33. Carter

Chapter 33

Carter

M y fork is loaded with my last mouthful when my mother speaks. “Should we be concerned that none of you ever bring anyone to family dinners?”

Here we go.

It has been a while since this topic of conversation has come up at one of our dinners, so I really shouldn’t be surprised it's being brought up now. What does surprise me is Mum waited until the end of the meal; Diana Lawrence doesn’t beat around the bush.

In my siblings and my defence, the last person to bring someone to a family dinner was Teddy, but that was many years ago now and admittedly didn’t end well.

I make a point of saying nothing, intent on enjoying the remaining mouthful of my dinner, when I feel my sister’s eyes on me. Looking up, I see her giving me a pointed look from across the table. “Don’t,” is all I say in response, my voice low in the hopes only Emmy hears. Unfortunately for me, our mother has ears like a bat. She perks up, clasping her hands together with a big grin on her face.

“What’s that, my dear?”?

“Nothing Mother, I was just speaking to Emmy.”

“Don’t be shy, Cart,” Emmy interjects, far too pleased with herself.

Our mother’s head swivels between us like she’s watching Wimbledon. I reach a hand across the table, grasping one of hers and giving it a squeeze. “I assure you, if there was someone in the picture, you’d know about it.” I ignore the small twitch in my cheek as I speak, but my mother is far too observant.

“Okay sweetheart, if you say so.” She gives me a wink and pats the hand encasing hers. Her words might say she believes me, but those two gestures say the complete opposite. One look in my father’s direction says he’s thinking exactly what she is: they don’t buy it one bit.?

But he isn’t looking at me; he’s grinning like an idiot at my mother. I turn back to her, and she puts her chin to her shoulder, stifling something like a giggle. What am I missing here??

“Sorry Di, I promise I tried to stay out of it, sweetheart.”

“Oh I doubt that very much, Freddie. You’ve always been a meddler.”?

My father winks in response, and a lightbulb comes to life in my head. I know exactly what he’s referring to: Lara. What the hell has he told Mum about her? Does he have something else up his sleeve? What does he know?

Fuck. Me.

I refuse to have this conversation.

Clearing my throat, I let go of Mum’s hand and raise my wine glass. “I’m going to get a refill. Would anyone else care for one?” My family's responses ring out almost simultaneously.?

“Yes please, darling.”

“Thanks, Son.”?

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll help you, Cart.”

Emmy is out of her chair and on her way to the kitchen before I can decline her offer. She corners me the moment I step foot into the large space.

“It must be so inconvenient having that little cheek twitch when you’re not telling the truth.” I reach for the door to the wine fridge, but Emmy blocks my path with her body. I place my hands on her shoulders and gently push her to the side.

“Why would you get Mum’s hopes up when you know damn well there’s nobody in the picture?”

“That’s not what I’ve heard.” Her tone is off. The way she throws the words at me like a weapon is so unlike her. Emmy tilts her head to one side and pops that shoulder up, the picture of smugness.

I’m momentarily stumped—did Lara say something?—before the obvious answer smacks me in the face. Undoubtedly, it came from Teddy. Wanker. Normally I can talk to my brother about things and know without a doubt it’ll stay between us, but apparently that sentiment doesn’t extend to conversations about women. Or more specifically, Lara .

“Oh, he’s going to get it.”

“Sounds an awful lot like he’s right.”

“Mind your business, Emilia.” I leave my sister in the kitchen with my parents' wine glasses. With Teddy’s glass in one hand and mine in the other, I return to the dining room to find his chair empty. My parents both give me a warm smile. “Emmy has your glasses, she’ll be out in a moment. I’ll take this to Teddy.”

The library on the ground floor of my parent’s home is where I spent a lot of my time during my childhood. Often I was reading, but Teddy and I also frequented the grand room because it served as an excellent space to play. Teddy also found it to be a haven when things felt like a lot , which is how I knew I’d find him here.

“I’d really like to kick your arse right now for whatever you told Emmy, but I don’t like my odds.”

My brother turns in place where he’s sitting in one of the deep blue occasional chairs in the centre of the room. As he does so, I’m reminded of the sheer size of him. We might be the same height, but I’ve got nothing on his width. Shoutout to the British Army for being the reason I could never take Teddy on.

He gives me a once over, holding in a chuckle. “You’d be on your arse before you even got close enough to kick mine.”

I make my way over to my brother, repressing my own laugh as I smooth a hand along my jaw and take a seat in the chair opposite him, passing him his glass in the process. “What have you been telling her?”

