Page 15 of Faking the Rules

"Right on time," she says, ushering us into a foyer that could comfortably fit my entire dorm room. "Richard's in the study with the Gordons. Drinks before dinner."

Declan presses a kiss to his mother's cheek, the gesture natural and affectionate. "Mom, you look great."

"Flattery," she says, but looks pleased nonetheless. Her attention shifts to me. "Ellie, that color is beautiful on you. Come, let me introduce you to our guests."

The study is a wood-paneled room straight from a film set—leather armchairs, built-in bookshelves, a fireplace crackling despite the mild evening. Richard Wolfe stands by a bar cart, pouring amber liquid into crystal tumblers for an older couple who turn at our entrance.

"Here they are," Richard announces, his assessing gaze moving over me with the same clinical detachment as at the hockey game. "Thomas, Elizabeth, you remember our son Declan. And this is his friend, Ellie Gardner."

Friend. Not girlfriend. The deliberate downgrade isn't lost on me, nor on Declan, whose arm tightens around my waist.

"Girlfriend, Dad," he corrects, his voice carrying a warning that makes Caroline shoot her husband a look. "Ellie and I have been dating for a month now."

"Of course," Richard concedes with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "My mistake."

The Gordons turn out to be Richard's business partner and his wife—pleasant enough, if somewhat reserved. The conversation flows around general topics—the university, the recent hockey victory, the charitable foundation Caroline chairs. I answer questions when addressed directly but mostly observe, cataloging the family dynamics that have shaped Declan.

Caroline had mentioned at the game that other players and their parents would be here, but none of them are, and it’s not mentioned. I wonder if she concocted that story to make it more likely that I would come, so she could spend more time with the girl she thinks has won her son’s heart. The idea is both sweet and disconcerting at the same time.

Richard dominates without obvious effort, his presence commanding attention even when others speak. Carolinemediates, smoothing rough edges with practiced grace. And Declan—Declan shifts before my eyes, becoming a version of himself I haven't seen before. More formal, more guarded, his natural charm overlaid with a careful restraint.

I catch him watching his father, gauging reactions, adjusting accordingly. It's subtle but unmistakable—the performance of the perfect son, the heir to the Wolfe legacy.

Dinner is served in a formal dining room that could host twenty comfortably. The conversation turns to business—investments, market projections, the family company's latest acquisition. Declan participates with surprising knowledge, demonstrating a grasp of financial matters I wouldn't have expected from someone supposedly focused on hockey.

"Ellie," Elizabeth Gordon turns to me during a lull, "You mentioned you wanted a PhD in literature. What's your focus?"

"Feminist literary criticism," I reply, aware of Richard's slight eye roll at the term 'feminist.' "Right now I’m writing a paper for one of my classes on how female Gothic writers subverted patriarchal narratives through coded language and symbolism."

"Fascinating," Thomas Gordon says with what seems like genuine interest. "Any authors in particular?"

"Ann Radcliffe, primarily. But also Mary Shelley, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, even Daphne du Maurier in the modern era."

"All examining confinement and constraint," Caroline observes, surprising me with her knowledge. "Women trapped by societal expectations and limitations."

"Exactly," I agree, warming to the subject. "The haunted house as metaphor for patriarchal institutions, the madwoman as symbol of female rage against containment."

"All very interesting," Richard interrupts, his tone suggesting it's anything but. "Though I wonder about the practical applications of such study. In terms of career prospects."

There it is again—the barely veiled dismissal of academic pursuits without immediate financial value. I feel Declan tense beside me, ready to intervene, but this is a battle I've fought before.

"Knowledge doesn't always need to be monetized to have value, Mr. Wolfe," I say evenly. "But if you're asking about my career plans, I plan on pursing a professorship after my PhD. The publishing opportunities alone make it a viable path."

A flash of approval crosses Caroline's face, while Richard looks slightly taken aback by my direct response.

"Well said," Thomas Gordon raises his wine glass slightly. "To pursuing knowledge for its own sake."

The conversation shifts again, and I feel Declan's hand find mine under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. When I glance at him, there's something like pride in his eyes, warming me from the inside out.

Dessert has just been served when Richard turns the conversation in a direction that makes my blood run cold.

"Declan tells us you transferred mid-year, Ellie. From... where was it?"

"Pacific Northwest University," I supply, keeping my voice steady despite the sudden twist of anxiety in my gut. "In Oregon."

"Quite a change," Elizabeth observes. "What prompted the move across the country?"

Before I can formulate a suitably vague response, Declan interjects. "Ellie wanted a stronger literature program. PNU's focus is more scientific."

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