Dirty Little Secret

She turns to me. “But I would like to speak with Samson—privately.”

Orion and Michael don’t waste a single second making themselves sparse.

“Okay. I need to call Emmy anyway. I promised I’d help her with her outfit for tonight.”

Mrs. C gathers her daughter in a crushing hug. “Come back down to help with the salad in about twenty, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Stella turns toward the stairs, but I stop her.

“Are you good to get up the stairs on your own?”

She nods and I press a kiss to her forehead before sending her on her way.

“Let’s sit,” she says, nodding toward the dining room.

I pull her chair out for her before sitting down across from her.

“So, you and Stella?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Since when?”

“Since always?” I wince and run my hands through my hair. “I know that sounds bad, but there’s always been something special about her to me. But I want you to know, I never acted on my feelings until she was—”

Mrs. Cartwright waves a hand in the air, silencing me. “I’m not worried about any of that. You’re family to us, Samson. I couldn’t be happier for the two of you. I just wish someone had thought to tell me.”

“If it makes you feel better, Orion and Mr. C just found out.”

“That does help. A little.” She taps her nails on the tabletop and levels me with the kind of look only a mother can give. “But I need to ask you a question, and I expect an honest answer.”

I swallow roughly. “What’s that?”

“When you left—is that why Stella was so hurt?”

“Um.” My skin feels hot and tight. This isn’t a conversation I ever expected to have, much less ever wanted to have. “Yes. Stella and I… we, um, had plans to let everyone know we were together the night of her eighteenth birthday.”

“But you left.” Lizzie nods knowingly, like the final pieces of a puzzle are finally falling into place.

“You hurt her. She was devastated.”

Fuck. “I know.”

“Why?”

I parrot the question back to her.

“Why did you leave? Why did you hurt her?”

Deep breath in and here we go. “I realize I messed up. Knew it the second it happened. I overheard some things I wasn’t supposed to, got in my own head, and made a bad judgment call.”

“She was crushed. Cried for days, Samson. Wouldn’t leave her room.”

I hang my head in shame. “I know.”

“What did you overhear?”

“Um.” I rub at the back of my neck, wishing someone—anyone—would come in and save me. “I… heard you talking to someone, saying how proud you were of her for focusing on school and not boys. And how getting attached to someone at such a young age could be detrimental to their future. I was already psyching myself out, thinking I was holding her back, and then…”

“And then you heard me running my mouth.” She reaches out and takes my hand in hers. “Oh, Samson. I’m… I’m sorry.”

“No, ma’am. You don’t need to apologize. The only person responsible for my actions is me.”

Her blue eyes, so similar to Stella’s, shine with unshed tears. “Still…”

“Nope. No stills and no apologies. I own my actions, as idiotic as they were, and I’m more than willing to spend the rest of my life showing your daughter how much I love her. Because I do. Love her.”

“What’s not to love?” She laughs, but the sadness still lingers. “But, Samson… you break my baby girl’s heart again, for any reason, and I’ll castrate you without a second thought.”

My entire body stills at her sweetly delivered threat. “Hearing you loud and clear, Mrs. C.”

She stands from the table and pats my cheek twice. “Such a good boy. Why don’t you head upstairs and make sure Stella gets down safely?”

“Of course,” I say, but she’s already back in the kitchen.

As I approach Stella’s room, the sound of laughter filters out into the hallway. I knock lightly before pushing the door open.

Stella glances at me over the top of her phone. "Okay, I better get going. I need to go help Mom chop vegetables for the salad."

"She's making the dinner?"

Phantom pain erupts at the sound of her roommate’s voice—the girl kicks harder than a damn horse.

"Oh, girl, yes, they cook for everything. I'll have to bring you over for dinner one night. Mom's food will blow your mind.”

"Any home-cooked meal will blow my mind. I grew up eating food made by our chef or the highly talented Marie Callender."

"Talk later, babe,” Stella says with a sad smile before pressing the button to end the call.

Turning her focus to me, Stella’s lips quirk up as she pats the spot next to her on the mattress. “Come, sit.”

I hesitate momentarily before crossing the room and lowering myself down to the edge of her bed. She immediately snuggles into my side. “You survived then? That’s good.”

“Told you your mom loved me.” I kiss the top of her head, debating if I should tell her about my conversation with her mom.