Louis' POV
I jump out of bed in a swift second, my dignity now completely discarded, I don't even have a care in the world, not in the slightest that I'm still very much buck naked.
At the corner of my eye, I find Claire still standing awkwardly at the door, rigid and tense with her back turned to me, her small hands firmly covering her eyes like they might bleed if they see the light.
I swear I'm not a pervert but I don't mind a little audience.
A quiet chuckle escapes me before I can stop it.
This girl, I swear—she's ridiculously adorable. I can't even deal with it. Even with her back turned, I catch the faint blush creeping up the back of her neck.
She's so easy to tease, so quick to fluster. The slightest hint of embarrassment, and her already pale skin deepens into the prettiest shades of red.
I could watch her all day and not tire.
Shaking my head at her innocent fumbling, I shuffle around my wardrobe, my hands moving swiftly forward and backward through the racks of clothes. I quickly grab the first decent clothes I can find.
I settled for a casual look, a fitted brown knit quarter-zip sweater layered over a crisp white shirt, paired with tailored cream or off-white trousers that taper neatly at the ankle.
I don't bother for an extra footwear, that'd be excessive. I just threw on some home slippers I found at the bottom of my overflowing wardrobe.
Suddenly, I was very aware that my grandparents were downstairs. Waiting. I rush towards the bathroom, quickly brushing my teeth. I'm so out of sorts right now, thankfully I'd taken a bath last night.
They have never seen me like this. Disheveled, rushed. Out of control.
And today would not be the first.
They are the embodiment of poise and old-world elegance, and appearances, especially mine, matter far too much to them. It is why I am in this situation in the first place. Marriage, too, is also part of the appearances they so uphold.
And now, speaking of appearances, I am quickly reminded of something else.
I am fairly certain that they are expecting an explanation as to why Claire is in my house.
I've never brought a woman home. Ever. I made sure of that.
This place has always been off-limits, strictly family, and very close friends. Not that I've ever had many of those either.
Once I'm decently dressed and confident I won't be disowned on sight, I turn to the mirror. My hair is a complete mess. I can't believe Claire saw me this way.
I rake my fingers through it, trying to tame the chaos, but it stubbornly refuses to cooperate. I sigh, letting it be. I was out of time.
Behind me, Claire still hasn't moved.
Back still turned. I can't help the chuckle that escapes me.
Hands still shielding her eyes. "Are you decent?," she says from her stoic stance across the room. Fully committed to the act.
"You know," I say, unable to resist, "you could've just stepped out. You didn't have to stand there covering your eyes like we're playing hide-and-seek."
"Oh…" she startled slightly. "I suppose I could have." She hesitates. "I wasn't really thinking straight."
A smirk curves my lips. "I gathered."
I grab my jacket and glance at her reflection in the mirror. She looked extremely tense, adorable even. Though now was not the time to dwell on that. They were expecting me downstairs.
"Alright," I say, straightening. "Let's go. I hope you're ready, because you're about to meet the infamous Mr. Smith Senior."
Her shoulders stiffen at my statement.
"Yes," she replies softly. "But the thing is.. I've… kind of already introduced myself."
I pause mid-step. Slowly, I turn to face her.
"You have?," my brows furrow slightly as I consider how that could've gone down.
She winces at my expression. "Yes, I was quite disoriented and surprised when they came through the door, I didn't know what to say." She rushes out.
"Not as your wife though," she continues. "I figured you'd want to do that part yourself. I just told them I was your secretary."
I just stare at her.
"They nodded," she added quickly, when I didn't respond. "That was it. They just… nodded. And so, I awkwardly took an excuse to leave just so I could call you," she babbled on, her face reddening as she paced the room.
I exhale slowly.
Oh.
That's something.
"Alright then, that's okay, you can relax."
She stops pacing. "Okay."
Because if they simply nodded, it means they already know something. Or they suspect it.
And if my grandparents have heard something before I've had the chance to inform them, control the narrative…
I glance at Claire, who's now fidgeting nervously with her fingers.
"Claire," I say calmly, far too calmly for how uneasy I suddenly feel, "Can you tell me exactly what they asked you when they walked in?"
Because whatever was waiting for us downstairs…
I can only hope that it goes well for us both.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Ushering Claire out of my bedroom, we step into the hallway and make our way down the stairs leading to the living room—where my grandparents were now waiting.
From the foot of the stairs, I already observe them. They sit together on the sofa. Grandma is speaking animatedly to her husband, who is scrolling on his tablet, eyes sharp behind his glasses. Most likely the news.
Oh God.
I really hope there aren't any articles or think pieces about me. The press loved to stick their noses into my personal business. If there wasn't any news now, I could bet my fortune that it wouldn't take long for them to find something.
"Good morning, Gramps. Gran," I greet, masking my nerves as best as I can. "It's a surprise to see you. I wasn't expecting you."
Claire trails behind me, hesitant, unsure of where she fits in this room or in this moment.
I gesture for her to sit, taking the seat beside her. My grandparents observe the exchange closely, their gazes sharp and assessing.
"Do we need to send out a letter asking for permission before we come to visit our grandson?," Grandpa retorts sarcastically, his eyes peering from right above his glasses frame.
Great. I think this will go just fine, seeing he has time to joke around.
"Louis," Grandma cuts in, without wasting any time, her tone brisk as always, "would you like to introduce us or explain who this young lady is and why she is in your home this early on a Sunday morning?"
Clearing my throat, "Well," I reply pointedly, "since you were so curious that you had to come over before I even had the chance, this is Claire Montgomery. And she is my girlfriend." I gesture toward her, she is seated stiffly at my side, looking like she'd rather be anywhere else.
I place my hand gently on her knee, trying to ground her, trying to remind her we're in this together.
She startles at the contact, going completely still. Her sharp intake of breath is audible enough that I'm pretty sure even my grandparents heard it.
Asides form that small sound, Silence. Deafening silence. Grandpa sits up straight now, his hands crossed on his lap as he appraises the both of us from the top of his glasses. Even grandma is not perked upright at the declaration.
I glance at Claire from the corner of my eye. Hoping she isn't too uncomfortable. She's staring at her legs, slightly dazed. I rub her knee slowly, reassuringly, hoping to steady her. Enjoying the small contact way more than I should.
She glances at me at the contact, her eyes wide and edged with unfamiliar unease.
Finally, Gramps sets his tablet down on the stool beside him.
His gaze is piercing and skeptical.
Unconvinced. Grandma, on the other hand, is watching Claire closely, her expression softening as she studies her.
I take that as a good sign.
"Well then, that's wonderful. It was about time," Grandma says, breaking the silence, her voice warming, a pleased smile blooming across her face, "you've finally decided to take our words seriously. Is she the one you intend to marry?"
I sigh in relief, "Yes, of course," I answer smoothly. "We've begun seriously discussing marriage."
Gramps's stare burns into the side of my head. It was hard figuring out what was going on through his head.
"Now, boy," he says, brows knitting together, "I've been told that she's your secretary."
Of course, "If you knew that, why ask?"
I'm met with a deadly glare from grandma that forces me to look upright.
"Well, how long exactly have you been courting? And why were we not informed of such news?," Grandpa continues, not in any way affected by my snide remarks.
Shit.
We haven't gone through this part, our stories need to be aligned. We haven't gone over this part yet.
"It's been—" I begin, jumping in before they can suspect something is amiss, but he cuts me off.
"Actually, Why don't the young lady answer," he suddenly decides, turning his attention to Claire.