Page 41 of My Big Fat Fake Alien

Sandy follows him, still clutching her banjo, and Raven mutters something under her breath that sounds like "kill me now."

As the limo pulls away from the curb, Terry leans forward, his elbows on his knees. "So, Kirk, is it? What’s your story, son? You one o’ them tech billionaires? Or did ya inherit your fortune from some fancy-pants family?"

"Terry!" Raven snaps, her voice sharp. "Can younotinterrogate him for five minutes?"

"Aw, c’mon, darlin’. I’m just makin’ conversation. Ain’t that right, Kirk?" He winks at me, and I find myself grinning despite myself.

"I built my own company," I say, which isn’tentirelya lie. Veritas is technically my company, even if it’s not exactly a human one.

Terry nods approvingly. "Good for you, son. Nothin’ wrong with a little elbow grease. Ain’t that right, Sandy?"

Sandy’s strumming a tune on her banjo, her head bobbing along. "Mhm. Gotta earn your keep in this world. Money don’t grow on trees, y’know."

Raven groans, sinking lower in her seat. "Please don’t start with the life lessons."

Sandy stops playing and points the ban neck at Raven. "Now, you listen here, missy. You might think you’re all grown up now, but you’ll always be our little girl. And we’ve got every right to give you advice, whether you like it or not."

"Especially when it comes to marryin’ rich," Terry adds with a chuckle.

Raven buries her face in her hands. "This is a nightmare."

I reach over and squeeze her hand, my scales brushing against her skin through my image inducer. "It’s going to be fine," I say, though I’m not entirely sure I believe it myself.

Terry notices the gesture and raises an eyebrow. "Well, look at that. You got my daughter blushin’. That’s a first."

Sandy grins, her eyes twinkling. "I like him already."

Raven groans again, muttering, "I’m gonna need a drink."

The limo pulls away from the Four Seasons, and Raven slumps against me with a heavy sigh. Her tension melts, replaced by visible relief.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" I squeeze her hand.

"Easy for you to say. You didn't grow up with them." She straightens her dress. "I hope your family is easier to deal with."

My throat tightens. The words catch, and I stare straight ahead at the partition between us and the driver.

"Karc?"

I focus on a spot on the leather upholstery.

"Kaaaaarc." Raven's voice rises with concern. "What aren't you telling me? You're not already married are you?"

"No!" The word explodes from my chest. "No, nothing like that. It's just... my father, Vrahmin. He's... curmudgeonly and traditional."

"Traditional how?" She turns to face me fully. "Come on, spill it. How bad can he be?"

"There's no way to prepare you for my father." I shake my head. "He's..."

My phone chirps with an incoming message. The screen lights up with Vrahmin's contact photo - a scowling face that matches his personality perfectly. My stomach drops as I read the message.

"I believe the human phrase is, speak of the devil and he shall appear." I show Raven the screen. "My father is at my office, waiting to meet us."

The lobby of my office building is a sleek, modern space, all glass and steel. Raven and I step inside, and I immediately spot my father. He’s holding court near the reception desk, a crowd of wide-eyed Vakutan fawning over him as he regales them with some exaggerated war story. His human disguise is impeccable—tall, broad-shouldered, with a shock of silver hair and a jawline that could cut glass. But his voice, booming and irreverent, is unmistakably Vrahmin.

“And there I was,” he’s saying, gesturing wildly, “knee-deep in Grolgath guts, my plasma rifle jammed, and I thought, ‘Well, this is it. Time to go out in a blaze of glory.’ So I grabbed the nearest one by the tail?—"

“Grolgath don’t have tails,” I mutter under my breath, but no one hears me over the sound of Vrahmin’s laughter.

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