Love, Chloe - Alessandra Torre Page 0,84

me, a glint of recognition in her eyes. I smiled politely and looked away, to the other tables, wondering if Carter’s parents were already there, absently trying to remember the last name of the couple in front of me, in case this chat turned into actual conversation.

But then Carter hugged the woman, and I heard the word Mom cross his lips. And everything stopped in the heartbeat it took for my sluggish brain to put two and two together and finally understand it all.

Carter’s connection to Presa Little.

His job.

His apartment, so much nicer than mine.

He wasn’t just the super. He was the owner. This old couple who had barely let me rent an apartment—he was their son. I snapped to attention and put a little more into my smile, my efforts dampening under their withering stare.

Carter turned, pulling out the closest seat. “Chloe?” he offered, his eyes meeting mine cautiously.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to grab his shirt and drag him outside and yell every question coursing through my mind at him until he confessed everything.

But I didn’t. I smiled graciously and took my seat. I placed my napkin in my lap and nodded a hello to his parents. I sat through the painful first moments where no one spoke and ice water settled in glasses and waiters hovered.

And then, the silence was over. Carter’s mother opened her mouth, and hell poured out.

I’d sat through a few painful dinners in my life. This was the worst. It was my interview, times five. The questions didn’t stop; they peppered at me from across the table, and I wanted to duck for cover, wanted a bathroom break, wished I smoked just for an excuse to escape.

When his father asked about my parents, I paused, glanced down at my menu, this hell not even half over, and debated about my answer. Tried to weigh truthfulness over first impressions. Knew, no matter what happened with Carter and me, they would eventually find out the truth.

“My parents?” I stalled.

“Yes. They work with investment portfolios, isn’t that correct?” Carter’s mother tilted her head and peered at me as if I was a specimen to be cut open.

I considered dodging the question. I hadn’t even told Carter about my parents and their situation. But I didn’t. “He did work with investment portfolios,” I said carefully. “But the SEC has suspended his license. I’m not sure what my father will do now, assuming that he avoids jail time.”

That shut them up. His mother’s mouth fell open a little, her eyes widening. Beside me, Carter inhaled, and his father set down his drink, the glass hitting the table with a loud clink.

I didn’t stop. I told them everything, wincing a little at how cold I sounded when I spoke about my parents. I couldn’t help it. If the last year had shown me anything, it was that my self-centeredness was an inherited trait, and that every I love you from their mouths had been a lie.

“So…” his mother said primly. “Your parents are criminals and you are an … assistant.” She stretched out the final word in such a way that made my job sound as bad as my parents’ crimes.

“Yes.” I took a deep sip of wine, finishing it off. “That’s correct.”

“I see. And the chances of your parents being exonerated are…?” She raised an eyebrow at my empty wine glass, then at me.

“Pretty much nil.” I shrugged.

She sighed, and I glanced at Carter’s father, who had stopped talking about fifteen minutes earlier. His face was stiff, and I looked to his son. It was a mistake. Carter looked hurt, and I couldn’t help but glare a little in response. I wasn’t the only one who’d been secretive about my parents. I had spent our entire relationship with this image in my head of Carter’s life, his upbringing, his future. It certainly hadn’t involved a mother wearing Chanel with a four-carat diamond on her finger, her nose raised higher in the air than Nicole at a staff meeting. Everything I had envisioned … a rough youth, clawing his way to financial independence … all of that was false. The damn man had probably attended a better prep school than me.

And it was right about then, with my dinner plate carefully set down before me, that I realized two things. First, that any worries I’d had over Carter and his future prospects were unfounded.

Second, I wasn’t relieved by that realization. Instead, I was … I stared down