Chapter 2 : The Transatlantic Proposal

## 1

The week that followed was a study in quiet desperation. Lucas applied for jobs online, sending out resumes to game studios across London and occasionally beyond. Each rejection—or worse, the silence that followed submission—felt like another nail in the coffin of his career. He slept poorly in the narrow bed, waking each morning to the smell of his father''s toast and the sound of BBC Radio 4 drifting up the stairs.

Arthur maintained a careful distance. They exchanged necessary information—"the milk''s running low," "the plumber''s coming Tuesday"—but avoided any conversation that touched on Lucas''s future, or lack thereof. The sham marriage proposal hung between them, unmentioned but ever-present, like a ghost at the dinner table.

On Thursday, Lucas met Sarah for drinks at a pub near her new office. She''d landed a job at a smaller studio, one that specialized in educational games. Over pints of bitter, she listened as Lucas outlined his father''s suggestion.

"A green card marriage?" Sarah''s eyebrows shot up. "That''s... dramatic."

"It''s insane," Lucas said, tracing the condensation on his glass. "It''s the kind of thing desperate people do in bad movies."

"Are you desperate?"

The question hung in the air. Lucas thought about his dwindling savings, the job applications disappearing into the void, the way his father looked at him with that mixture of disappointment and resignation.

"Maybe," he admitted. "But even if I were, it''s fraud. It''s illegal."

Sarah shrugged. "Lots of things are technically illegal but morally ambiguous. People do it all the time. Especially in your... situation."

"My situation?"

"Gay. Needing to get out of a country where your family doesn''t accept you. Needing a fresh start."

Lucas felt a flash of irritation. "My father accepts me. In his own way."

"Does he?" Sarah''s tone was gentle but pointed. "Because from what you''ve told me, he''s never actually said the words. He''s never introduced you to anyone as his son and his partner. He''s never asked about your relationships unless he''s criticizing them."

The truth of it stung. Lucas took a long drink, letting the bitterness of the beer wash over his tongue. "Even if that''s true, marrying a stranger for papers is..."

"Is what? Practical? A solution to multiple problems?"

"You sound like my father."

Sarah smiled faintly. "Maybe he has a point. Have you looked into this Alexander guy?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"Because if I look into him, it starts to feel real. And if it feels real, I might actually consider it."

Sarah leaned forward, her expression serious. "Lucas, you''re thirty-two. You''re talented. You deserve better than sending out resumes into the void and sleeping in your childhood bedroom. If there''s a way out—even an unconventional one—maybe you should at least explore it."

## 2

That night, alone in his room, Lucas did what he''d been avoiding. He opened his laptop and typed "Alexander Carter New York" into the search bar.

The results were more substantial than he''d expected. Alexander Carter, thirty-five, founder and CEO of Carter Technologies, a mid-sized software company specializing in productivity tools for creative industries. There were photos—a tall man with dark hair and an easy smile, standing at tech conferences, shaking hands with investors, posing with what looked like employees at company events. He was handsome in a way that felt almost aggressively American: confident, athletic, radiating the kind of casual success that came from either privilege or exceptional talent, or both.

Lucas found an interview in a tech magazine from six months earlier. In it, Alexander talked about his company''s growth, his philosophy of "work-life integration" (not balance, he emphasized—integration), and his belief that the best ideas came from unconventional thinking. He mentioned growing up in California, moving to New York after college, building his company from a dorm room project to a business with fifty employees.

Nothing about why he''d enter into a sham marriage.

Lucas dug deeper, searching for any hint of scandal or controversy. He found nothing. Alexander appeared to be exactly what he presented: a successful entrepreneur with a clean record and a photogenic life.

He closed the laptop, his mind racing. What was the catch? Why would a man like that—successful, attractive, presumably with options—agree to marry a stranger for immigration purposes?

The obvious answer was money. Maybe Alexander needed the fee that typically accompanied such arrangements. But according to Lucas''s father, there was no money involved. It was presented as a favor between family friends.

Which made even less sense.

Lucas lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. His body remembered the tension of the past week—the constant low-grade anxiety, the physical restlessness that came from being trapped in a life that wasn''t working. He thought about Alexander''s photo, the confident smile, the way he stood as if he owned whatever space he occupied.

A strange curiosity stirred in him. Not attraction, exactly—though Alexander was objectively attractive—but something more complicated. A wondering about what it would be like to be near that kind of confidence. To share a life, even a fake one, with someone who seemed so sure of himself.

His hand drifted to his stomach, fingers pressing against the tension there. He thought about sex—not with Alexander specifically, but with anyone. The physical release. The temporary forgetting. It had been weeks since he''d been touched with any real desire, and his body ached with the absence.

He imagined what it would be like to be married. To share a bed. To have the legal and social permission to touch and be touched. Even in a sham arrangement, there would be expectations. Appearances to maintain. What would that entail? Holding hands in public? Kissing for photographs? Sharing a bedroom?

The thought sent a confusing mix of anxiety and excitement through him. The idea of being so physically close to a stranger—of performing intimacy—felt both terrifying and strangely thrilling.

## 3

On Saturday morning, Lucas found his father in the garden, pruning rose bushes with the meticulous care he applied to all tasks. The air was cool but clear, the first genuinely pleasant day since Lucas''s return.

"Have you thought any more about Richard''s suggestion?" Arthur asked without looking up from his work.

"I''ve been researching Alexander Carter."

"And?"

"He seems... legitimate. Successful. Normal."

Arthur snipped a dead branch. "Richard speaks highly of him. Says he''s a good man. A bit unconventional, but good."

"What does that mean? Unconventional?"

Arthur hesitated, his pruning shears pausing mid-cut. "Richard says Alexander lives life on his own terms. Doesn''t care much for what other people think. That American attitude, I suppose."

