Chapter 159 Family Dinner

Chapter 159 Family Dinner
Christina: POV

I smoothed down my Prada dress for the tenth time, catching Patrick's amused glance from the corner of my eye.

"Relax," he said, resting his hand on my knee.

"It's just dinner."

Just dinner?

My throat tightened.

This wasn't "just" anything.

We were sitting in Patrick's Bentley outside Le Bernardin, one of Manhattan's most exclusive French restaurants, waiting to meet his entire fucking family.

And my sister.

And her asshole husband.

"Your family is worth billions, Patrick.

This isn't exactly a casual pizza night." He chuckled, his thumb tracing circles on my knee.

"They're just people.

Weird, rich people—but still people."

Easy for him to say.

Patrick Brown had been born into this world of crystal chandeliers and thousand-dollar bottles of wine.

I was still the girl from a shitty Pennsylvania town who'd grown up counting pennies.

"Let's go," I finally said, taking a deep breath.

"Before I change my mind."

The moment we stepped through the doors, Le Bernardin's staff practically tripped over themselves to welcome Patrick.

The maître d' guided us to a private dining room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park.

Everything screamed money—from the original artwork on the walls to the custom-made furniture.

The kind of place where they don't even bother putting prices on the menu.

"Chris!"

My sister Claire's voice pulled me from my daze.

I turned to see Claire walking toward us, her husband Tyler trailing behind her.

Claire looked beautiful but tense in her conservative navy dress.

I hugged her tightly, whispering, "You made it.

Thank you."

"Wouldn't miss it," she replied, though I could feel her anxiety.

She rarely attended social events with Tyler—he controlled everything from who she saw to what she wore.

When I pulled back, I noticed Tyler's eyes weren't on his wife or me—they were fixed on Patrick's Brioni suit and Patek Philippe watch.

The naked greed in his expression made me want to punch him.

"So you're the famous Patrick," Tyler said, extending his hand.

His sycophantic smile made my skin crawl.

Claire nudged him discreetly, whispering, "Behave yourself."

Before the conversation could get awkward, a commotion at the door announced the arrival of the Brown family.

I felt my heart rate double as six people entered the room like they owned it.

Patrick squeezed my hand.

"Here comes the circus," he murmured.

The group was headed by an elderly gentleman I recognized as Brown Sr. from photos, walking with the aid of a carved ebony cane that probably cost more than my monthly rent.

Behind him came Patrick's parents, Brandon and Elizabeth, both radiating that effortless old-money confidence.

Andrew, Patrick's brother, walked beside a striking woman roughly Patrick's age who held a small child protectively against her chest.

"That's Mia," Patrick whispered.

"Technically my aunt, but we're the same age."

Before I could process that, Andrew spotted me and bounded over with puppy-like enthusiasm.

"Chris!" he exclaimed, hugging me like we were old friends rather than second-time acquaintances.

"Finally!

I've been dying to meet the woman who tamed my brother."

I couldn't help but smile at his warmth.

Unlike Patrick's measured charm, Andrew radiated unfiltered energy.

"I brought you something," he continued, producing an elegantly wrapped box.

"Just a little welcome gift."

When I opened it, I found a miniature pink sports car inside—a perfect replica of what looked like a rare Ferrari.

"The real one's being delivered next week," Andrew explained casually.

"It's that limited edition Barbie pink roadster I won at the auction last month.

Thought it matched your personality."

I nearly choked.

"The thirteen-million-dollar one?" Tyler interjected, his eyes practically bulging.

Thirteen million dollars?

For a car?

I looked at Patrick in panic.

"That's way too much," I protested.

"I can't accept this."

Andrew waved dismissively.

"Of course you can.

It's just sitting in my garage collection anyway."

I remembered Jane mentioning how Ethan Quinn had casually given her jewelry worth hundreds of thousands—was this just normal in their world?

My designer salary was good, but it would take me decades to earn that kind of money.

Patrick leaned close, his lips brushing my ear.

"Take it, Chris.

Andrew has more money than sense.

If you don't accept, he'll just blow it on those gaming streamers he watches."

"He tips them at least 200K per stream," Patrick continued.

"Drops a million in one night just to have them call him 'daddy' on camera.

If you don't take it, he'll spend it elsewhere."

When I still hesitated, Patrick's voice softened.

"We all have money, Chris.

Consider these gifts your security.

Even if you decide you don't want me someday, you can sell them."

His tone was teasing, but the vulnerability underneath shocked me.

Did he really think I was that unreliable?

That I'd just leave?

Throughout dinner, I noticed Brown Sr. studying me with increasing approval.

Finally, he addressed me directly.

"Christina, you're such a sweet girl. This old man has grown quite fond of you." he said, his voice surprisingly gentle for such an intimidating man.

I nodded, suddenly tongue-tied.

"Thank you for giving Patrick a chance," he continued.

"Don't let that unreliable face fool you.

I raised him myself, and he's a loyal one."

My chest tightened at the unexpected kindness in his eyes.

"He served in the Marines for years.

Been through hell and back.

I hope you two go the distance."

He took a sip of his wine before adding, "This old man's not asking for much.

Just hoping I might live to see you give me a great-grandchild or two."

The word "child" hit me like a physical blow.

Ice water seemed to flood my veins.

I kept my smile frozen in place, but inside, everything shattered.

I'd never seriously considered having children with Patrick—we'd only just moved in together.

But hearing it spoken aloud made me realize how impossible that dream was.

I would never be able to give Patrick children of his own.

The knowledge twisted in my chest like a knife.

I imagined a little boy with Patrick's eyes and smile, or a girl with his stubborn determination.

A child that would never exist because of me.

"Grandpa, you're so old-fashioned!" Mia interrupted, her voice light but her eyes perceptive.

"Not everyone wants kids these days.

The childfree movement is huge!"

"Besides," she continued, ruffling her son's hair, "the Brown family is plenty big already.

And you've got my little monster here—aren't you spoiling him enough?"

The old man grumbled good-naturedly as Mia's son climbed into his lap, effectively changing the subject.

I shot Mia a grateful look.

She winked back, understanding in her eyes.

Across the table, Claire watched me with concern.

Only she knew the truth—that I physically couldn't have children.

That my father's abuse had led to complications, a botched surgery at sixteen, and the permanent loss of my ability to conceive.

The rest of dinner passed in a blur.

When it ended, Patrick arranged for a car service to take Tyler and Claire home, as Tyler had overindulged in the vintage Château Margaux.

I retreated to the restroom, needing a moment alone.

When I returned, I saw Claire pulling Patrick aside, her expression serious.

"Mr. Brown, could we speak privately for a moment?"

Patrick nodded, gesturing toward the restaurant's private bar area.

I watched them walk away, wondering what my sister could possibly want to discuss with my boyfriend.

Claire waited until they were seated in a secluded corner before speaking.

Her hands fidgeted nervously with her purse strap.

"Patrick," she said carefully, "I need to ask you something important."

She hesitated, then continued, "Do you really want children?"