Page 19 of Her Possessive Dominant Fake Husband

His eyes flickered with mischief. "Mom, Alexander's here!"

The shout seemed to shake Claire out of her frozen state. She moved toward me, a strained smile attempting to mask her shock.

"Hi, honey! I thought you’d be busy tonight," she said. She thought no such thing. Her voice was all politeness, but I knew a reprimand when I heard one.

"Surprise," I said, opening my arms to pull her into a convincing hug. It seemed I’d interrupted a rare moment of happiness for her. Maybe this had been a mistake.

An older woman, frail but sharp-eyed, appeared. Claire's mother. She assessed me like a stray cat that had wandered in, trying to decide whether I was friend or foe. Her expression softened slightly as Michael put an arm around my shoulders in a brotherly fashion, telling them I was a welcome surprise since they hadn’t seen me since the wedding, the excitement in his voice not quite matching the tension in Claire’s posture.

"Alexander, it's a pleasure," her mother said. I could tell she meant it, though I suspected she wondered why I’d shown up out of the blue.

"The pleasure is mine," I said, stealing a glance at Claire. Her face was less welcoming.

Michael nudged me. "Come on, you’ve got to try some of this. Claire was about to take credit for my awesome cooking."

He was joking, and the room relaxed around his good humor. Everyone except Claire, who watched me with an intensity that would have been unnerving if I wasn’t so used to being under scrutiny.

I followed Michael, noticing how her tension seemed to bleed away from her shoulders as her brother playfully steered the situation. Claire was trying to escape—from me, and now, maybe, from what my presence in her home meant. I wondered if that’s what this dinner was. An escape from everything, from the world that pushed her around and took advantage of her.

She turned to her mother, who nodded approvingly, as if saying I wasn’t the monster she feared. It was remarkable, this quick transition from wariness to acceptance.

Michael shoved a plate into my hands. "Eat, man. You look like you could use a real meal."

Claire raised an eyebrow at the remark, a flicker of humor betraying her attempt at composure. I couldn’t tell if she found Michael’s banter charming or was relieved that he was keeping the peace. Maybe both.

The atmosphere in the room started to soften. The warmth in the air reminded me of an era before James got involved with Allison—before Friday night dinners turned into battlefields. The thought of my brother gnawed at me, reminded me why I’d come to see Claire in the first place. Why I needed this to work.

"Alexander, are you okay with spicy food? We wouldn't want to ruin your taste for high society dining," Claire's mother said, bringing humor when I least suspected it.

"I’ll risk it," I replied, aware that I was smiling more than I had in weeks. I glanced at Claire. She didn’t look upset anymore. The way she watched me was different.

There was a lot of love here. Michael and Claire's easy banter, her mother’s concern over the smallest details—elements missing from my own family. Mine was built on power plays and pretense, a frigid masquerade in comparison. James,seated smugly next to Allison, playing the role of victor while I endured. I hated those dinners.

"I didn’t think you’d come to this side of town," Claire said, less accusingly this time.

"I was curious," I said. I had wanted to see how the family she fought so hard to support actually lived. It was also another chance to disrupt the balance. To get close enough that the world would notice.

"I bet," she said, her tone softening just enough for me to know she didn’t quite buy it.

My eyes drifted around the room, noting the way Michael couldn’t stop ribbing her, the way her mother seemed to hover, always attentive, always on. This was a family. Not the kind I knew. Sure, my mother had softened up a lot over the last handful of years, but my home had never felt like this.

Michael leaned over, lowering his voice to a stage whisper like he was about to share a secret. "Do billionaires even eat regular food, or is it just lobster for breakfast and steak for dinner?"

Claire snorted. Actually snorted. The sound was a revelation. It was one of the first genuine reactions I’d seen from her, since the hug that had turned my whole world upside down. It caught me off guard.

"Not every day," I said, enjoying how strange and wonderful it felt to be drawn into this warmth.

It was Michael's clear admiration for Claire, his casual insistence that I belonged in their little circle, that threw me most. "Claire’s told us how you started from nothing. That true?"

I nodded, appreciating how candid his question was. Too many people tiptoed around me, treating me like royalty,someone to not upset or else they might not find favor later. "I guess we have that in common," I said, my eyes meeting Claire’s.

Her brightness dimmed slightly as I spoke, but not in the way I’d anticipated. It wasn’t disappointment. She was processing, seeing a new side of me and struggling with it. That frustrated me more than her rejection would have.

Her family embraced me without the suspicion I expected, with none of the emotional calculations I’d grown accustomed to. It bothered me, their quick acceptance – what if I was a wolf slipping in to cause harm? Not that I wished harm on her family, I just couldn’t understand being so open and accepting of a near stranger. Her mother’s quick re-evaluation still ran circles in my mind. I was an intruder, yet they welcomed me in as if I was already part of the scenery.

It was Claire’s wide-eyed confusion that made me pause. Her reactions to my intrusion into her life had been so... unlike anything I expected. She was adjusting. Or maybe she was forcing me to adjust.

"So," Michael said, bringing me back into the present. "What's it like bossing everyone around?"

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