Fell In Love With My Roomy Chapter 91

"Hi," Kent said, looking really uncomfortable.

"And this must be Juls," he grinned, extending his hand for a shake, and I shook it. His firm handshake suggested he did that a lot. He was nice but quite intimidating. He clearly ran things from top to bottom.

"Pleased to meet you," I replied.

"Well, Astrid has been talking my ear off about my son's girlfriend," he smiled, and I nodded. "I'm glad you could join us."

"I'm glad too."

"Son, I had something to talk to you about if you don't mind me taking him, Juls," his father said, and I nodded politely.

"Sure, I'll see you later," I whispered, and Kent sighed, looking reluctant to leave. He kissed my cheek and followed his dad through the kitchen. A sinking feeling rushed over me when I realized I was alone.

"Come with me," his mother insisted, placing her hands on my shoulders and guiding me out of the kitchen.

"You have a beautiful home," I told her, and she smiled.

"It's my pride and joy, well, after my family, of course," she said with a smile. She led me to a sitting room, and I was amazed. The walls were adorned with blown-up Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition covers, all featuring his mother.

"You—you're Astrid Larrson?" I asked, feeling incredibly shocked. She looked much younger in these photos, thinner, with longer hair.

"Of course," she laughed. "You didn't know?"

"Not at first. Your modeling career was before my time, but my mom adores you," I said, and she smiled, genuinely touched. "Kent's never mentioned it, aside from saying you're Swedish."

"That doesn't surprise me," she admitted, walking to the fireplace mantle in the room and picking up a frame. "Kent has always been shy and quiet. He's not one for attention or talking about himself." She handed me a picture of him from his younger days, and I smiled. He looked incredibly cute in it, with a missing front tooth.

"Sounds about right," I chuckled.

"But he was always very kind. Despite Barry's ways... Kent was always a happy child."

"Barry is your husband?" I asked, seeking clarification, and she nodded politely. Kent had never mentioned his name before.

"I met him on the set of a Vogue shoot. His company was one of the sponsors. He came to see the process, and two months later, we were engaged."

"That's incredible," I told her. "Really sweet."

"It was fast," she admitted, shaking her head, as if she had regrets, wishing she had waited. "He's always wanted so much for our children. I did too, of course, but on their terms."

"Kent showed me his trophies; he's quite accomplished," I said, and she smiled, picking up a high school photo of him. In the picture, he was a heartthrob with perfect teeth, a dazzling smile with dimples, and bright green eyes.

"He's told me," I nodded, eyeing his football uniform in the picture.

"Barry wanted a Dartmouth grad, but when he found out Kent had an athletic scholarship, he finally left him in peace," she whispered, and I sighed. "Then the accident happened, and he changed. He became so angry, moody, and irritated with us and everyone around him. He wasn't the same anymore."

"I've seen him moody and angry; that's just how he is sometimes," I shrugged, and she sighed.

"Since he met you, he's been a bit different," she admitted quietly with a smile, and I handed back my picture. "Since September, every time I called, he sounded less angry, and when I visited, he welcomed me in. I've been watching the two of you since you arrived. He's been smiling, happy... Juls, you have no clue what this means for me," she whispered, looking overjoyed.

"I don't know if I've really done anything."

"You really have," she assured me with a grin. "I haven't seen him happy since he was seventeen. You seem to bring out the best in him. I feel like I have my son back."

"I really care about Kent," I assured her. "I see the good things in him. He's terrible at seeing them in himself, but I know he's picky. He likes things a certain way, and he's hard on himself. There's good in him, and I see it all the time."

"It feels like such a renewal, a weight off my chest," she admitted. "It was hard there for a while. Kent was angry and moved away, and Calista had really been through a lot. Things felt fractured for years."

"What happened to his sister?" I asked, furrowing my eyebrows, and she cleared her throat.

"I've spoken out of turn. If Kent hasn't said anything, then he should tell you himself," she whispered, and I blinked, feeling confused. "But she's well now; he must have said that."

"He did," I sighed. "Do you have a picture of her?"

"This is her senior picture," she whispered, passing me a picture of a beautiful girl. She certainly looked like Kent, gorgeous and vibrant. I wished I looked like that.

"She's gorgeous."

"I wish she was here," his mom sighed. "But the time away is good for her. She's having a good exchange."

I passed back the picture, and I heard the door to the room open. Kent stepped in, looking stressed, but he seemed to relax slightly when he saw us. "Ew, Mom, you didn't take her into the 'bikini room.'"

"It's not porn, young man," she scolded, rolling her eyes. "It was my career, and it's professional."

"Do you realize how traumatic it is for a son to see his mother in a bikini?" he asked, and I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

"No swearing," she scolded, wagging her finger at him. "Kent hates this room," she whispered, and I laughed. "I'll see you two in a while; mingle," she encouraged, closing the door after her.

"Let's get out of here," he sighed, and I laughed, following him out.

"You forgot to mention that your mom was a supermodel," I mumbled as we left the room.

"Irrelevant," he shrugged, and I rolled my eyes.

"Your mom mentioned something about your sister having problems-"

"Juls, please stop asking about her," he grumbled. "I've had more than enough grilling for the evening. You don't need to know anything about Calista other than that she's happy, living in France."

"What did your dad say?"

"Nothing important, more nonsense about Dartmouth," he sighed angrily. "Tonight's the worst," he added, tugging me along through the foyer. I couldn't keep up with him; he was too fast and too worked up for me to match his speed. His grip tightened, and I saw pain and worry in his eyes, which was unusual for him.

"Kent," I sighed, grabbing his wrist, but he didn't notice. "Kent!" I shouted, and he froze. "You're hurting me; please just talk to me."

He licked his lips and hesitated for a second, during which it seemed like a million thoughts raced through his head. He appeared almost angry, conflicted, and then he just took off, away from me, out the front door. I blinked, feeling totally abandoned. He didn't stop, and I watched a black sports car pull out a few moments later, a tear rolling down my cheek.

That was too fast. How did I make him feel that way so quickly?

Something's going on; there's more to his family that I've unintentionally pushed too hard on.

I really messed up this time.