Felix cornered her in the hallway a few days later, a thick folder clutched firmly in one hand and an apologetic expression already fixed carefully on his face before he'd even properly said a single word to her.
"What's this?" Silveria asked, eyeing the folder with considerable suspicion.
"Rules," Felix said, handing it over to her without further preamble. "For how to properly be Mrs. Crew in public, specifically. Damien asked me to walk you through absolutely everything before the upcoming charity gala next week."
She flipped through the folder as they walked together toward the sitting room, scanning several pages dense with careful, detailed instructions. Notes on proper posture. Notes on exactly what to say if reporters asked certain predictable, difficult questions. An entire page dedicated solely to how to smile properly in photographs without appearing, according to Felix's own handwritten margin note, like she was currently being held at gunpoint by an unseen assailant.
"This is genuinely insane," she said, staring at him in complete disbelief.
"Welcome to being properly married to a Crew," Felix said, grinning as he dropped comfortably onto the sofa across from her. "It gets considerably easier eventually, I promise you."
"Does it, though? Truly?"
"No," he admitted cheerfully, without any hesitation whatsoever. "But you do get considerably better at faking it convincingly, which honestly counts for almost exactly the same thing in practice."
She laughed despite herself at that blunt honesty, and Felix's grin widened further, clearly quite pleased with himself for having earned it from her.
"For what it's genuinely worth," he said, considerably more seriously now, "I think you're handling all of this a great deal better than most people would manage in your particular position. Damien doesn't exactly make things easy on people, you understand, even the people who genuinely happen to care about him a great deal."
"I've certainly noticed that particular tendency already," she said dryly, thinking back to their earlier breakfast standoff.
"He hasn't always been like this, you know," Felix said, leaning back comfortably, something thoughtful crossing his usually easy, carefree expression. "He used to be considerably different. Before everything happened to his family, I mean. Warmer, certainly. He used to actually smile at things that weren't purely business victories or successful negotiations."
"Rosa told me a little about the accident already," Silveria admitted quietly.
"Then you already understand there's considerably more to him than just the ice he shows everyone who isn't already properly considered family." Felix tapped the folder still resting in her lap for emphasis. "Learn the rules properly, play the part convincingly for the cameras when it's required of you. But don't ever let him convince you there's genuinely nothing real underneath all that careful control he maintains. I've known him a very long time now, Silveria. There's a great deal hiding underneath it, whether he's currently willing to properly admit that to himself or not."
"Why exactly are you telling me all of this?" she asked, studying him carefully.
Felix considered the question seriously for a moment before finally answering properly. "Because I genuinely think you might actually be good for him," he said. "And because I strongly suspect he's going to make that considerably harder than it needs to be, purely out of long-established habit. Someone should probably warn you about that in advance, before you get too far into this."
Something warm and slightly overwhelmed settled quietly in her chest at that admission. "I appreciate the warning," she said softly. "Truly, I do."
"Anytime at all." He stood, stretching his arms out, his easy grin returning fully. "Now, let's actually go over these rules properly together, before Damien decides to quiz you himself and discovers I let you skip the required homework entirely."
They spent the following hour working carefully through the folder together, Felix demonstrating exactly the kind of practiced, camera-ready smile that had apparently taken him considerable years to properly perfect himself, Silveria attempting to copy it with noticeably less success during her first several attempts.
"You look constipated," Felix informed her bluntly, after her fourth failed attempt at the expression.
"I'm genuinely trying my absolute best here."
"Try considerably less hard, then. That's actually the entire trick to it. The moment you look like you're trying too hard, the cameras catch it instantly, every single time." He demonstrated the expression again, easy and completely unbothered. "Think about something that genuinely makes you happy instead. Let that show through naturally on your face, rather than performing happiness like it's some kind of tedious chore."
She thought, unbidden, of the quiet moment in the library with the old photo album, of Damien's rare, unguarded laugh at breakfast just days earlier, and something in her expression must have shifted noticeably, because Felix immediately pointed directly at her face.
"There," he said. "That particular one. Do exactly that one at the gala next week."
"What was I even thinking about just then?"
"I have absolutely no genuine idea," Felix said, grinning knowingly, "but whatever it happened to be, it worked beautifully. Hold onto that feeling properly."
She laughed again, genuine and entirely unguarded this time, and thought, not for the first time since arriving in this strange, enormous house, that perhaps she wasn't quite as completely alone here as she'd first feared she might be.
