Jaskier had never been in Radovid's office before. He wasn't important enough to be summoned here for personal chats with the head honcho. Yet here he was, standing in front of the man who could make or break Jaskier depending on how well he managed to bullshit him. His associate, Troyden, stood to his left with his arms crossed and a confused expression.
"This is your fiance?" asked Troydon.
"Yes, sir," Geralt nodded. Troyden looked between Geralt and Jaskier.
"Isn't he your secretary?"
"Executive uh...assistant secretary, actually," Geralt replied before waving his hand dismissively. "Arbitrary titles. And let's be honest, this wouldn't be the first time one of us fell for our secretary, would it Troyden?"
Troyden bristled at the sly dig and Radovid huffed out a laugh. "Fair point. I must admit that I'm curious as to how this relationship of yours came about."
"Oh, you know how it is," Geralt shrugged. "All those late nights together at the office, travelling to book fairs. We tried to fight it but something just...happened. Right, Jaskier?"
"Yes, something happened alright," laughed Jaskier nervously, flinching slightly when Geralt unexpectedly put his strong arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer in what was supposed to look like an affectionate embrace.
"How long has this relationship been going on for?" asked Troyden.
"Six months," said Jaskier.
"A year," Geralt replied.
Radovid cocked an eyebrow at them and Geralt clarified, "What we mean to say is, we started seeing each other about a year ago but we only made it exclusive in the last six months."
Jaskier nodded vigorously in agreement. "Right! Right, exactly..."
"Yes. We're eh... just two people who weren't meant to fall in love but did," Geralt added wistfully.
"Yup. Two people in love. Deeply in love...with each other," Jaskier rambled. "You know, uh, when Geralt proposed, he looked at me and said, 'Jaskier, you are my world. My everything.' Then he got down on one knee and—"
"Yes," Geralt cut in, interrupting Jaskier's gibbering. "Can't fight a love like ours!"
Jaskier abruptly shut his mouth when Geralt squeezed his arm tightly and shot him a warning look. Troydon still looked confused but Radovid seemed highly amused by the whole situation.
"So, is this satisfactory?" asked Geralt cautiously. "Are you happy?"
"Because we are so happy," Jaskier stressed, resting his head on Geralt's shoulder for added effect.
"This is wonderful news," Radovid gushed, rising to his feet and extending his hand for both men to shake. "Congratulations to you both. I've been saying for a long time that you ought to spend some time on yourself, Geralt. Find yourself someone to go home to after a long day at the office. I'm glad that you finally took my advice."
"Yes, sir," Geralt replied flatly. "Thank you, sir."
"Yeah, thanks very much!" said Jaskier a little too enthusiastically.
"Terrific news." Radovid let out a relieved sigh and sank back into his large, leather armchair. "For you and for us. Just make it legal, yes?"
"Yes. Legal..." Geralt croaked. "Well...I guess we better get down to the immigration office and sort out this whole mess."
"Yes, dear," said Jaskier.
Geralt's eye twitched at the informal pet name, but he fixed a smile onto his face and nodded to his bosses. "Thank you very much for your time, gentlemen."
Geralt and Jaskier exited the office with their arms still wrapped around each other's shoulders, keeping up the facade of the happy couple as they walked past Radovid's bemused secretary. It was only when they were alone in the sanctuary of the deserted lift that they released each other from their awkward embrace and took a large step apart from one another.
"I feel like that went quite well," said Jaskier brightly.
"That was the single most humiliating moment of my life," Geralt declared.
"Well, if you find the idea of marrying me so repugnant, then you should have manipulated someone else into your little scheme," Jaskier huffed. Okay, so he wasn't exactly over the moon about their current situation either, but he couldn't help but be a little insulted at how averse Geralt was to the mere thought of marrying him. "So, what now?"
"We'll head back to the office first so that we can grab our coats, then we'll go straight to the immigration office. I just want to get this over and done with as quickly as possible."
"Likewise," Jaskier muttered. A short silence followed before he asked, "Do you think they know we're faking it?"
"Probably," Geralt admitted. "Not that Radovid gives a shit. He's the 'hear no evil, see no evil' type. It's like he said: so long as it's legal, he won't give us any trouble."
"Well, that's a relief." Jaskier's phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it out to find a string of unread messages. Clicking on the work's group chat, he groaned, "Ah, shit."
"What is it?"
Jaskier showed him some of the messages. "Looks like the word's out about us already."
"Fuck! I bet it was Radovid's secretary!" Geralt snarled, stabbing the lift button for the foyer with his index finger. "Forget heading back to the office, let's get out of here."
