CHAPTER EIGHT: THE DINNER

(Emma’s POV)

“By the way,” Xander said without even glancing up from his laptop, “we’re having dinner at my parents’ tomorrow night.”

I froze, my hand halfway to my coffee cup. “Tomorrow?”

He finally looked up. “Yes. You’re my wife now at least on paper. t's better to meet my family first .”

There was something about the way he said it… casual, but with that underlying finality… that made it impossible to argue.

But I tried anyway.

“Don’t you think it’s a little… soon?”

“Soon?” He leaned back, that infuriatingly smug look stretching across his face. “We’re already married. If anything, we’re late.”

I swallowed. “Okay… well… what should I expect?”

He smirked. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. A few dos and don’ts when it comes to the Blakes.”

He closed his laptop with a soft click, then stood, towering over me as he spoke.

“My mom, Natalie Blake—elegant, commanding, and terrifying if you piss her off. She values posture, manners, and family pride. She’s strict, but not unkind. If you win her over, she’ll guard you like a lioness.”

“Sounds fun,” I muttered.

“My dad, Winston, is calmer. Observant. He’ll test you, quietly. He’s got that ‘I know everything and I’ll wait for you to mess up’ vibe.”

I blinked. “Great. I can’t wait to be analyzed over steak and wine.”

“And then there’s Danielle,” he continued, his tone softening. “My sister. She’s sweet. Really sweet. But don’t mistake it for weakness. She reads people better than I do.”

I tilted my head. “So I need to impress your entire dynasty in one night?”

“You’ll be fine,” he said, walking over to his desk. “Besides, you’ll look the part.”

He picked up his phone and dialed someone. “Yes, I need three of the best designers in the city to come to the penthouse. My wife needs a dinner dress.”

I blinked. “You could’ve just taken me shopping like a normal husband.”

He ignored me. “Yes. The most exclusive. One dress. Midnight. Elegant. Send samples within the hour.”

I stared at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

He hung up. “I’m rich. There’s a difference.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Then I need to go to Diane’s to pick up my stuff.”

He stiffened. “No, you don’t.”

I crossed my arms. “Yes, I do.”

“We can buy you new everything. There’s no need to go back there.”

“There are things I need,” I said firmly. “Personal things. My mother’s bracelet. My journals. You can’t replace those.”

Xander’s jaw ticked. “Then I’ll send someone.”

“No,” I said, standing. “This is something I need to do myself.”

His eyes locked with mine for a long second. Cold steel against fire.

He finally sighed. “Fine. But I’m coming with you.”

I lifted a brow. “To Diane’s?”

“To wait in the car. Just in case.”

"Incase of what". I asked but he totally ignored me

---

By afternoon, the designers arrived—arms full of gowns, fabrics shimmering like liquid under the light. They measured, pinned, adjusted, and in less than an hour, I’d been poured into a breathtaking off-shoulder, velvet-black dress with a thigh-high slit and delicate rhinestones stitched like stars across the neckline.

“You look…” Xander’s voice faltered slightly as I stepped into the room.

“Like someone who’s about to meet her in-laws,” I finished, smoothing the fabric nervously.

He smirked. “Exactly.”

---

The Blake estate was the kind of house that looked like it should have its own security force and a spot on the front page of Architectural Digest. Massive iron gates parted to reveal a winding driveway, marble steps, and a foyer that smelled like old money and fresh roses.

“You nervous?” Xander asked as he helped me out of the car.

“No,” I lied.

He chuckled. “Good. Because we’re already being watched.”

Inside, the family waited. His mother, Natalie, was regal in a navy silk gown, diamonds glittering at her throat. His father, Winston, stood beside her...calm and unreadable. And then there was Danielle: soft curls, warm brown eyes, a floral dress that matched the smile on her face.

“You must be Emma,” Danielle said, stepping forward and taking both my hands. “I’ve heard so much… well, not enough, honestly. You’re stunning.”

Her sincerity took me off guard. “Thank you. You’re stunning too.”

“I like her,” Danielle said to Xander with a grin. “She’s already better than that heiress Mom tried to hook you up with last year.”

Natalie cleared her throat. “Danielle.”

“What? It’s true.”

Dinner was… smooth, surprisingly. Winston asked quiet, pointed questions about my “work ethic” and “future plans.” Natalie observed more than she spoke, her eyes sharp and assessing, but never cruel. Danielle kept things light, jumping in whenever the tension got a bit too stiff.

At some point, Natalie surprised me by complimenting my posture.

“You have elegance,” she said. “And grace. Rare qualities these days.”

“Thank you,” I replied, meaning it.

But I could feel Xander watching me...every word I said, every glance I exchanged with his family. His eyes never left me for too long. And somewhere between the salad and the wine, I realized: he wanted this to work.

Maybe not the marriage… but the illusion.

And for some reason, that made my heart stutter.

Dinner ended with Natalie offering me a tour of the house and Danielle insisting we “have a girls’ day soon.” I smiled, nodded, played the role.

But deep down, something felt… off.

Too smooth. Too easy.

---

That night, after we returned to the penthouse, I stood in front of the mirror in the bedroom, peeling off the velvet dress with shaking hands. Maybe it was the wine, maybe the pressure, but I felt like I was standing at the edge of something huge—and unknown.

Xander walked in, loosening his tie. “You were perfect tonight.”

I turned to face him. “Your mother watches everything.”

“I warned you,” he said with a smile.

“No. I mean… everything. My tone, my eyes, the way I held my fork.”

“She does that,” he said simply. “But she liked you.”

I dropped my dress on the bed and crossed the room in my robe. “You’re sure about this?”

He tilted his head. “You want to back out now?”

“No,” I said quietly. “I’m in. Just… bracing myself.”

He nodded. “Good. Because tomorrow, we make the announcement.”

I froze. “Announcement?”

He walked to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a file.

I stepped closer. Inside was a press statement. And photos.

Engagement photos.

Taken from our earlier fittings. The ones I didn’t know they were photographing.

My heart slammed.

“But I thought this was supposed to be private.”

“Not anymore,” he said, eyes unreadable.

“Now it gets real.”