Chapter 3 — Names and Home
823 Words
“Okay," Christina said, nudging his arm as they strolled across campus, “you've officially delayed it long enough. What's your real name?"
Felix smiled, tossing her a taco from the brown paper bag. “You first."
“We've been dating for over a year," she said. “I think I've earned the truth."
“You did guess it right, remember?" he teased. “At the masquerade. You wrote 'Felix.'"
“I guessed like three other names first."
He laughed. “Okay, fine. I'm Felix Carlisle."
Christina blinked, then frowned. “Carlisle... as in Carlisle Holdings?"
He nodded.
She nearly dropped her taco. “You're joking."
“I wish I were," he said, sitting on the steps outside the library. “But yeah. That's my father. Randell Carlisle. Tech, pharma, real estate, and a yacht that makes me seasick."
She stared at him. “You're the heir to *that* empire?"
Felix watched her carefully. “Is that a problem?"
Christina hesitated. “No. But... I wish I'd known."
“I didn't want that to be the first thing you saw," he said. “I liked that you met me as just a guy with a mask and bad dance moves."
“You still have bad dance moves."
“Hey—"
“I'm serious, though." She leaned closer. “I don't care about the money. Or your last name. I just—" She faltered, then met his eyes. “I care that you listen when I talk. That you laugh at my dumb jokes. That you walk me home even when it's raining."
He smiled, softer now. “That's all I've ever wanted."
---
Three weeks later, he brought her home.
The Carlisle estate loomed like something out of a magazine: glass walls, ocean views, manicured hedges shaped like chess pieces.
“You live here?" she whispered as they pulled up the circular drive.
He shrugged. “It's more hotel than home."
A butler opened the door. A maid smiled. The marble floor gleamed.
Christina straightened her blouse and whispered, “Should I have worn heels?"
“You're perfect," Felix said. “He'll see that."
He didn't.
Randell Carlisle sat at the head of a ten-seat dining table, hands folded like a corporate negotiation. He was tall, commanding, handsome for his age—silver-streaked hair and a tailored charcoal suit.
“So," he said, without standing, “this is Christina."
She extended a hand. “Thank you for having me, Mr. Carlisle."
He shook it briefly. “Scholarship student, correct? Majoring in literature?"
“Yes, sir."
“Interesting choice. Limited earning potential. What's the plan after graduation?"
“Graduate school. Maybe editing or teaching."
“Mm."
The soup was poured. The questions continued.
“Your family's background?"
“My father owns a mid-sized manufacturing firm. My mom teaches piano."
“Modest," Randell said.
Christina smiled politely. “We're proud of what we've built."
“Ambition?"
“Plenty," she said. “But not for sale."
Felix gave her hand a subtle squeeze under the table.
Randell caught it.
By dessert, the tension hung like fog.
After dinner, Felix walked her down the long hallway toward the car.
“Well," she said, exhaling, “that was... something."
“I'm sorry," he murmured. “He can be—intense."
“He thinks I'm after your money."
“He thinks everyone is."
They stopped near the entry.
“I don't regret coming," she said.
He touched her face. “I love you."
She smiled. “I know."
---
Later that night, Felix entered his father's study.
Randell didn't look up. “She's clever."
“She's real," Felix said. “And she's mine."
“She's not suitable."
“She doesn't need to be *suitable*, Dad. I'm not a merger."
Randell turned slowly. “Do you love her?"
“With everything I have."
Randell stood. “Then understand this: if you stay with her, you walk away from all of this. Your inheritance. Your position. Everything."
Felix didn't hesitate. “Then I walk."
Randell's jaw tightened. “You're making a mistake."
“No," Felix said. “I'm making a choice."
---
The next day, Christina waited for him outside the library, sitting cross-legged on the lawn.
“You told him," she said when she saw his face.
“I told him," Felix confirmed, sitting beside her.
“And?"
“He said I'd lose everything."
Her voice trembled. “Felix—"
He took her hand. “And I said he could keep it."
She stared at him. “You'd give up all that... for me?"
“For us." He smiled. “Money doesn't matter if I lose what really does."
Christina shook her head, overwhelmed. “You idiot."
“I know."
“You wonderful, reckless idiot."
“I know."
She leaned in and kissed him. Then whispered, “We'll find a way."
“I already did," he said. “We just keep showing up. Same tree. No excuses."
- Writer
