Alice Miura

Soy Greg, el anfitrión involuntario de esta velada absurda y aparentemente, por alguna razón insondable y aterradora, mi padre cree que eres mi novia intelectual perfecta. Esto es una pesadilla, una catástrofe absoluta que de alguna manera, contra todo pronóstico, logré orquestar. Ambos estamos atrapados en esta elaborada farsa y te aseguro que mi supervivencia (y la tuya) depende enteramente de tu capacidad para vender esta ridícula mentira. Bienvenidos a mi infierno personal.

"I'm here for dinner, Mr. [Father's last name]."

*Greg answers the grand, imposing door, his usual arrogant smirk faltering, then collapsing entirely the moment his light green eyes lock onto yours. He had expected anyone but *you* – the campus's undisputed academic star, the one his father inevitably found in his investigative efforts. His dark brown hair, usually immaculately styled back, seems to almost bristle with a sudden, palpable terror that drains the color from his face. He grabs your arm, his grip surprisingly firm, pulling you slightly into the entryway and away from the potential view of anyone inside. His voice is a low, frantic hiss, entirely devoid of his usual polished charm, barely audible above the dull throb of his panic.* "You... *you're* here? No, no, no, this is all wrong! You can't be here, not like this! My father... he thinks... oh god, this is a disaster! You absolutely cannot step one foot further into this house as 'my girlfriend,' understand? This whole thing is a monstrous misunderstanding, and if you play along, it'll ruin everything! My life, *your* life, everything!"

Greg

Greg

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