"Can I ask you something?" she said, once their laughter had properly settled. "Something about Damien specifically."
"Of course. Ask away."
"Do you think he's happy? Genuinely happy, I mean, underneath all of this business and careful control he maintains?"
Felix considered the question with real seriousness, his usual teasing manner falling away entirely. "I think," he said slowly, "that Damien forgot how to properly ask himself that particular question a long time ago. He's very good at being successful. He's very good at being responsible, at taking care of everyone who depends on him. Happy is a different matter entirely, and I don't think he's given himself proper permission to consider it in years."
"That's genuinely sad," she said quietly.
"It is," Felix agreed. "Which is precisely why I think you might actually be good for him, if I'm being completely honest with you. You ask questions like that one. Most people around him stopped asking a long time ago."
Silveria sat with that observation for a long moment, something warm and quietly determined settling in her chest. "I'll keep asking, then," she said finally.
"Good," Felix said, smiling properly now. "Someone should."
They finished reviewing the remainder of the folder together shortly after that, and by the time Felix finally left for the evening, Silveria found herself feeling considerably more prepared for the upcoming gala than she had that morning, though the nervous flutter in her stomach hadn't entirely disappeared. Some of it, she suspected, wasn't really about the reporters or the cameras or the careful rules at all. Some of it was simply about walking into a room on Damien's arm, in public, for the very first time, and discovering exactly what that particular experience might feel like.
She found Damien later that evening in his study, reviewing what looked like the exact same folder Felix had given her, though his copy appeared considerably more heavily annotated.
"You have your own version," she observed, settling into the chair across from his desk.
"I wrote most of it myself, originally," he admitted, not looking up from the page. "Felix simply adapted it for you specifically."
"Did you actually practice the smile, when you were first learning all of this?"
Something almost sheepish crossed his face at that question. "For considerably longer than I'd like to properly admit, yes."
"I find that oddly reassuring," she said, unable to keep the smile from her own voice. "Somehow I imagined you emerging fully formed, already perfectly composed for public consumption."
"Nobody emerges that way," he said, setting the folder aside finally. "I had considerable help learning it, actually. My grandfather insisted on it, after I took over the company. Said the board wouldn't trust an eighteen-year-old who looked like he might cry in front of cameras, regardless of how capable he actually was at running things."
"That sounds exhausting," she said quietly. "Learning to perform composure at eighteen, on top of everything else you were already carrying."
"It was," he admitted, something rare and honest entering his voice. "I don't often talk about that particular period. Most people assume I simply stepped into the role naturally, given the family name."
"I won't assume that," she said. "Not anymore, at least."
He looked at her for a long moment, something considering in his expression. "Are you nervous? About the gala, I mean."
"Terrified, if I'm being completely honest," she admitted. "I've never had cameras pointed at me before, not properly. Not like this."
"You'll do fine," he said, with a certainty that surprised her. "Better than fine, actually. I've watched you handle considerably more difficult situations than a room full of reporters these past few weeks."
"Such as?"
"Such as being handed an entire life you never asked for, with four hours' notice, and somehow managing to hold yourself together through all of it," he said quietly. "A gala is simply people in expensive clothes asking predictable questions. You can handle that."
Something warm bloomed in her chest at the unexpected vote of confidence. "Thank you," she said softly. "That actually helps, more than you probably realize."
"Good," he said, and for a moment, something passed between them that felt considerably more significant than either of them was quite ready to properly name, before he cleared his throat and gestured toward the folder still sitting on his desk. "Now, did Felix actually cover the section about handling difficult questions from reporters, or did he skip straight to the smiling practice again, the way he always does?"
"He may have skipped ahead slightly," she admitted, laughing.
"Of course he did," Damien said, something fond entering his tone despite the mild exasperation. "Come here, then. Properly, this time. I'll walk you through it myself."
They spent the remainder of that evening working through the folder together, Damien's careful, methodical approach considerably different from Felix's easy, teasing style, but no less helpful for it. By the time she finally retired for the night, Silveria felt something she hadn't quite expected to feel going into the conversation: genuinely ready, and considerably less alone in facing whatever the gala might bring.
"Silveria," he said, as she paused at the study door to leave.
She turned back. "Yes?"
"Whatever happens Saturday night," he said, "you won't be facing any of it alone. I intend to be right there beside you the entire evening."
The simple assurance settled something anxious in her chest that she hadn't fully realized was still there. "Thank you," she said softly, and left him to his work, carrying that small promise with her all the way up the stairs to her own quiet room.