Page 139 of Stranger to Love

Finally, Richard stammered it out, his face a mottled shade of humiliated red. "I'm sorry, Alex. I... I didn't mean it like that. I'm sorry for being disrespectful."

He looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floor. I did not look at him. My entire aura shifted back to the devotion I felt for the woman at my side. I turned to her, my hand still anchoring hers to the marble.

"Darling?" I asked, my voice dripping with silk and genuine concern. "Do you accept that? Or would you like a better one than that? Because I can certainly make him try again until he gets the tone right.”

I watched her closely. She looked between the shivering mess that was my brother and me, her eyes reflecting a chaotic, dizzying realisation. She was only just beginning to comprehend the depth of the power I had placed in her hands. She was the girl from the bar, yes, but to me, she was the only person who had ever mattered. I would see the rest of my family crumble to ash if it meant keeping the look of wonder and belonging in her eyes.

"It’s okay," she managed, her voice soft and slightly unsteady. "I accept it, Carrie. It's fine."

I didn't release her hand immediately. I needed to be certain. Her grace in this moment was as intoxicating as her spirit. "Are you sure, baby?" I pressed, my gaze searching the depths of hers to ensure she wasn't merely being polite.

When she gave a small, decisive nod, I finally granted my brother the acknowledgment of my focus. I turned back to him, my expression neutral, my authority absolute.

"You heard her," I said, my voice steady and final. "You're forgiven. For now."

Chapter 31

Alex

The light of the second morning of the year filtered through the heavy curtains, casting the room in a soft, hazy grey. I lay perfectly still, staring up at the ornate moulding of the ceiling, the silk nightgown Carrie had given me feeling like a cool second skin.

Yesterday had been surreal.

I felt fucking breathless. Share her life with? The words roared in my ears, louder than the blood rushing to my face. My brain was fucking misfiring, trying to categorise the shift from "girl she keeps at her house" to "woman she’s chosen to share her life with."

Carrie had been every bit the dutiful, caring woman she’d promised to be after she’d fucked me senseless. But with Richard lurking in the guest room like a ghost of her "real" life, every touch and every "darling" felt charged with a heavy layer of performance.

The mattress beside me was cold. Carrie had kissed me awake—a soft, lingering press of lips to my temple—and slipped out with the whispered promise of breakfast in bed. Again.

I was still mulling it over, the words “share my life with” echoing in the quiet like a bell that wouldn't stop ringing. She hadn't brought it up since she threw it at Richard’s head, and I hadn't had the guts to ask. Maybe it was just a weapon—a sharp, linguistic blade used to cut her brother down. It would be just like her to use a truth as a shield.

But then there were the flutters. They were back, thrumming deep in my chest. This was different. It was a terrifying, grounding weight.

I loved her. The thought alone felt like a confession, a surrender that made my pulse skip. I didn’t know how to handle this. I was the girl who worked the bar, her student, the one who got marked and claimed in the dark, and she was... she was everything.

I heard the light, distinct padding of Carrie’s bare feet on the stairs. Panic and affection warred in my gut. I wanted to hide under the covers, and I wanted to scream it from the rooftops. I wanted to be hers, but the "sharing her life" part? That sounded like a forever I wasn't sure I was allowed to have.

The door handle turned.

Carrie entered with effortless poise, a silver tray balanced in one hand. She set it down with a soft chime, but before she even looked at the food, she turned back to the door. The audible click of the lock was the first thing that let me breathe—the sounds of the world, and Richard, being shut out again.

She crawled into bed, the mattress dipping as she slid toward me. She pressed a kiss to the top of my head, her scent—expensive soap and a faint hint of coffee—wrapping around me.

Before she could reach for the tray, I moved. I caught her wrist, stopping her mid-motion. I wrapped my arms around her neck and pulled her down into me. I needed this.

The kiss wasn't like the ones from the night before; there was no bite to it, no demand for surrender. It was soft, lingering, and thick with all the things I couldn’t find the words to say. I pulled her closer, my fingers digging into the fabric of her robe, my leg hooking over hers until there was no space left between us. It was a kiss born of pure need—not for her body, but for her.

When I finally pulled back, Carrie stayed hovered over me, her breath hitching, her lower lip caught between her teeth. I saw a flicker of raw vulnerability in her eyes.

A small, shaky chuckle escaped me. "Good morning," I whispered.

Carrie’s gaze softened, the vulnerability melting into profound devotion. "Good morning, darling," she smiled softly.

I kissed her again, a soft, grazing brush of lips. "I wish I didn’t have to work today," I whispered against her mouth. "I just want to stay locked in this bubble with you. Forever."

Carrie’s hand stilled on my cheek. She pulled back just enough to look me in the eye, her expression shifting into that focused, academic gravity that usually meant she was about to change my life.

"Darling," she said, her voice low and steady. "If you truly want that, you know I will support you. If you let me, Alex... you would never have to work at that bar again. You would only need to focus on your studies, get your degree, and spend your free time here, with me. I will take care of your parents’ bills. I will take care of everything."