by Amity Cross
When Juliette came in that night for her usual training, I still wasn’t sure how to broach the subject of dinner.
We hadn’t been together long—barely two weeks, though it honestly felt more than that—and it was far too soon to be meeting the parents. Especially mine. Chaos, disappointment, resentment, bickering…
She bounded across the mats and slipped her palms up my chest, her body meshing with mine. Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pulled me in for one hell of a hello kiss. Her lips were soft and tasted sweet, her tongue demanding attention. I gladly gave her what she wanted, and when she finally pulled away, her cheeks were flushed.
“Hey,” I murmured. “Good to see you.”
Her kiss was a surprise, especially considering how hesitant she was the other week. Meaning, the first time I’d seen her after we finally slept together. Intimacy seemed like a foreign concept to her, but now she seemed comfortable with me. Fuck, it was hot. Especially when hello consisted of full tongue and her perfect breasts jammed against my chest.
“What kind of training do you want to do tonight?” I asked. “The upstairs kind or the downstairs?”
When she tensed, I chuckled. My cheeky words had hit her right where it counted. My favorite place.
She rolled her eyes. “Caleb…”
“What?” I shrugged, throwing in a wink for good measure.
“I think I need to burn some calories,” she replied. “In the gym to begin with.”
I wiggled my eyebrows. “That gives me hope. Leave some for me.”
“Don’t worry, there’s plenty that needs burning.”
“How was work today?” I asked as I followed her to the back of the studio.
“Ugh, my boss is obsessed with cock bulges,” she declared.
I laughed, shaking my head. “Cock bulges?”
“There was a focus group to select a new cover for a romance today,” she explained. “Apparently, a little cock bulge sends the consumers wild. Up to forty percent more, in fact.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, my cock twitching.
“You could do it, you know.”
“Do what? I’m pretty sure we’ve already determined my cock can bulge just fine.”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “Model for a book cover.”
“Model?” I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Nope.”
“Why not? You’ve got the goods.”
“Nah, I don’t think flexing in front of a camera is my thing. It’s a little vein for me.”
“Really? If you reconsider, I can hook you up.”
“I’ll pass.”
I took my usual position, shouldering the bag to stop it from swinging too much, and she raised her fists. Right, left, right. She went through a few repetitions, just the way I’d taught her, before settling into a rhythm.
Watching her best I could from my obscured vantage point, I tried to think of the right words. How did you ask the woman you cared about if she wanted to meet your demanding parents? It wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do. From the little she’d told me, her parents sounded a little intense themselves. Maybe she would understand.
Juliette paused, her gaze searching mine. “You’re fidgeting.”
“Sorry.”
She frowned. “Something happen today?”
“My father called,” I began, knowing I’d have to bring up the demand for dinner sooner rather than later.
“I don’t like that look,” she murmured, cupping my face with her boxing gloves.
“They want to meet you,” I blurted.
Juliette cocked her head to the side, her forehead creasing. “You told them about me?”
“Uh, not exactly…”
Her eyebrows rose as her hands fell away.
“Dad jumped to conclusions that day he was here. Before we…” It was a lame explanation, but thankfully, she seemed to buy it. It was completely plausible.
“Oh…” She frowned. “When?”
“Saturday.”
“This Saturday?”
I nodded, studying the flecks in her blue eyes.
“But the expo is this weekend,” she said. “There will be all kinds of opportunities to meet important people, and Jade… She’s counting on me.” Her expression became troubled as she glanced away. I knew her well enough to know her mind was working overtime.
“I had to ask,” I muttered. “My parents are the kind of people who never let up once they get an idea in their heads. Dad especially. He’s a commanding son of a bitch.”
“I don’t remember him much,” she said, “but he was a little intense. Is it going to cause trouble?”
“Trouble?” It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. “Unlikely. It’s more about me than you.”
She hesitated, her brow creasing in the way it always did when she was thinking about something intently.
“Honestly,” I went on, “my mum will likely adore you and start planning our wedding. And my father will probably be late if he shows up at all.” The moment I uttered the word wedding, Juliette paled. “Don’t read too much into it. What we’re doing here is more than I’d ever dreamed could happen.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“It means you’re my girl, Jules. I’ve never got this far before.”
Her eyes widened. “Never?”
“It’s always been about boxing for me,” I explained. “Training, fighting, winning. My dad’s catchphrase is pretty much failure is not an option.” I imitated his voice. “I never had time for anything else. It was like I had blinders on, and then I met you. It was like I could see all the possibilities I’d been missing. I’m a thirty-year-old man who’s never really tasted life, but now I see there’s something else out there. Something I really like.”
“I don’t think I ever had the courage,” she murmured. “To really be with someone. Either that or I had horrible taste in men.”
“Had?”
“Had.”
I smiled, my lips curving lopsidedly. “Then it makes this even better, right?”
Her eyes sparkled, and I imagined I could see hope there.
“We can do this together,” I went on. “Discover.”
She nodded, bumping me in the guts with her boxing glove. “I like the sound of that.”
