Forbidden Love

Barrett glided us through the streets in his McLaren. Only, it didn’t last long with Manhattan traffic—even on a Sunday. We came to a stand-still around the corner from Park Avenue.

Having a car in Manhattan was crazy. Barrett knew that, but it didn't stop him from buying more than one. Taking them out from time to time, he said he loved the feeling of freedom it gave him.

I remained cautiously optimistic about our lunch, but I was nervous if my bouncing knee was anything to go by. He reached over the center console and put his hand in mine.

“It will be fine.” His perfect mouth tipped upward into a bone-melting smile.

“Do you think so?”

“I do,” he said, inching the car forward, so we were only moments away.

“How are you not nervous?”

He shrugged. “Who said I’m not?”

“You are?”

“It’s not every day I go to my girlfriend’s parents’ house.”

“Well, at least you know them!” I said.

“I know they want their daughter to be with someone respectable and someone from a good family.”

He stared at the cars ahead, the silence lingering between us.

I squeezed his hand. “You are respected, Barrett. And once they know you mean everything to me, they will be happy. Shocked but happy. Anyway, I think Dad already knows.”

“Alfred’s not the one I'm concerned about.”

I stared out the window. “I know.”

Mom was the one who wanted me to marry a son from a blue-blooded family. Heck, she’d try royalty if she could but settled for politicians. Finigan was the perfect choice, being the son of Governor Connelly of Massachusetts.

Neither of us said anything more. When we arrived, Barrett parked, and we got out. In the elevator, he took my hand in his, the gesture comforting.

“Showtime,” he said as the doors pinged open into the penthouse.