Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 198

Sophie’s POV

Dad and Emma's backyard is alive with chaos in the best possible way. My younger sisters chase each other around the lawn, their laughter piercing the warm afternoon air.

Emma orchestrates food prep with practiced efficiency while my dad stands at the grill with Adrian beside him, both men holding beers and looking serious about outdoor cooking.

I watch from the patio, taking in the scene. This is what I grew up with—loud, messy family gatherings where everyone talks over each other and half the food gets burned but nobody cares because it's about being together.

Adrian never had this—his childhood was all cold silence and controlled perfection. Watching him now, listening intently as Dad demonstrates proper burger-flipping technique, something in my chest tightens.

"See, the key is waiting until you see the juices pooling on top," Dad explains, demonstrating with his spatula. "Flip too early and you lose all the moisture. But wait too long and…"

"You char the bottom while the top stays raw," Adrian finishes, nodding. "Temperature control."

"Exactly!" Dad claps him on the shoulder, clearly pleased. "You're a quick study. Now, the real family secret is in the marinade. Been perfecting this recipe for fifteen years."

"I'm honored to be granted access to such closely guarded intelligence," Adrian says with mock solemnity, and Dad laughs.

They fall into easy conversation—Dad asking about Adrian's work, Adrian asking about the accounting firm.

It's so normal, so mundane, so perfectly ordinary. Future son-in-law learning from father-in-law. The kind of scene that plays out at family barbecues everywhere.

But for Adrian, I know this is extraordinary.

"Sophie, can you help set the table?" Emma calls, and I abandon my observation post.

Inside, the kitchen smells like Emma's famous potato salad and brownies cooling on the counter. We're gathering plates when Emma enlists Adrian's help carrying serving platters outside.

"Adrian, grab that bowl would you?" Emma directs, and he follows instructions without hesitation, arranging dishes on the outdoor table.

"Uncle Adrian!" My sisters appear from nowhere, phones in hand, faces alight with teenage intensity. "You have to settle something for us."

Adrian sets down the platter carefully and gives them his full attention. "I'm listening."

"Which dance is better?" They proceed to demonstrate two nearly identical TikTok dances. Adrian watches both performances with the seriousness of a competition judge.

"Well," he says carefully, "they're both technically proficient. The first has stronger energy, but the second has better synchronization. I'm calling this a tie."

"That's a cop-out!" They protest in unison.

"Unless..." Adrian's expression turns mischievous. "You teach me both and I'll give an informed opinion as a participant."

Abby and Madison squeal and proceed to attempt teaching Adrian the dances.

What follows is possibly the most awkward, stiff, rhythmically challenged dancing I've ever witnessed. His movements are robotic, his timing completely off, and he looks absolutely ridiculous.

Everyone laughs—including Adrian. He's not embarrassed or defensive. He just keeps trying, accepting correction from my teenage sisters with good humor, making self-deprecating jokes about his lack of coordination.

Next time, I think. Like he's already part of the family.

After dinner—slightly charred burgers that taste perfect because Dad made them—we migrate to the living room for board games. It's immediately chaotic.

Teams form and dissolve within minutes. Accusations of cheating fly freely. Emma's competitive streak emerges when she catches Dad trying to peek at her cards.

Adrian holds his own. He banters with my sisters, forms a strategic alliance with Dad against "the women's coalition," doesn't flinch when the volume escalates to near-shouting. The house is loud, messy, full of overlapping conversations and laughter.

I catch him smiling, genuinely smiling as he argues about game rules with Emma, both getting increasingly animated. This is Adrian without the careful control, without the Professor Lewis facade. Just a man trying to fit into his future wife's family, and succeeding.

Later, we slip away to the quiet backyard under the pretense of getting more drinks. The evening has cooled, the sun setting in brilliant oranges and pinks. Behind us, sounds of my family's laughter drift through the open window.

We stand together on the patio, and Adrian's hand finds mine.

"I really love this," he says quietly, his voice carrying unexpected vulnerability. "The chaos, the noise, everyone talking over each other. The terrible jokes and the burned food and the arguing about board games."

I glance at him, and his expression is unguarded, almost boyish.

"I didn't have this growing up," he continues, staring at the house where my family's silhouettes move against lit windows. "My house was quiet, controlled. Every meal was formal, every conversation monitored. Cold, if I'm honest. Your family is..."

He struggles for the word. "Alive. Everything is so alive here. And I want to be part of this, Sophie. Part of them. I want Amelia to grow up with this—with family barbecues and terrible dancing and chaotic board games."

His hand tightens on mine.

"I want to learn your dad's marinade secrets and hear Emma's stories about you as a kid. I want your sisters to feel like they can drag me into their TikTok debates without worrying I'll be too important or too dignified."

My throat tightens. I turn to face him fully, cupping his face, feeling the slight stubble there.

"You are part of this," I tell him, voice thick. "They already love you. Did you see Dad teaching you at the grill? He only shares the secret marinade with family."

"I noticed," Adrian says, and his smile is soft, genuine. "It felt like belonging."

I kiss him then, deeply, filled with love and hope and certainty that this man understands what family should be even though he never had it himself. He wants to build something better, to give Amelia the childhood he never experienced.

When we break apart, Adrian pulls me close. We stand like that in the cooling evening air, listening to my family's laughter, feeling the warmth of the house at our backs.

This is why, I think. This is why I'm marrying him.

Not because everything is perfect, not because there aren't complications and doubts. But because of these moments when he's open and vulnerable, when he shows me the man he wants to become instead of the man his father made him.

He's trying so hard to build something better than what he came from. And I want to help him do it.

We return inside hand-in-hand, and when my sisters immediately draft Adrian onto their team for the next game, when he settles in with exaggerated seriousness and starts strategizing with them, I feel more sure about the wedding than I have in weeks.

This is what matters. This connection, this family, this future we're building together.

Everything else—the doubts, the complications, the confusing feelings I've been wrestling with—feels smaller compared to this certainty.

I'm marrying Adrian in ten days.

And tonight, finally, that feels right.