I'd never owned a single piece of clothing that belonged in a house like the one Markus drove me to that Sunday. Law had sent over something appropriate the day before — a dark green button-down that fit a little too well to be a coincidence, and slacks that probably cost more than a month of my rent — with a short note that just said wear this.
"You look nervous," Markus said, glancing at me through the rearview mirror as the estate gates swung open ahead of us.
"I'm about to lie to two strangers' faces for the next four years," I said. "I think nervous is underselling it."
"They're not that bad," Markus said, which I clocked immediately as the kind of thing you say about people who are, in fact, exactly that bad.
The house itself looked less like a home and more like something built to be photographed — manicured trees lining a drive long enough to qualify as its own road trip, a brick wall I couldn't even see the top of through the foliage. Law was waiting at the door when we pulled up, dressed sharper than I'd seen him yet, and something about the sight of him standing there — steady, composed, clearly braced for this dinner the same way I was — made the whole thing feel marginally less like walking into a trap.
"You actually wore it," he said, looking me over with an expression I couldn't quite place.
"You're paying for it either way," I said. "Might as well get some use out of it."
His mother appeared in the doorway before he could respond, and the transformation in his posture happened so fast I almost missed it — shoulders straightening, expression smoothing into something pleasant and unreadable, the same mask I'd seen him slip into during our first conversation at the club.
"And this must be Alex," Hailey Grey said, looking me over with the kind of polite, assessing smile that made it clear she'd already decided several things about me before I'd said a single word. "Lawrence didn't tell us nearly enough."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Grey," I said, offering my hand, hoping it didn't betray how hard my heart was hammering.
"Hailey, please," she said, taking it briefly. "Come in, come in. Dean's dying to meet you."
Dean Grey turned out to be a quieter, more measured version of his wife — the kind of man who watched more than he spoke, and made you feel like every silence was a question you hadn't answered correctly yet. Dinner was elaborate in a way that felt performative even by the standards of a house this size, course after course arriving on schedule like the kitchen ran on a military timetable.
"So," Hailey said, somewhere between the soup and whatever came next, "how exactly did the two of you meet?"
I felt Law go very slightly still beside me, and understood immediately that this was the test — the actual reason for the dinner, dressed up as small talk.
"At my casino, actually," Law said smoothly, before I could open my mouth. "Alex was visiting with a friend. We started talking, and I asked him to stay after everyone else left."
"How romantic," Hailey said, in a tone that suggested she found it anything but, "for a casino."
"It wasn't really about the casino," I said, finding my footing despite myself. "He was sitting alone, looking like he hated every single person in the room. I found that more interesting than anything happening at the tables."
That got something out of Dean — not quite a laugh, but close. "Sounds like our son," he said. "He's hated rooms full of people since he was twelve."
"I did not hate rooms full of people," Law said, with the put-upon exhaustion of someone who'd clearly had this exact argument before. "I had standards."
"You had a scowl that scared off three separate tutors," Hailey said, and for the first time all evening, something genuine flickered across her face — fondness, buried under layers of formality, but real. "We were starting to worry no one would ever get through to him."
"He's not that hard to get through to," I said, surprising myself with how easily it came out. "You just have to actually pay attention instead of talking at him."
Law looked at me sideways, something unreadable passing behind his eyes, and I realized — too late to take it back — that I'd said something true instead of something rehearsed.
"Well," Hailey said, setting down her wine glass, studying me with renewed interest, "I think I see what caught his attention."
The rest of the dinner passed easier than I expected, conversation drifting into safer territory — the casino's history, Hailey's opinions on the renovated west wing, Dean's long monologue about a business deal neither Law nor I particularly cared about. By the time dessert arrived, my shoulders had finally come down from somewhere near my ears.
"We're so pleased," Hailey said, as the evening wound down, walking us toward the door with her arm looped through Dean's. "Truly, Lawrence. We were starting to think this day would never come."
"I told you I'd handle it," Law said, the dry edge back in his voice.
"You did," Hailey said, smiling — and for just a second, the smile looked entirely sincere. "Welcome to the family, Alex."
"Thank you," I said, and meant it more than I expected to, even knowing the entire foundation of that welcome was built on a lie.
Markus drove us both back in silence for the first ten minutes, until Law finally spoke, quiet enough that it almost didn't carry to the front seat.
"You didn't have to say that," he said. "About paying attention instead of talking at me."
"I didn't say it for you," I said, looking out the window instead of at him. "I said it because it was true."
He didn't answer that, and I didn't push him to. We rode the rest of the way back in a silence that felt, for the first time since this whole arrangement started, less like two strangers trapped in a contract and more like two people figuring out, slowly and against their better judgment, how to actually be around each other.