Page 138 of Stranger to Love

Richard nodded vigorously. "Crystal clear, CC. I promise."

I looked down at my girl. "Are you alright, darling? Do you need anything else?"

She shook her head, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic of her mug.

"Well, I’ll make you lunch, darling," I said, a genuine, soft expression existing only for her. I pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, my lips grazing the edge of the mark I had left there—a quiet, public claim. I turned toward the fridge, humming under my breath, beginning to prep ingredients with fluid, confident movements.

The kitchen was filled with the rhythmic sound of chopping, leaving the two of them in a heavy, awkward silence.

"So," Richard started, his voice tentative as he tried to catch Alex’s eye. "How long have you two... known each other? You work at the University too?"

"I don't work at the University," Alex said, her voice steady. "I work at a bar."

"A bartender?" Richard blinked, a flash of judgment flickering—until he caught the way my knife hit the cutting board with a fraction more force. He winced, quickly correcting himself. "I mean, that's cool. Busy night last night, I bet. New Year’s Eve and all."

"It was a very long night," she replied.

Richard looked at her new jumper, then at me, struggling to do the math. "Right. Well. It’s nice, CC. You’ve always had... specific taste."

I did not look up from the stove. "She isn't taste, Richard. She’s the person who keeps me sane. Try to remember that before you open your mouth again."

I moved around the kitchen with a grace that made my own heart tighten. I caught Alex staring at me and offered her a slow, devastating smirk—the kind that said I knew exactly what she was thinking.

Richard cleared his throat again, clearly trying to find some reason to justify why his dignified sister was so obsessed with the girl from the bar. "So, um... How old are you, exactly?"

The sizzle of the pan grew louder. My hand paused for a fraction of a second. I could feel the temperature in the kitchen drop.

"Old enough to recognise a boundary when she sees one, Richard," I said, my voice smooth and dangerous. I turned around, the spatula held like a sceptre. "And old enough to be the woman who currently has more authority in this house than you do.”

"I’m just asking! Just being friendly!" he protested, blustering. "Just small talk, CC."

"Be friendly with your lunch," I snapped, sliding a plate of perfectly prepared food onto the island in front of Alex, then a much smaller, less impressive portion onto the table for him. "And keep your questions to yourself."

I moved back to Alex’s side, my hip brushing against hers as I leaned against the counter. She was eating, and I was finally relaxing.

Richard let out a short, scoffing laugh, looking at me with a patronising tilt of his chin. "Honestly, CC, don't you think you're being a bit over the top with the young girl? I mean, I get it, she’s pretty, but the 'authority' talk? The hovering? It’s a bit theatrical, even for you."

I froze. I slowly set my fork down on the edge of my plate with a soft, melodic clink that sounded like a funeral bell.

"Theatrical?" I repeated. My voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.

"Yeah," Richard carried on, oblivious to the landmine he had stepped upon. "It’s just a bit much. You’re acting like she’s the Queen of Sheba instead of some—"

"Richard."

I said his name with a finality that finally reached his lizard brain. He stopped.

I turned my head slowly to look at him. The look in my eyes was cold, calculated loathing. I reached out and placed my hand over Alex’s on the counter, my thumb drawing a slow, possessive circle over her knuckles.

"You are a guest in this house by the skin of your teeth," I said, my voice vibrating with a subsonic threat. "And yet, you sit at my table, eating the food I prepared, while insulting the woman I have chosen to share my life with. You speak of 'authority' as if it’s a performance. Let me be very clear: there is nothing theatrical about how quickly I will put you back on the street if you finish that sentence."

I leaned forward, my grip on Alex’s hand tightening. "Alex is not 'some girl.' She is the only reason you aren't currently dragging your luggage through the mud. Now, apologise to her. Properly. Or put your fork down and leave."

Richard pulled a face, his frustration finally bubbling over. “CC, come fucking on.”

The air vanished from the room.

I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. Instead, I dismantled him with surgical, lethal efficiency, methodically peeling away his posturing until there was nothing left but a jobless, middle-aged man begging for space in a house that was not his. I laid out his debts, his irrelevance, and his total dependence on my goodwill in crisp, terrible detail. By the time I finished, I had made it painfully clear that he was nothing more than a ghost haunting my hallways—while Alex was the immovable, protected centre of my world.