The waiting room at the City Clerk's office was a depressing mix of fluorescent lights and linoleum floors.

Aisha tapped her foot nervously. She kept checking the door, half-expecting her father to burst in with a team of lawyers to drag her away.

"Relax," Dominic said. He was leaning back in the plastic chair, reading an old copy of People magazine. "You look like you're waiting for an execution, not a wedding."

"Same thing," she muttered.

"Number 42!" the clerk called out.

They walked up to the glass partition.

"IDs," the clerk said without looking up.

Aisha handed over her driver's license. Dominic handed over his.

The clerk picked up Dominic's ID. She paused. She squinted at it, then looked up at him. Her eyes widened.

"Fields?" she asked, her voice a little breathless. She looked from the ID to his face. "Like... the Fields family? Fields Global?"

Aisha froze. "Fields?" She looked at Dominic. "Like... the Fields?"

Dominic didn't flinch. He leaned in, resting his arm on the counter. He gave the clerk a conspiratorial wink and lowered his voice.

"Distant cousin," he said. "The black sheep. You know how it is. Got the name, didn't get the money."

He made a frantic shh gesture, glancing around as if hiding from someone.

The clerk giggled. "Oh, I get it. Hiding from the rich relatives?"

"Exactly," Dominic said.

The clerk stamped the form. "Sign here."

Aisha stared at him as they moved to the side. "Fields?"

"It's a common name," he shrugged. "Smith, Jones, Fields."

"It's really not," she said. "But fine. Just don't let my father know you're related to them, even distantly. He hates that family. They crushed him in a deal in '98."

"Noted," Dominic said.

The ceremony took three minutes.

"Do you, Aisha, take Dominic..."

"I do." Her voice was small.

"Do you, Dominic..."

"I do." His voice was strong, grounding.

He slid a silver ring onto her finger. It was cheap-she had bought it at a pawn shop on the way over-but his hand was steady.

"By the power vested in me..."

They were married.

They walked out into the sunshine. Aisha felt a strange sense of vertigo. She was safe. Legally, she was safe.

Her phone pinged. A notification from her bank. Account Unfrozen.

She let out a laugh, half-hysterical. "It worked. He unlocked it."

She immediately opened her banking app and transferred $6,000 to the Venmo account Dominic had set up.

"There," she said. "Your first month's salary."

Dominic checked his phone. You received $6,000 from Aisha B.

He stared at it. It was the most satisfying money he had ever earned.

"Celebration time," Aisha said. "I'm starving."

She led him to a hot dog cart on the corner.

"Really?" Dominic asked, eyeing the questionable water the sausages were floating in.

"It's two dollars," she said. "And it's delicious. Eat up, husband."

Dominic took a bite. Mustard dripped onto his hand. It was salty, greasy, and terrible.

He loved it.

A long, black limousine with tinted windows drove slowly past them. The license plate read FG 1.

Dominic turned his back to the street, shielding his face with the hot dog.

"What's wrong?" Aisha asked.

"Nothing," he mumbled, mouth full. "Just... savoring the flavor."

Aisha hailed a yellow cab. "Come on. We have to go to the lion's den. I need to introduce you to the family."

The taxi idled at the wrought-iron gates of the Bartlett estate.

The guard peered into the back seat. His lip curled when he saw the cab.

"Ms. Bartlett," he said into the intercom. "And... a guest."

"Husband," Aisha corrected loudly. "Open the gate, Jerry."

The gate creaked open.

They drove up the winding driveway. The mansion loomed ahead, a monstrosity of stone and ego.

"Remember," Aisha whispered, gripping Dominic's hand. "You're an entrepreneur. You're struggling, but you have 'potential'. Don't let them intimidate you."

Dominic looked at the house. He estimated its value at maybe twelve million. He had bought a penthouse in Tokyo last week for twenty.

"I'll be brave," he said deadpan.

They walked into the foyer. Laughter drifted from the drawing room.

