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I roll my eyes. “Long story.” I pour us both a glass of wine. “My father came over today.” I try to sound casual, even though I’m a nervous mess.
“Oh.” He smiles. “And?”
I sip my wine and look into his eyes. “He wants me to get my own apartment.”
His face falls, and then he frowns. “And what did you say?”
“I said that I would.”
20
Charlotte
Spencer’s chin immediately rises in annoyance. I can see he’s clenching his jaw.
“It’s just semantics, Spence. We’ll stay at your house together or at my house together. It won’t change a thing.”
“Then why do it?”
“Because my father doesn’t want me to rush into anything. He said that he will accept our relationship if I’m not living with you straight away.”
He stares at me.
“Please try and understand, my family are so important to me and they’re just worried that I’m going to get hurt.”
He licks his lips, and I know he’s choosing his words carefully.
“You even said yourself that if you were me you would get your own apartment. On some level, you know what they’re saying is true.”
He rolls his eyes.
“But I won’t have my own apartment—not really. We’ll just have two apartments between us. Six months down the line, after a little independence, I’ll officially move in here.”
He sits on a stool and then scratches his head, remaining silent.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“Does it matter what I think?”
“Of course it does.”
He shrugs and pours a glass of wine.
Just say something… anything.
I sit down beside him. I think that at any moment he’s going to go crazy, watching as he sips his wine.
“Do what you want,” he eventually mutters.
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“I mean do what you want.” He shrugs.
“Are you angry with me?”
“Angry, no. Disappointed… yes.”
My heart drops. “You’re disappointed,” I whisper. I think I would prefer him to be angry.
