Page 11 of Faking the Rules

"Thank you," he murmurs against my skin, and I'm not sure if he's thanking me for attending the game or for playing along with his mother.

He releases me only to slide an arm around my waist, keeping me close as he greets his mother with a kiss on the cheek. "Mom, I see you've met Ellie."

"We had a lovely time getting acquainted," Caroline confirms. "I've invited her to dinner on Friday."

Declan's arm tightens almost imperceptibly around my waist, his fingers digging into my hip. A subtle warning. A wordless plea.

"Friday," he says smoothly, but I catch the flash of panic in his eyes. "Looking forward to it."

His father suddenly reappears, handshake exchanged with a nearby university official concluding just in time for him to join our little circle. Richard Wolfe exudes the kind of old-money power that doesn't need to announce itself—it simply exists, demanding acknowledgment. His perfectly tailored suit and calculating gaze make me instinctively straighten my posture.

"There's the MVP," he says, clapping Declan on the shoulder. His smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Impressive third period. Though that penalty in the second was unnecessary."

Declan's body tenses against mine. "Thanks, Dad," he says, his voice suddenly flat.

Richard's attention shifts to me, his assessment almost clinical. "And this must be Eleanor."

"Ellie," Declan corrects immediately.

"She prefers Ellie," Caroline adds at the same time, a curious alliance that makes me wonder how often they've needed to temper Richard Wolfe's natural severity.

"Ellie Gardner," I offer my hand, determined not to be intimidated. "It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wolfe."

His handshake is firm, deliberate. "Declan tells me you're quite the scholar. Top of your class?"

"She's brilliant," Declan answers before I can, his voice taking on a warmth that sounds genuine enough to make my heart stutter. "Professor Harmon says her thesis on feminist reclamation in Gothic literature might be published."

The fact that he knows this—that he's been paying attention to my academic achievements—catches me off guard.

"Interesting," Richard says, in a tone that suggests it's anything but. "And what are your plans after graduation, Ellie?"

"PhD at Columbia, hopefully," I reply, feeling strangely like I'm being interviewed.

"Academia," Richard nods. "Admirable. Though not particularly lucrative."

"Dad," Declan warns, his voice dropping.

"Just making conversation," Richard replies with a dismissive wave. "Caroline has invited you to dinner Friday, I understand?"

"Yes, I'm looking forward to it," I lie, feeling Declan's thumb trace a small circle against my waist—his silent acknowledgment of my effort.

"Excellent. We'll have a chance to get better acquainted." Richard checks his watch. "We should go. Early breakfast meeting tomorrow with the foundation board."

Goodbyes are exchanged, Caroline's warm and genuine, Richard's perfunctory. As they walk away, I feel Declan exhale slowly, his body releasing tension I hadn't fully registered until its absence.

"Sorry about that," he murmurs, his mouth close to my ear. "My father can be..."

"Intimidating?" I supply.

"I was going to say 'an asshole,' but intimidating works too." The corner of his mouth lifts in a rueful smile. "You handled him well."

"You didn't tell me your parents would be here." I pull back slightly, but his arm remains firmly around my waist. "Or that I'd be expected at a family dinner."

"I didn't know they were coming," he says, and I believe him. "As for Friday..." He grimaces. "My mother texted during pre-game. I couldn't exactly say no."

I keep my voice low, aware of teammates and fans still milling around us. "Family dinners weren't part of our agreement."

"I know. I'll make it up to you." His eyes meet mine, unexpectedly earnest. "You were amazing tonight, Ellie. I owe you."

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