Turning back to the punching bag, I shouldered it again as she continued her reps. After a while, she slowed, then stepped away, shaking out her arms. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead, and she swiped it away with the back of her arm.
“Is it really that important to you?” she asked. “Dinner with your parents? If it is, then…”
I didn’t like putting her in this position. My guts twisted, and I scowled, wishing we could just hide away someplace and not have to deal with them.
“If you can swing it, then yeah, I suppose,” I said, knowing it would satisfy them for the time being and give us both some peace. “If you need to work, I can handle my dad.”
She shrugged, casting her gaze toward the punching bag. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Reaching up, I ran my palm over the small of her back and leaned close. Placing a chaste kiss on her shoulder, I whispered, “Thanks.”
Watching as Juliette started to pound her fists into the bag again, I caught my breath, not realizing I’d been holding tension in my shoulders our entire conversation. She was fast becoming the center of my universe, and I wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Everything going forward from this moment was uncharted territory, and it alarmed me more than it should.
She and I? It was good. Nothing was wrong with it at all. Sure, there were still secrets hanging between us, but it wasn’t as simple as sitting down and hashing it out. Juliette had been through something terrible. Forcing her to confront her past could do more harm than good. Still, there was still so much left unsaid.
All I could do was hope dinner with my parents wasn’t a step too far.
21
Juliette
> Caleb picked me up at six thirty on Saturday night.
The first two days of the expo had passed in a whirlwind, and I manned the Slattery Press booth, handing out flyers, giving advanced reader copies of our upcoming titles to journalists and book reviewers, exchanging pleasantries, and basically, being run off my feet. Jade was in and out of meetings, leaving Hayley and me alone most of the time. Other editors and department heads rotated through the space from time to time, but we were trusted to make sure things were running smoothly.
Still, dinner at the Carmichael’s loomed, my nervousness at meeting Caleb’s parents casting a shadow over the weekend. The whole thing meant I would miss the Gala Reception—the expo’s industry charity evening, which I had been lucky enough to be invited to—but I’d made a promise, and it was important I kept it.
I’d never been in Caleb’s car before, and I was surprised to see it was an everyday sedan—a Holden—and not something flashy. I got the impression he wasn’t hard done by at all, especially from his years of pro boxing, but the more I thought about it, the more it suited him. He wasn’t the kind of guy to throw around his money.
Then there was the fact he was wearing a suit—without the tie, but he was in a suit. The tight T-shirts and shorts were nowhere to be seen, and he looked…well, delicious.
“Look at you,” I said, sliding into the car. “Who are you, and what have you done with Caleb?”
He chuckled, his palm resting on my bare knee. “I could say the same about you, Jules. Nice dress.”
I glanced down at the black number I’d found at Target, the fabric embroidered with silver thread, creating a pattern of flowers and vines. It was completely mass-market, but it was from one of their designer collections. It’d cost me a hundred bucks, and I’d almost fainted as I swiped my bank card, but I looked good in it, and from the way Caleb was caressing the hem, he liked it, too.
“Thanks.”
His parents lived close to the city in Toorak, one of the oldest and richest suburbs in Melbourne. Million-dollar houses lined every street with greenery and expansive lawns donning each lot. It was easy to forget the concrete urban sprawl was just a few blocks over.
Finally, Caleb turned the car into a long driveway, the gates sweeping open as we approached.
“Welcome to the Carmichael compound,” he said, the distaste clear in his voice.
I stared up at the house in awe, completely dazzled by the show of wealth. The property had to be worth at least several million dollars. The castle-like house looked like something out of a movie. Two stories towered above us, the facade shining with lighting from the garden, and the trees in the front were wrapped tightly with fairy lights that shimmered between the leaves. Above it all, the brilliant sunset streaked across the sky, making the scene quite romantic. It could totally be a set for the new season of The Bachelor.
“All this belongs to your parents?” The car came to a standstill, but I was far from ready to get out.
“Five bedrooms, three bathrooms, sauna, twelve-seater cinema, private gym, outdoor pool, kitted out kitchen, a dining room the size of my apartment…” Caleb rattled off. “Why two people need all that space is beyond me. It did come in handy when I was growing up, though. Plenty of places to hide.”
“All this was from your dad’s boxing?” I asked.
“Dad was a big deal,” he explained. “He made millions from prize fighting in Las Vegas over the years. Now he part owns a worldwide betting agency. Making money off poor sods’ gambling addictions.”
“I can’t imagine that much money.”
“If we sit here for long enough, maybe they’ll forget we were coming,” he muttered.
“We have to go in sooner or later,” I said. “The sooner we’re in, the sooner we’re out, right?” Unclipping my seatbelt, I slid from the car. Caleb was at my side in a flash, guiding me to the front door.
“Before we go in, we need to talk about exit strategies,” he said as we lingered on the stoop.
I shuddered. “Exit strategies? Is it going to be that bad?”
“Don’t worry,” he said, cupping my cheek. “I couldn’t care less what they think. I know what I want, Jules, and it’s you. Don’t sweat it.”
I smiled thinly, not entirely convinced.
Dropping his hand, he pressed the button on the side of the doorframe, and an electronic bell sounded from within the house.