They entered. Gretta was holding court, surrounded by a few socialites. Cathie was standing by an easel, displaying a painting.

"And this," Cathie was saying, "is my latest piece. I call it 'Storm'."

Aisha gasped. "That's mine."

The room went silent.

Aisha marched forward. "I painted that three years ago. The signature is under the frame tape."

Cathie's eyes widened, then filled with instant, practiced tears. "Aisha? You're... you're hallucinating again. Mom, she's having an episode."

Gretta rushed forward, her face a mask of concern. "Oh, honey. Did you take your meds? Look at your pupils."

She reached out to grab Aisha's arm.

Aisha slapped her hand away. "Don't touch me."

"Enough!"

Barry Bartlett stood in the doorway of his study. His face was purple with rage.

"You show up here, looking like a streetwalker, smelling like..." He sniffed. "Hot dogs? And you accuse your sister?"

"She's not my sister," Aisha spat. "And I'm here to tell you that the trust is mine. Paragraph 14 is satisfied."

She grabbed Dominic's hand and pulled him forward.

"Meet my husband."

Barry stared. He looked Dominic up and down-the leather jacket, the messy hair, the worn boots.

"This?" Barry laughed. It was a cruel, barking sound. "You married a hobo?"

Dominic stepped forward. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't look angry. He just looked... bored.

"Mr. Bartlett," Dominic said. "I'd appreciate it if you spoke to my wife with respect."

Barry stopped laughing. There was something in Dominic's tone-a steel core wrapped in velvet-that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Get out," Barry whispered. "Security!"

"We're leaving," Aisha said. She held up her phone. "But I've already emailed the marriage certificate to the trustees. If you try to stop the payments, I'll sue you for breach of fiduciary duty. And I'll do it loudly."

She turned on her heel. "Come on, Dominic."

They walked out.

Dominic glanced back at Barry. He offered a small, polite nod.

It was the nod of a predator acknowledging prey.

"That went well," Dominic said as they sat in the back of another taxi.

Aisha was shaking. The adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her cold.

"He's going to come after us," she said. "He'll try to prove the marriage is a sham. He'll investigate you."

"Let him," Dominic said. "He won't find anything." Because I have a team of cyber-security experts erasing my digital footprint as we speak.

"We have to be careful," she said. "We have to live together. Really live together. If he sends a PI..."

"I'm looking forward to it," Dominic said.

Aisha looked at him. "Why are you so calm? My father destroys people for sport."

"Maybe I like sport," he said.

Aisha's phone rang. It was Barry.

She put it on speaker.

"Aisha," Barry's voice was dangerously calm. "I've spoken to the lawyers. The marriage stands. For now."

Aisha let out a breath.

"But," Barry continued. "I need to know who this man is. If he's going to be part of this family, he needs to be vetted. Bring him to the Founder's Dinner next Friday."

Aisha froze. The Founder's Dinner was the most exclusive event of the year. The sharks of Wall Street, the old money families, the press.

"If he embarrasses us," Barry said, "if he holds a fork wrong, if he opens his mouth and sounds like the gutter trash he is... you will annul this marriage. Or I will bury you in litigation until you're eighty."

Click.

Aisha dropped the phone. She buried her face in her hands.

"We're dead," she moaned. "It's a black-tie gala. You... look at you."

She gestured to his leather jacket.

Dominic looked down at himself. "What's wrong with me?"

"You need to know which fork is for salad and which is for fish. You need to know how to discuss emerging markets. You need to know how to tie a bowtie."

Dominic smiled. "I'm a quick learner."

"We have one week," she said, her eyes frantic. "One week to turn you into a gentleman."

" My Fair Lady," Dominic mused. "I always liked that movie."

"This isn't a movie, Dominic! This is my life!"

He reached over and took her hand. His thumb traced the back of her knuckles. The touch sent a jolt of electricity up her arm.

"Aisha," he said softly. "Trust me. I won't let you down."

For the first time in two days, looking into his storm-gray eyes, she believed him.