I watch him take in the apartment with a single sweeping glance. Assessing. Looking for weaknesses he can exploit later.
Then his gaze lands on Lily.
She stands beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm. She's dressed simply but beautifully in a soft blue sweater that brings out her eyes and dark jeans that fit her curves. Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders. She looks nervous but composed, her chin lifted, her expression open and welcoming despite the tension crackling through the air.
My uncle looks at her for a long moment. Then he speaks.
"Gëzohem që të takoj, e ardhmja e Krasniqi familjes."
The Albanian flows from his mouth smooth and deliberate.
Lily stares at him. Confusion crosses her face, followed quickly by embarrassment. Her cheeks flush pink. She doesn't understand a single word.
The silence stretches uncomfortably.
Driton's expression shifts. Surprise flickers across his features, quickly replaced by something darker. Something disappointed. His eyebrows rise fractionally as he turns to me.
"Ajo nuk është shqiptare?" She's not Albanian?
The question comes out sharp. Accusatory. Like I've committed some unforgivable breach of protocol by choosing someone outside our world.
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. Anger rises hot and immediate in my chest, flooding through my veins like gasoline looking for a spark.
I respond in English. My voice comes out tense, each word clipped and controlled. "Lily is American. We speak English when she's present."
The statement is a line drawn in sand. A claim made public and undeniable.
The insult hangs in the air between us. Not in the words my uncle said, but in the assumption behind them. The assumption that Lily doesn't belong. That she's not good enough. That I've made a mistake by choosing someone who doesn't share our blood, our language, our culture.
I won't tolerate it.
Marrying within Albanian families is the norm in our world. It's about power. About keeping bloodlines pure and allegiances clear. About maintaining control across generations. Strategic marriages that enhance territory, strengthen alliances, eliminate threats through binding oaths that transcend individual will.
When I first proposed this fake engagement to Lily, it was pure strategy. A way to satisfy the council's demands while maintaining my independence. A performance designed to buy time while I consolidated power.
But somewhere between that first lie and this moment, everything changed.
It's not fake anymore.
The realization that started as a whisper has become a roar I can't ignore. This woman standing beside me, nervous but brave, trying to smile through confusion and discomfort, has become essential. Mine in a way that has nothing to do with strategy and everything to do with the way my chest tightens when she laughs. The way her absence feels like missing a limb.
And I won't stand by and watch my decrepit uncle disrespect the woman I love.
The thought crystallizes with perfect clarity.
I love her.
I love Lily Parker with a fierceness that terrifies me. With a totality that leaves no room for doubt or half measures. With a certainty that feels like fate instead of choice.
I step closer to her. Put my hand on the small of her back, fingers spreading possessively across the curve of her spine. Draw her against my side with gentle but undeniable pressure.
She's mine. And I protect what's mine.
Lily tries to smooth over the tension radiating through the room. Her voice is polite, warm, carefully modulated to defuse the situation. "Can I get you something to drink? Or eat?"
The offer is generous. Kind. Exactly the sort of hospitality that should be extended to family.
Driton barely glances at her. Dismisses her with a wave of his hand like she's a servant instead of my fiancée. "I don't need anything." He turns to me, his attention shifting as if Lily has ceased to exist. "We need to speak about family business."