Lucas watched his father''s hands, the careful precision of his movements. "Why do you think he''s doing this? Why would he agree to marry a stranger?"

"I don''t know," Arthur said, and for the first time, Lucas heard genuine uncertainty in his voice. "Richard was vague about the details. He said Alexander has his reasons, and they''re his own business."

"And you''re comfortable with that? Sending your son off to marry a man you''ve never met, for reasons you don''t understand?"

Arthur finally looked at him. His eyes were tired, older than Lucas remembered. "I''m not comfortable with any of this, Lucas. I''m not comfortable with you being unhappy. I''m not comfortable with watching you struggle. I''m not comfortable with the thought of you spending your life in jobs that don''t fulfill you, with people who don''t appreciate you."

The words hung between them, more honest than anything Arthur had said in years.

"If your mother were here," Arthur continued, his voice softening, "she''d know what to say. She always knew how to... bridge the gaps. Between us."

Lucas felt a sudden, unexpected ache. His mother had died two years ago from a swift and brutal cancer. She''d been the buffer between him and his father, the translator of unspoken feelings, the one who could make Arthur''s rigid principles bend enough to accommodate a son who didn''t fit the mold.

"Would she approve of this?" Lucas asked.

Arthur considered the question. "She''d want you to be happy. She''d want you to have a chance. And she was practical, in her way. She understood that sometimes... unconventional problems require unconventional solutions."

Lucas looked at the rose bushes, the careful order his father imposed on the natural chaos of growth. It occurred to him that this proposal—this bizarre, desperate solution—might be his father''s attempt at pruning. Cutting away the dead parts of Lucas''s life to make room for new growth.

Even if the method was flawed. Even if the risk was enormous.

## 4

The legal research was sobering. Lucas spent hours reading about marriage fraud, immigration law, and the consequences of getting caught. Fines. Deportation. Permanent bans from entering the United States. Criminal charges.

But he also read about the ways people navigated the system. The careful documentation, the staged photos, the coached answers to immigration interviews. The community of people—lawyers, consultants, even other couples—who specialized in making sham marriages look real.

It was a world of calculated risk and meticulous planning. A world where love was optional but paperwork was essential.

He found forums where people discussed their experiences. Some stories were cautionary tales—couples caught, lives upended. Others were success stories—people who''d gotten their green cards, started new lives, even in some cases fallen in love for real with their sham spouses.

One post caught his eye, from a woman who''d entered into a marriage of convenience with a gay friend:

*We thought we were being practical. Two people helping each other out. What we didn''t expect was how living together, pretending to be in love, would change us. You start with a script, but eventually you forget you''re acting. The lines blur. The fake kisses start to feel real. The shared bed stops being an arrangement and starts being a home. Be careful. This kind of arrangement has a way of becoming more than you bargained for.*

Lucas read the post three times. The warning was clear, but so was the subtext: even fake intimacy could become real. Even a transaction could transform into something genuine.

He thought about Alexander again. What would it be like to share a life with him? To wake up in the same house? To navigate the daily routines of coexistence? To pretend to be in love?

His body responded to the thought with a confusing mixture of dread and anticipation. The idea of being so physically close to another man—of sharing space, time, the mundane details of daily life—felt both terrifying and strangely appealing. After years with Marcus, where intimacy had become routine and then scarce, the prospect of any kind of connection, even a fabricated one, stirred something in him.

He remembered the weight of another body in bed. The warmth. The simple comfort of not being alone. Even if it was just for show. Even if it started as a transaction.

Could he do it? Could he trade his principles for a chance at a new life?

## 5

The decision came not in a dramatic moment of clarity, but as a gradual settling. Like sediment finding its level in still water.

Lucas stood at his bedroom window, watching the streetlights come on one by one. The familiar view of Wimbledon at dusk—the neat houses, the quiet streets, the predictable rhythm of a life he''d tried and failed to make work.

He thought about the alternatives. Staying in London, fighting for jobs in a shrinking market, watching his savings disappear, living in his father''s spare room until one of them couldn''t stand it anymore. Or taking a chance on something completely different. Something risky. Something that went against every sensible instinct he had.

His phone buzzed with another job rejection email. A studio in Manchester he''d been hopeful about. *Thank you for your application, but...*

He deleted the email without finishing it.

Downstairs, he could hear his father moving around the kitchen, preparing dinner. The familiar sounds of domestic routine that should have been comforting but instead felt like a cage.

Lucas took a deep breath, then went downstairs.

Arthur was at the stove, stirring something in a pot. He looked up when Lucas entered, his expression unreadable.

"I''ll do it," Lucas said, the words coming out more firmly than he''d expected.

Arthur stopped stirring. "You''re sure?"

"No. But I''m going to do it anyway."

A long silence. Then Arthur nodded, once. "I''ll call Richard. Make the arrangements."

"Thank you."

Arthur turned back to the stove, but not before Lucas saw the relief in his eyes. The burden of his son''s unhappiness, however briefly, lifted.

Later, lying in bed, Lucas tried to imagine New York. The noise. The energy. The complete unknown of a city that didn''t know him and didn''t care about his failures.

And Alexander. A stranger who would become his husband. A man whose face he''d seen in photos but whose reality was still a mystery.

He thought about the legal documents they''d sign. The vows they''d exchange. The bed they might share. The performance of intimacy they''d have to maintain.

His hand drifted to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. Fear, yes. But also something else—a flicker of excitement. Of possibility.

For the first time in weeks, he felt something other than defeat. It was a dangerous feeling, this fragile hope. But it was better than nothing.

He closed his eyes, and for the first time since returning to this house, he slept through the night.

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