to come prepared with an accomplishment to share.” Yes, guests were expected to share their accomplishments at an Alonso family dinner. How else would my family judge whether they were worthy of another invite? “Christian can’t make it.” I put Natalia on speakerphone so I could finish getting ready. I’d lost track of time ogling my dress, and I was due at my parents’
house in an hour. “He wants to be there, but he got sick last minute. Fever, chills, the whole thing.” It was scary how easily the lie spilled from my tongue. It clattered to the ground with a soft plink, joining the dozens of other untruths I’d uttered over the past few months. “Really.”
Natalia’s tone went flat with suspicion. “How convenient.” I twisted my hair into a bun, hoping she couldn’t hear the rapid pitter-patter of my heart. “It’s unfortunate, but sickness doesn’t conform to our personal schedules.” More lies. I could make a killing as a car salesperson if my clothing line didn’t pan out. Guilt speared my chest, but I held fast. There was no way in hell I’d subject even my worst enemy to dinner with the Alonsos. Plus, I required a clear mind and all my faculties to deal with my parents, and if there was one thing Christian was good at, it was clouding my judgment. “Mom and Dad won’t be happy,” Natalia warned. “They were looking forward to meeting your boyfriend.” More like they were looking forward to grilling him. Jarvis and Mika Alonso had a strict list of requirements they expected from a future son-in-law, and while Christian ticked off almost every box—wealthy, well-educated, cultured—the interrogation process would be torture. “You post about him so much. It must be serious.” My sister was so obvious about her fishing I would’ve laughed had I not been sick with nerves. “We’re taking things day by day.” I dusted blush on my cheeks. “I’m sure Mom and Dad will understand.
Besides, you know how Mom is with germs. She wouldn’t want a sick guest at dinner—”
“Actually, I’m feeling much better.” I spun around, my pulse skyrocketing at the sight of Christian leaning against the wooden frame, his suit jacket off and one hand in his pocket. A stray lock of dark hair fell in his eye, begging me to brush it back. “I was out of commission yesterday, but I’m good as new today.” He addressed Natalia over speakerphone, but his eyes didn’t leave mine. “So Stella, darling, I’ll be able to accompany you to dinner after all.” This wasn’t happening. Christian would overhear us the one time I put Natalia on speaker.
Someone in the high heavens must hate me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have skipped church so much since I moved out of my family’s house. What are you doing? I mouthed, hoping my glare conveyed the full extent of my displeasure. His only response was a smirk that made me reconsider my stance on non-violence. Thou shalt do no harm…unless your fake boyfriend was trying to crash a dinner with your overbearing family. Then again, dinner should be punishment enough. One meal with the Alonsos would send even the mighty Christian Harper running for the hills. “Oh!” Rare surprise coasted through Natalia’s voice before she recovered. “That’s good to hear.” The edges of her words softened now that she knew someone else was in the room. “We’ll see you in an hour, then.” “Yes, you will. Looking forward to it,” Christian drawled. I hung up before I voiced the aggravation bubbling in my veins. “What was that?” Cool, calm, collected. Cool, calm— “That was me agreeing to dinner at my girlfriend’s house.” Christian straightened and ran a hand over his tie. “We’ve been dating for months. It’s time I met your parents, don’t you think?” “We’re not actually dating.” “They don’t know that.” His calm rebuttal only infuriated me more. “I have to meet them eventually. There are only so many excuses you can make. This way, we get the meeting out of the way, and they’ll stop badgering you.” He had a point. Still, I hated how he’d gone about it. Dinner was in less than an hour, and I wasn’t
mentally prepared for a meal with Christian and my family. How would my parents react to him?
How would he react to them? I’d seen how Christian could charm a table in New York, but that had been with friends. The last time I brought a boy home—Quentin Sullivan, high school prom—my parents had grilled him so relentlessly about his GPA, college acceptances, and five-year plan that he’d burst into tears during the limo ride to the dance. The minute we arrived, he mumbled something about making a mistake and spent the rest of the night dancing with some other girl. Christian had no idea what he’d gotten himself into.
*
Our ride to my parents’ house was as silent as the one to Josh and Jules’ over the weekend.
His confession about wanting me was the elephant in every room we were in together, but neither of us addressed it. I didn’t know how to address it. Maybe it’d be easier if I didn’t want him too, but every time I tried to bring it up, my nerves got the better of me. I snuck a peek at Christian. The air between us hummed with a hundred spoken words. They tightened my lungs and cut off the flow of oxygen until I grew lightheaded. The air conditioning was on, but I cracked the window open and sucked in a small gasp of fresh air. We stopped at a red light.
Christian didn’t say a word about the window, but the heat of his stare was like a brand against my skin. I kept my eyes out the window and away from him until we arrived at my parents’
house, where bigger worries drowned out our tension. As expected, my family greeted him the way they would any guest—polite and welcoming on the surface, but secretly sizing him up with every move he made and every word out of his mouth. He’d brought a two-thousand-dollar vintage red from his extensive wine collection with us, which endeared him to my mother, but my dad was harder to impress. “I’ve heard of you.” Jarvis’s tone suggested what he heard wasn’t particularly flattering for Christian. “Harper Security, correct?” “Yes, sir.” Christian passed me the bowl of mashed potatoes. He’d donned a more casual outfit than his usual suits for dinner, but somehow, the button-down shirt and jeans made him look even more intimidating, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing. A hint of challenge disguised as a smile flirted at the corners of his mouth. “I work with the government on occasion. I know Secretary Palmer well.”
My dad’s face settled into a mask of grim lines at the mention of his boss. “I’m sure you do.” The clink of plates and glasses replaced conversation until the main course. The lull gave me a chance to rehearse my answer for our traditional sharing of accomplishments. I finished the first piece of my fashion collection. Oh, did I forget to tell you? I’m starting a fashion brand. I have a— “How’s your job at D.C. Style going?” Natalia’s question sliced through my inner musings. I still hadn’t told my family I’d gotten fired. Every time I tried, the words made it halfway up my throat before they withered and died. “It’s fine.” I raised my water glass to my lips and hoped no one detected the slight shake in my hand. “Hmm.” The scrape of Natalia’s fork against her plate sounded like nails against a chalkboard. “You know what’s funny? I was in the neighborhood the other day. I had a meeting near your office, so I thought I’d drop by and say hi. But when I showed up, the receptionist said you don’t work there anymore. She said you haven’t worked there in almost two months.” All movement stopped like she’d pressed pause on the scene. We were no longer people but wax statues of ourselves, frozen into a grotesque tableau of shock and denial. Christian was the only one who showed a hint of life. His