Page 192 of Stranger to Love

"It sounds incredible, Caroline," Mum said, her eyes wistful as she listened to the description of the Italian coast. "We’ve never been much further than a caravan in Wales, have we, Phil? Italy... that’s the stuff of films."

I watched Carrie’s expression as my mum spoke. Her eyes softened, and that calculating look entered her gaze—the one she got when she was already mentally opening her fucking banking app. I could practically see the gears turning; she was probably already checking the availability of a first-class flight for two more people, or scouting a villa with a ground-floor suite that would be easier on my mum’s joints.

I chuckled, shaking my head and nudging her shoulder with mine. "Don't you dare, Carrie," I whispered, though I was smiling.

"Don't I dare what, darling?" she asked, playing completely innocent while sipping her wine.

"I knew that look. You were about five minutes away from booking them a flight on a random Tuesday just because you could," I teased. "You had a serious problem with wanting to make everyone’s dreams come true at once."

Carrie tilted her head, her smirk turning elegant and unrepentant. "And was that such a terrible trait to have? If I had the means to replace a caravan in Wales with a balcony in Sorrento, why shouldn't I?"

Dad laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Don't you go spoiling us too much, Caroline. You’ve already done more for this family than we ever expected."

"I haven't even started," Carrie murmured, and the way she said it—so calm and certain—made me realise she was serious. To her, this wasn't about the money; it was about building a fortress of comfort around the people I loved.

I reached over and took her hand under the table, squeezing it tightly. She was this incredibly powerful, sometimes terrifying woman, but there, with my parents, she was just... ours.

"Well," I said, raising my glass to break the spell before I got too soppy again. "To Italy. And to the fact that I was officially a second-year student who didn't have to look at a textbook for at least three months.”

As the main courses were served, Dad leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye that told me I was about to be the evening’s fucking entertainment.

"The thing was, Caroline," he started, ignoring my warning glare, "we had no idea what we were doing back then. We had Alex's grandparents helping when they could, but really, we were just making it up as we went. Like the time she was three..."

I let out a loud, pained groan, burying my face in my hands. "Dad, please. Not this story. I have a reputation to uphold."

"Oh, hush, Alex," Carrie said, her voice smooth and brimming with delight. She rested her chin on her hand, leaning toward my dad with rapt attention. "Please, Phil, continue."

Dad grinned, clearly encouraged. "Well, she’d decided she was a professional explorer. We found her in the middle of the night, fully dressed in her winter coat over her pyjamas, sitting in the kitchen with a backpack full of nothing but individual slices of processed cheese and a plastic dinosaur. She told us she was 'going to find the moon' because it looked lonely."

Carrie burst into a rich, melodic laugh that vibrated through the air. "A pragmatist even then. Cheese and a dinosaur—the essentials for any lunar expedition."

"I was a visionary!" I protested, though my face was fucking burning.

I kept groaning and rolling my eyes as the stories kept coming—each one more embarrassing than the last—but inside, there was a warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the wine. Seeing them like that—the two most important parts of my life merging so effortlessly—was more than I ever dared to hope for.

I looked at Carrie as she watched my dad, her eyes bright with genuine interest, and then she glanced at me, her expression softening into that private, soul-shattering look she saved just for me.

In that moment, a thought hit me so hard it nearly stole my breath: If I weren't absolutely fucking crazy, I’d ask her to marry me right then. The sheer certainty of it terrified me and thrilled me all at once. I knew we’d already talked about the future, about making this last, but, fuck me, every time something like that happened, the weight of it hit me all over again. I had zero chance of ever letting her go. She’d woven herself into the very fabric of my world, and I was pretty sure I’d be lost without her.

Carrie noticed my sudden silence and reached over, her thumb stroking the back of my hand. "Are you alright, darling? You’ve gone a bit quiet."

"Fine," I managed to say, my voice a little hitched. "Just realising I was never going to live the cheese story down, was I?"

"Never," she whispered, her eyes dancing with a promise of future teasing. "I thought I might need to buy you a plastic dinosaur for the trip to Rome. Just for old time's sake.”

As the dinner plates were cleared, Carrie insisted on ordering a selection of desserts for the table to share. When the platter arrived—a masterpiece of decadent chocolate tortes, zesty lemon tarts, and delicate macarons—it felt like the perfect, sugary punctuation mark to the night.

We all dug in, the previous formality of the posh restaurant completely forgotten. I found myself laughing as Dad tried to pronounce "mille-feuille" with a thick accent, and Mum practically swooned over a spoonful of raspberry sorbet.

"I don't think I've ever tasted anything quite like this," Mum said, her expression one of pure, quiet contentment. She looked over at me, then at Carrie, and for a moment, the room seemed to go still. "Thank you, Caroline. Not just for the food, but for... everything. For looking after our Alex."

Carrie reached out, her hand momentarily covering Mum’s on the table. "It was my privilege, Karen. Truly."

I sat back, watching them through a slight haze of wine and happiness. The heavy, protective armour I’d worn for years—the one that kept me guarded and perpetually fucking tired—had finally started to crumble. I didn’t need it there.

Carrie caught my eye, sliding a small piece of dark chocolate onto my side of the plate. "You're doing it again, darling," she murmured, her voice a private low frequency meant only for me.

"Doing what?" I asked, my voice thick.