“Now, the quickest route is the front door, but it’s open and snipers man the staircase. The second option is through the kitchen…”
It didn’t take long for someone to fling open the door. A woman stared at us—she was about sixty, or so I thought—and smiled widely when she saw Caleb. I gathered this was his mom.
“Darling,” she cooed, completely ignoring me and going straight for Caleb. “Come in. I trust you’re feeling better.”
He frowned, his hand tightening around mine as we stepped into the house.
“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she went on. “It’s all forgotten.”
I wondered what they were talking about.
Turning my attention to her, I studied her appearance and immediately felt undercooked. She looked elegant in a blue dress with capped sleeves, the hem sitting just above her knees. Her feet were clad in a pair of black heels, which were probably designer from the looks of them. Her hair was shoulder length, set in waves that could only have been from a set of curlers and a ton of product. A diamond necklace sparkled around her throat and matching drop earrings adorned her lobes, the glint drawing my eye.
“This is my mother, Lilly Carmichael,” Caleb said, gesturing to her. “Mum, this is Juliette.”
Her gaze raked over me, slowly and deliberately, before she smiled. It looked like more of a sneer to me, but Caleb didn’t seem to notice.
“Nice to meet you, Juliette,” she said. “What a lovely dress you’re wearing. Is it vintage?”
“Uh…” I began, wondering what was wrong with the perfectly presentable dress I’d bought brand new from Target.
“Mum,” Caleb said. “How about a drink to start?”
Her gaze snapped to her son, and she smiled brightly. “Yes! Of course, where are my manners.” She turned gracefully and glided through the house with us on her tail.
“Go straight for the vodka martini,” he whispered into my ear. “It’s the strongest stuff in the house. It makes the night go so much faster.”
“I don’t think getting drunk is the way to impress your parents,” I muttered, really feeling unsure of myself now.
“What they think doesn’t matter,” he replied with a snort. “Believe me, being here is just a courtesy.”
It wasn’t until we’d been ushered into the sitting room and placed on a modern looking leather couch that I realized Mrs. Carmichael had been insulting me. She thought my dress was old and cheap. Talk about the ultimate passive-aggressive maneuver. I’d have to keep my wits about me, though I wasn’t sure I had the guts to give as good as I got. She was Caleb’s mother, after all.
“Now, what would you like?” Mrs. Carmichael asked. “I’ll have George make whatever you like.” She gestured to a man who was lingering by a bar in the corner. He was dressed in a black suit, and I gathered by the way she snapped her fingers at him that he was the help.
Was the front door a portal to another dimension? I felt like I was in another world entirely. Caleb hadn’t told me his mum had practically stepped out of an episode of The Real Housewives of Melbourne.
“Scotch for me,” Caleb replied, shooting me a look that said ‘just go with it.’ “And a vodka martini for Juliette.”
“George, if you will,” she commanded with an airy voice, all pomp.
“Where’s Dad?”
“Oh, he’s here someplace,” she replied, flicking her wrist. She picked up a glass that was already half-empty and raised it to her lips. She took a sip before adding, “He’ll come down when he’s ready.”
When he was ready seemed to b
e the word that summoned him. Mr. Carmichael chose that moment to stride into the room, his stature made all that more imposing by his dark suit and tie.
I recognized him immediately. I’d seen him once at Beat, but even if I didn’t, the resemblance was uncanny. Caleb was exactly like his father in looks. Blond hair, blue eyes, light skin, broad shoulders. They were cut from the same cloth physically, that was for sure.
I rose to my feet, smoothing down my dress before offering my hand. “Mr. Carmichael,” I said, attempting to sound confident. “It’s nice to met you.”
He ignored my proffered hand and looked me over the same way his wife had, with an air of disdain, and I let my hand drop awkwardly to my side.
“Juliette,” he said after a moment. “Welcome. Have a seat, won’t you?”
He sat in the armchair opposite, and George was there in an instant, placing a serviette and a glass of brown spirits on the side table.
Honestly, I felt like I was in an episode of Gilmore Girls. The fancy parents at one end, passive aggression thick in the air, and in between was Caleb, the rebellious son determined to make it through life on his own terms. He could be the male version of Lorelai. And me? I didn’t fit in the scene at all.
“So, Juliette,” Mr. Carmichael said. “What do you do for a living?”
I straightened up. “I work at Slattery Press as an assistant to the head of marketing.”
“Publishing?” he asked.
I nodded. “Yes. Slattery publish fiction mostly. Everything from romance to—”
“And you’re an assistant?” he interrupted, his tone condescending.
Caleb stiffened beside me, and I felt my heart take a punch. Or at least it felt like it.
“Yes. Publishing is a competitive industry. You have to get in on the ground floor however you’re able.”
“And how old are you?”
“Dad,” Caleb hissed, but he only glared at his son before turning back to me.
“Twenty-eight,” I replied, my skin beginning to prickle. I was being grilled, and I’d only just walked through the door. Caleb was right. I did need the strong stuff. My vodka martini arrived not a moment too soon, and I downed a mouthful, the alcohol burning all the way down.
