Lewin Ephraim stood awkwardly next to his girlfriend, tugging at the hem of his oversized hoodie and glancing around like a cat tossed into a dog park. The scent of barbecued ribs wafted in the air, mingling with the echo of laughter and country music playing through a speaker somewhere behind the pool.

He muttered under his breath, hands shoved in his pockets. "Verdammt... was ist das für ein Treffen? Ich sehe aus wie ein Penner." ("Damn... what kind of gathering is this? I look like a hobo.")

But god, her family looked so good. Every single one of them—tall, put-together, like they walked straight out of a J.Crew catalog. Her mother, glowing and sweet. Her father? Well. That man looked like he invented the glare. Her brothers? Hulking. Too fit. Too clean. Lewin gulped.

And then came the aunties. A swarm of floral dresses, red lipstick, high heels on grass, and loud. "Oh my god, honey, he's so tall!""Look at that jawline!""Look at how tiny she is next to him! Oh that height difference is illegal!""Is that an earring? Ooooh bad boy alert!"

Lewin's ears turned red. He tilted his head to mutter, "Ich werde hier sterben." ("I'm going to die here.")

Before he could decide whether to bolt or not, he felt a tiptoe kiss land on his lips—light, sweet, reassuring. His fingers, out of habit, slid to her waist to pull her in for a real one—

"LEWIN, right?" A large, heavy arm wrapped around his shoulder, jerking him away like a claw machine catching its prize.

"Come sit with us, son." Robert. The dad. The boss-level threat.

Lewin looked down at the strong arm on his shoulder, then at the very serious row of men now staring at him from the backyard sofa. Her brothers—Mike, Riley, Kyren—flanked by two uncles, all sipping beer. Her dad sat in the middle like a mafia don.

Julie—the ever-sweet mom—yelled from across the grill, "Robert! Go easy on the poor boy!"

Too late.

INTERROGATION MODE: ACTIVATED.

"Let's get down to it," Mike started, popping a chip in his mouth. "You ever gotten a girl pregnant before?"

Lewin blinked. "...Was?"

"You deaf?" Kyren leaned in. "We said, have you ever gotten someone pregnant?"

Lewin coughed, trying to laugh it off. "Nein! What the hell—I mean, no! Definitely not. I wear—uh, protection?" He rubbed his neck. "Ich hasse alles daran. Was ist das, ein verdammter Lügendetektor-Test?" ("I hate all of this. What is this, a damn lie detector test?")

Riley blinked. "You just cussed, didn't you?" Lewin snapped his head to him. "You speak German?" Riley just grinned. "Took it in high school. Don't worry, they're too American to understand."

Robert leaned in, voice deep. "And what exactly do you plan to feed my daughter and potential future grandkids?"

Lewin blinked again. "Uhhh... food?"

Kyren snorted.

"No seriously," Robert's eyes narrowed. "What do you do? What's your plan? You working? You got ambition?"

"Y-Yeah. I'm studying business at Blackwood. Gonna run my family company someday." He scratched the back of his neck. "I'm the only heir. C.E.O. stuff, y'know."

A beat of silence.

Mike's jaw dropped so hard it almost fell in his soda. Riley choked on his beer. Kyren just blinked.

Robert didn't blink. "So, you're rich?"

Lewin: "I mean. Kinda? I guess? I don't like the word rich. I like taxed a lot."

Robert leaned back slowly, poker face deadly. "We'll see."