop of batter onto the tiles, while Mum insisted on standing, leaning against the counter with a stubborn smile as she watched the chaos.

The four of us were crammed together in a space meant for two, but for the first time, it didn't feel fucking suffocating. Carrie stood slightly back, leaning against the doorframe with a mug of coffee in hand. She was watching Dad and me bicker over the exact level of "doneness" for the bacon, and when I looked over, I saw her actually smiling—not a smirk or a polite curve of the lips, but a genuine, radiant expression that made her look years younger. I was fucking breathless.

Breakfast was a messy, happy affair eaten on our laps on the new sofas. The coffee was strong, the pancakes were slightly burnt at the edges, and the atmosphere was lighter than it had been in a decade.

Once the plates were cleared, the main event began. Carrie sat beside me, her hand resting on my knee as she watched my parents and me exchange gifts. It was humble—thick wool socks for Dad, a new sketchpad for me, a soft scarf for Mum. They were small things, chosen with careful thought to the pennies, and I could see Carrie taking it all in with a look of quiet, profound observation. I knew she knew what it was like and her being here was the best fucking gift I could ask for.

Then, the room went quiet.

"Caroline," Mum said, her voice a little shaky as she reached under the tree. She pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box and tentatively passed it over. "We know you and Alex haven't been together all that long. And we know you have everything you could possibly want. But you’ve done more for us in a week than we could have ever imagined. This is just... a little something to show our appreciation."

Carrie actually blinked in surprise, her hand hovering over the box for a split second before she took it. For a woman who handled million-pound contracts without breaking a sweat, she looked momentarily fucking paralysed.

"Karen, you didn't need to—" Carrie started, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

"Please," Dad added, nodding firmly. "Open it."

Carrie carefully peeled away the paper, her movements even more delicate than they were with my book. Inside the box lay a small, hand-painted ceramic ornament of a robin—a local artisan piece from the Christmas market Mum used to visit. It was simple, fragile, and undeniably home. I felt a lump in my fucking throat.

Carrie’s thumb brushed over the painted feathers. She didn't say anything for a long moment, and I could feel the tension in her leg against mine. When she finally looked up at my parents, her eyes were bright.

"It’s beautiful," she said, her voice thick with a sincerity that made my heart swell. "I’ll find a very special place for it. Thank you both."