Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 203

Adrian’s POV

The restaurant is upscale without being pretentious—exposed brick walls, soft lighting, a private room for our rehearsal dinner.

Derek arranged everything, and the result is elegant and warm. Tables arranged in a U-shape, centerpieces of white flowers, wine flowing freely.

Sophie sits beside me, beautiful in a navy dress, her hand resting on my knee. Amelia is with a babysitter tonight—one evening to celebrate without managing an infant. Around us, both families mingle with surprising ease.

Derek stands first, tapping his wine glass. The room quiets. He clears his throat, gathering his thoughts.

"I want to welcome Adrian into our family," he begins, voice warm but measured. "When Sophie first told us about her relationship with her professor, I had concerns. The age difference, the power dynamic, the circumstances—none of it was what I'd envisioned."

The honesty is uncomfortably direct, but I appreciate it more than false platitudes.

"But watching Adrian these past months, seeing him step up as a father, his commitment to Sophie and Amelia, has shown me a man trying to be better than his circumstances."

Derek pauses, eyes meeting mine directly.

"Sophie deserves someone who celebrates her strength, who supports her ambitions, who sees her as a partner rather than a possession. I'm trusting you'll be that man, Adrian. Not just on the wedding day, but every day after."

The pointed reference lands—celebrates her strength, supports her ambitions. He's reminding me that Sophie is brilliant and capable and has dreams beyond being my wife. A warning wrapped in a welcome.

"To Adrian and Sophie," Derek finishes. "May your marriage be built on mutual respect, genuine partnership, and the kind of love that makes you both better."

Everyone drinks. I nod my acknowledgment—message received.

My mother goes next, standing with visible emotion.

"I never thought I'd see this day," she says, voice thick. "Adrian was so closed off for so long. So convinced he was incapable of the kind of vulnerability that real love requires."

She dabs at her eyes, and I realize she's thinking about my father.

About the cold, controlling man who raised me, versus the family I'm trying to build. The comparison lives in her tears—relief that I'm choosing differently, grief for my childhood, hope for Amelia's future.

"Watching you become a father, watching you commit to Sophie despite how terrifying that must be—it's shown me you're capable of real change. Real love."

She raises her glass, tears flowing freely. "To my son and his beautiful bride. May you build something better than what you came from."

Better than what I came from. Better than my father's cold marriage. Better than the patterns I spent years replicating before Sophie demanded I become more.

I stand and hug her, and she whispers: "I'm so proud of you." The words make my throat tight.

Cleo's toast brings levity back. "I've known Sophie since freshman year, and I've watched her survive literature seminars, thesis deadlines, and a particularly terrible haircut sophomore year that we've all agreed never to mention again."

Laughter ripples through the room. Sophie mock-glares at her best friend.

"But nothing challenged her like falling for Adrian Lewis." Cleo's smile is affectionate but pointed. "He's brilliant, intense, complicated—basically catnip for an overachieving English major who thinks she can fix anything with enough analysis."

More laughter. Sophie's hand tightens on my knee.

"Adrian, you're getting the smartest, strongest, most stubborn woman I know. Treat her accordingly. Celebrate her intelligence. Support her dreams. And remember—I know where you live and I'm not afraid to use that information."

The threat is delivered with a smile, but I see genuine concern in Cleo's eyes as she watches Sophie. She knows something is off. Maybe everyone knows, and they're all just politely ignoring it.

Sophie's younger sisters go next, giving chaotic, overlapping speeches.

They declare me officially family, describe why I'm "way cooler than we expected," and make jokes about how Sophie used to say she'd never get married because "boys are gross and distract from reading."

Their joy is uncomplicated and genuine, cutting through the underlying tension. They're just happy their sister found someone. The simplicity of it is almost painful.

Throughout the toasts, I watch Sophie. She smiles at the right moments, laughs at jokes, wipes away appropriate tears. But her gaze drifts toward the door often, like she's expecting someone who isn't there.

I know who she's looking for. Bellamy is positioned near the back of the restaurant, professional and discreet in his security role.

But Sophie's gaze keeps finding him, lingering a moment too long before she catches herself and looks away. She's hyperaware of his presence even while sitting beside me, even while celebrating our upcoming wedding.

The knowledge sits in my chest like broken glass.

Finally, my turn. I stand, glass in hand, looking around at these people who've welcomed me despite having every reason not to.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," I begin. "For those who don't know me well, I'm not particularly good at emotional vulnerability. Or speeches. Or really any situation that requires expressing feelings publicly."

Scattered laughter. Sophie squeezes my hand.

"But I need you to know how grateful I am. To Derek and Emma, for raising Sophie to be remarkable. To my Mom, for never giving up on me even when I gave you plenty of reasons to. To Cleo, for being the kind of friend who protects Sophie fiercely—including from me when necessary."

I pause, choosing words carefully.

"Sophie walked into my life and demanded I become better than I thought I was capable of being. She saw through every defense, every carefully constructed wall, and insisted I was capable of more. Of real love, of fatherhood, of building something genuine instead of just performing it."

The words are sincere. Every single one. And yet guilt sits heavy in my chest. Because I'm standing here promising love and honesty while keeping Lolita's arrangement secret.

While having paid off blackmail Sophie doesn't know about. While being aware of the tension between her and Bellamy that everyone's pretending not to see.

"I promise to love her, to protect her, to be the partner and father our family deserves. Thank you for welcoming me into this family. I won't take it for granted."

I raise my glass, everyone drinks, and the moment passes. The dinner continues—excellent food, flowing wine, conversations that overlap in comfortable chaos.

It should feel celebratory. It does, mostly.

But underneath runs a current of unspoken things. Doubts no one voices. Concerns everyone politely ignores. The fact that something isn't quite right, that some piece doesn't fit, that the bride keeps glancing at the door like part of her wishes someone else was here.

As the evening winds down, dessert plates cleared and coffee served, I pull Sophie close and kiss her temple. She leans into me, and to anyone watching we must look like a couple completely in love, completely certain, completely ready for marriage.

And maybe we are. Maybe the doubts are just normal pre-wedding jitters. Maybe the tension with Bellamy will fade once he steps back. Maybe the secrets I'm keeping are protecting her rather than betraying her.

Or maybe we're all just very good at pretending everything is fine when it's not.