“Only the truth.” Teddy leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He rests his chin on his thumbs, steepling his pointer fingers against his mouth. It’s no wonder the rookies he trains are often terrified of him; I’ve known him my whole life, and he still intimidates me when he assesses me like this. Thick brown brows are drawn down over his narrowed eyes, and I resist the urge to squirm under the scrutiny.?

“Sounds like it’s your warped version of the truth. Why does she think I’d have someone to bring home to meet our parents?” Hopefully the casual persona I’m trying to portray looks less forced than it feels.?

“Probably because she lives with the woman in question.”

“It’s casual with Lara, you know that. I’m sure Emmy does too, since, as you pointed out, they live together.”

“But you don’t want it to be casual.”

“When have I ever said that?”

“You don’t need to say it. I know you, Carter. I know the way you normally look at women, and it’s got nothing on the way you look when you’re merely talking about Lara. I can only imagine the puppy dog look you have when you look at her.”

“You’re a dick.”

“Even so, I’m right, and we both know it.”

There’s no way I’m admitting it right now because I’ll never hear the end of it, but he is right. The way I feel about Lara has snuck up on me like a lion to its prey, slow and unnoticed at first, but there’s no going back once it strikes. I’m at her mercy. But I don’t think I was ever not at her mercy.

We sit in comfortable silence for a while. My eyes skim over all the titles on the shelves, reminiscing on days long ago snuggled up on the adjacent lounge with Granny. It’s because of her influence that I have a deep love for the classics. For years I sat in her arms, normally wrapped in a blanket or curled up by the warmth of the fireplace, as she read me the likes of Austen, Hardy, Orwell, and Bronte.

Their stories stuck with me, and over the years, they helped me through heartbreak and loss, including the tragic loss of Granny.?

Teddy remains quiet but begins to tap his index finger against his lip and absentmindedly shakes his right leg up and down in quick succession. I wonder what’s going through his mind. Just as I’m about to ask him, he gets in first.

“Ask her on a date.”

“Excuse me?”

Teddy sits back, crossing one ankle over the other. His right arm rests on the chair's arm, his left closing into a fist and bearing the weight of his chin. “Ask. Her. On. A. Date.” Each word is irritatingly punctuated by a tap on the arm of the chair, the thick cords of muscle flexing in his forearm as he does so.

“I can’t do that, she’s my assistant.”

“Piss poor excuse; you’re sleeping with her. Try again.”

“She’ll be returning to Australia in a few months.”

“So your options are a) do nothing different, continue sleeping with her for a few months and wave her goodbye with nothing but regret when she leaves, or b) grow the fuck up, ask her out and enjoy whatever comes until you have to wave her goodbye, but with no regrets.”

The temptation to pick option B is strong. But what about the image I’m portraying for the sake of my family? If we were to go on a date, the media would label her yet another woman through the revolving door of that is the Oxford Street Playboy, and I won’t allow that. Lara deserves better. The least favourable option seems the easiest way to go.

“Option A, thanks.”

“It was a statement not a question, arsehole. You really don't think she's worth it?”

“Of course she’s worth it, but I can’t.”

“You can and you will.” Teddy stands, taking two short strides to close the distance between us, his crisp white trainers now toe-to-toe with my Oxfords. He holds a hand out at me expectantly. “Give me your phone.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Give me your phone, Carter.”?

Teddy reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls his own phone out. A picture of Winnie mid-giggle comes into view as Teddy waggles his phone in front of me. “If you’re going to be a child about this, I’ll text her myself.”

“Fuck! Fine.” I rip my phone from my trousers pocket, keeping a strong hold on it in case my brother tries to manhandle it from my grasp.

The arsehole sits down with an unnecessarily exaggerated casualty, making me want to slap the smirk right off his face. Phone returning to his pocket, Teddy crosses one leg over the other, wrapping clasped hands around his knee, and waits. If I weren’t so pissed at him, I’d laugh at the dramatic display. Perhaps Emmy is more like him than I realised.

I glance over at my brother, quickly averting my gaze back to my phone when he sees. “So, uh, if you were to text her, what would you say?”

“Well,” Teddy begins, rubbing his palms together, “I’d offer to cook her dinner.”

“But you hate cooking?”

“You don’t,” he says simply.

The urge to slap him is replaced by the urge to pull him into a hug. He gets on my last nerve sometimes, but I’d be lost without him.

Although I refuse to admit it, at least for now, the way I feel about Lara isn’t something I’ve felt before. It’s unchartered territory, and I’m fucking terrified I’ll screw it up.