Page 40 of My Big Fat Fake Alien

“I know,” he says, reaching across the table to take my hand. “But it’s the only way. And… I need you, Raven. I can’t do this without you.”

This is insane. Absolutely insane. But then again, so is everything else that’s happened since I met him. And somehow, looking into his eyes, it doesn’t feel like a question.

It feels like the only thing that makes sense.

But then it hits me. If we’re going to pull this off—if we’re going to convince Giscard that Kirk Stevens and Raven Silver are the real deal—there’s one glaring problem we haven’t addressed. I lean forward, my chopsticks hovering over a piece of sushi I’ve completely forgotten about.

“All right, if we’re doing this, we’re going to have to do it right,” I say, my voice steady. “I mean, Giscard is going to want to make sure that we’re being authentic, isn’t he? Even if he’s not on the guest list?”

Karc chuckles, the sound low and rumbling. “I’m more than willing to open my wallet and spend on a lavish wedding.”

I give him a look, one that saysdon’t be an idiot. “Don’t be stupid. I’m not talking about that. It’s a fake wedding anyway.” I pause, biting my lip. “What I mean is our families. We need to meet each other’s families.”

The words hang in the air, and I can feel the dread creeping in. My parents. God,my parents. Just the thought of introducing Karc to them makes me want to crawl under the table and hide. I shudder, and it’s not because of the restaurant’s air conditioning.

“And believe me,” I add, my voice dropping to a mutter, “I wish I was an orphan right about now.”

Karc raises an eyebrow, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Why would you say such a thing?”

I sigh, leaning back in the booth and crossing my arms. “My parents are… let’s just say unsophisticated. Unkind people might call them hillbillies.”

His lips twitch, and for a second, I think he’s going to laugh. But then he leans forward, his expression serious. “Raven, I’m sure I’ll get along with your parents just fine.”

I snort, shaking my head. “Famous last words,” I warn him. “You’ve met Giscard’s kind of rich and sleazy. You’re about to meetmykind of rich and sleazy. Trust me, it’s a whole different level of awkward.”

His hand reaches across the table, his fingers brushing against mine. The contact is light, but it’s enough to make my heart skip a beat. “I’m not worried,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “If they’re your family, they can’t be all bad.”

I give him a wry smile. “Oh, they’re bad,” I mutter. “But hey, if you survive dinner with the Silvers, you can probably handle anything Giscard throws at you.”

CHAPTER 18

KARC

The limo glides through the streets of New York, the city’s neon glow flickering through the tinted windows. Raven’s sitting next to me, her fingers drumming nervously on her thigh. She’s been quiet since we left her apartment, which is unusual. Normally, she’s got something sharp or sarcastic to say. But not today. Today, she’s wound tight, her tension almost palpable.

"How will I know it’s them?" I ask as the limo pulls up to the terminal. I’m not exactly versed in human family dynamics, but I’m pretty sure “meet the parents” is supposed to be a big deal.

Raven glances out the window, then back at me with a look that’s half amusement, half dread. "Oh, believe me, you’ll know."

Before I can press her further, the car door swings open, and chaos spills in. Two figures barrel toward us, their voices carrying over the din of the airport crowd. The man is tall and wiry, his skin weathered like old leather, and he’s wearing a plaid shirt that looks like it’s been through a wood chipper. The woman is shorter, with a straw hat perched precariously on her head and a banjo slung over her shoulder.

"Well, I’ll be damned," the man booms, his voice like gravel tumbling down a hill. "You sho nuff a big fella." He thrusts acalloused hand toward me, and I shake it. His grip is surprisingly strong for a human. "You richie rich, is that right?"

"What?" I blink, caught off guard. "I thought you said your parents spoke English, Raven."

She pinches the bridge of her nose, her cheeks flushing. "They do. ThatisEnglish. Sort of."

"Aw, don’t mind Terry," the woman says, her voice warm and twangy. She steps forward and pulls me into a hug that smells faintly of moonshine and hay. "I’m Sandy. Raven’s mama. And you’re the fella who’s takin’ our little girl off our hands, ain’t ya?"

"Mom!" Raven hisses, her face turning red.

Sandy just laughs, a sound like a banjo string snapping. "Oh, hush, darlin’. Ain’t no shame in it. He’s a looker, I’ll give ya that."

Terry claps me on the shoulder, his grin revealing a gold tooth. "So, what’s the plan, big guy? You takin’ us to one o’ them fancy restaurants where they charge ya a hundred bucks for a plate o’ lettuce?"

I glance at Raven, who’s now staring at the ceiling as if she’s praying for it to swallow her whole. "Actually, yes. I thought we could…"

But Terry’s already climbing into the limo, his boots tracking mud on the leather seats. "Well, hell, what’re we waitin’ for? Let’s get this show on the road!"

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