Arrival

Ava

"Mommy! He's here!" Emilia's voice echoed up the stairs, a mixture of alarm and fascination.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my clutch and headed downstairs. Alex was standing in the foyer, looking unfairly handsome in a perfectly tailored navy suit that highlighted his broad shoulders and trim waist. He was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a gift bag in the other.

"Ava," he said, his eyes widening slightly as I descended the stairs. "You look... incredible."

Something warm unfurled in my chest at the genuine appreciation in his gaze. I tamped it down quickly, reminding myself that Alex Russo was a master of manipulation. This was all part of the act.

"Thank you," I said, my voice more breathless than I'd intended. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

His smile was slow and knowing, as if he could read every thought crossing my mind. "I do try," he said modestly, though we both knew there was nothing modest about Alex Russo.

Emilia stood to the side, watching our exchange with narrowed eyes. She was wearing the blue dress we'd picked out together, her dark curls tamed into a neat headband, looking every inch the perfect daughter. But the set of her jaw betrayed her wariness.

Alex turned to her, his expression softening. "Hello again, Emilia. I brought something for you." He held out the gift bag. "Consider it a peace offering."

Emilia looked at me uncertainly. I nodded encouragement, curious myself about what Alex had chosen.

She took the bag cautiously, as if it might contain something dangerous. Peering inside, her eyes widened. "Wow."

"What is it, Em?" I asked, moving closer.

She pulled out three books – beautifully illustrated hardcovers about space exploration, female scientists, and a novel featuring a young girl inventor. They were exactly the kind of books she loved, just like her had gotten her yesterday.

"These are... really cool," she admitted reluctantly, examining the covers. "I wanted to read this one, but the library doesn't have it yet."

"I thought you might enjoy them," Alex said, his casual tone belied by the careful attention with which he was watching her reaction. "The bookstore owner said they're perfect for smart girls like you."

Emilia looked at him with new interest. "I do like science. I'm going to be an astronaut engineer when I grow up."

"Astronaut engineer?" Alex repeated, eyebrows raised but expression serious. "That's ambitious. But I bet you could do it."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at Emilia's lips. "I got the highest score in my class on our space project."

"I'm not surprised," Alex replied. The sincerity in his voice seemed to catch Emilia off guard. She ducked her head, but not before I caught the pleased flush on her cheeks.

I watched this exchange with a mixture of surprise and wariness. Alex was good with her – better than I'd expected. He spoke to her as a person, not as a child to be humored or an obstacle to be overcome. It was... disconcerting.

"We should get going," I said, glancing at my watch. "My father hates when people are late."

"Can't keep the man waiting," Alex agreed amiably, holding the door open for us. "Especially when I'm hoping to make a good impression."

I rolled my eyes. "Good luck with that. My father's approval isn't easily won."

"I like a challenge," Alex replied, his voice dropping to a register that sent a shiver down my spine.

As we walked to his car, I couldn't help noticing how he subtly positioned himself between us and the street, a protective gesture that seemed almost instinctive. He opened the passenger door for me, then the rear door for Emilia with a small bow that made her giggle despite herself.

Once we were all settled, Emilia securely buckled in the back seat with one of her new books already open on her lap, Alex turned to me. "Ready?"

The question seemed to carry more weight than the simple act of driving to my father's house. Was I ready for this next step in our charade? For Alex to meet my father, to further entangle our lives?

"As I'll ever be," I replied honestly.

The drive to my father's house in Medina was mostly silent. I stared out the window at the familiar streets, my stomach tightening with each mile. It wasn't that I was nervous about my father meeting Alex—George Silver had been eager for this dinner from the moment he'd heard about our "engagement." It was the deepening of the deception that troubled me. Every person we brought into this lie made it more real, more complicated.

"Your father lives in Medina?" Alex asked, breaking the silence as we crossed the floating bridge onto the eastside. "Nice area."

"He moved there after the accident," I explained. "His old house had too many stairs. The new place is fully accessible—all one level, wider doorways, adapted everything."

Alex nodded thoughtfully. "Smart. A lot of people wouldn't adapt so well to such a significant life change."

"My father's nothing if not practical," I said, a hint of pride in my voice. "He says there's no point fighting reality—better to adjust and move forward."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Alex commented, his eyes briefly meeting mine before returning to the road.

From the backseat, Emilia piped up. "Grandpa has a pool with a special lift so he can go swimming. And his shower is big enough for his chair. And he has voice controls for everything."

"That sounds impressive," Alex replied, genuinely interested. "Did he design it all himself?"

Emilia launched into a detailed explanation of my father's adaptive home features, her earlier reticence forgotten in her enthusiasm for a topic she knew well. I watched in the side mirror as she gesticulated, her face animated. Alex asked thoughtful questions, drawing her out further, showing none of the forced interest adults often displayed toward children's rambling stories.

By the time we pulled up to my father's sprawling single-story home, Emilia was showing Alex pictures on her tablet of the mechanical garden tools my father had designed to allow him to continue his hobby despite his paralysis.

"We're here," I announced, interrupting their conversation. "Remember, Emilia—"

"Be polite, I know," she finished, rolling her eyes. "I'm not a baby, Mom."

"Could've fooled me with that eye roll," I muttered, making her giggle.