"That's the most sensible thing you've said all day."
The immigration office was only a few subway stops from the office, but the queue to be seen was predictably long. Nobody here cared that Geralt was a bigshot editor-in-chief of a world-class publishing company, so they had to take their designated number and find a couple of hard plastic chairs to sit on while they waited their turn to be seen like everyone else. While Geralt kept himself busy with work calls, Jaskier idly observed the people around him with interest. It was amusing to see that everyone else looked as happy to be here as he felt. He picked up accents from across the entire continent: Zerrikanians and Temerians, even a few Nilfgaardians were here, all hoping to get the same thing as Geralt. Jaskier stole a glance at his gloomy boss who was still chatting away quietly on his phone like he was completely oblivious to his surroundings. It annoyed Jaskier how calm and matter-of-fact Geralt was about all of this while he was struggling to keep his head together. Gods, how the hell were they going to pull this off?
"Mr Haute-Bellegarde!"
Geralt immediately ended his phone call when his name was called. A burly, bald-headed man with a mean face and a small black clipboard in hand scanned the sea of faces for Geralt's. When he noticed Geralt stand and raise his hand, the man jerked his head in the direction of his office and they followed suit. The man beckoned them into his office and shook their hands as they entered.
"Sigismund Dijkstra," he introduced himself before closing the door behind him. "Sorry about the long wait. There's never really a good time to visit, if I'm honest, it's always mobbed."
"No trouble at all," Geralt assured him, putting on the charm offensive that Jaskier had seen him do a million times before with prospective clients. "We understand that you have a lot on your plate at the moment, so we'll take up as little of your time as possible."
"That's very thoughtful of you, Mr Haute-Bellegarde."
"Please, call me Geralt."
Sigismund gave him a small smile. "Geralt. I have one question for you and Mr Pankratz."
"Yes?"
"Are you both committing fraud to avoid Mr Haute-Bellegarde—sorry, Geralt's—deportation so that he can keep his position as editor-in-chief at Dark Horse Publishers?"
Jaskier let out a hysterical burst of laughter. "That's ridiculous!"
"Where did you hear that?" Geralt demanded.
"We had a phone tip from a source that shall remain anonymous," Sigismund explained.
"It wouldn't be Emmerich Gottschalk, by any chance?" asked Geralt.
Sigismund raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. "So you know him?"
"Unfortunately, yes," Geralt grumbled. "He is nothing more than a disgruntled former employee. I fired him today, so he's probably feeling a bit—"
"Sensitive," Jaskier interjected. "Vulnerable. Homicidal..."
"I apologise for Mr Gottschalk wasting your time. His accusations are entirely baseless and he has contacted you out of pure spite and nothing else," said Geralt. "Now, if we could move this along so that we can all get on with the rest of our day, I'd really appreciate that."
Sigismund, however, didn't look convinced. "Let me explain to you the process that's about to unfold. Step one will be a scheduled interview. I'll put you each in a room and I'll ask you every little question that a real couple would know about each other."
"Well, that's fine by us since we are a real couple, eh Geralt?" said Jaskier, nudging his boss with his elbow.
"Step two," Sigismund continued. "I dig deeper. I look at your phone records. I talk to your neighbours. I interview your coworkers. If your answers don't match up at every point, you will be deported indefinitely, Mr Haute-Bellegarde, and you, young man, will have committed a felony punishable by a fine of 250 thousand crowns and a stay of five years in Deireadh Prison." Sigismund paused for dramatic effect before asking, "So, Mr Pankratz. Is there something that you would like to tell me?"
Jaskier felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Five years in prison? Suddenly, there was far more than his job on the line. He glanced at Geralt, who kept his expression impassive but his body was tense with fear. Jaskier swallowed hard and shook his head.
"No," he squeaked.
"No?" asked Sigismund sceptically. Slowly, Jaskier began to nod. "Yes?"
"Mr Dijkstra, the truth is...that Geralt and I are deeply in love. We're just two people who weren't supposed to fall in love. But against all odds, we did." Jaskier took Geralt's hand into his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze and the tension visibly eased in Geralt's shoulders. He flashed Jaskier an appreciative look before he added, "We just couldn't tell anyone at the office because of my big promotion that I have coming up."
Geralt's smile immediately fell. "Promotion?"
"Yes, dear. My promotion," Jaskier repeated with a sly smile. "We both felt that it would be deeply inappropriate if I were to be promoted to editor—"
"Editor?"
"—before things between us were made more official," he finished, patting Geralt's hand which was gripping his own more tightly than strictly necessary. Sigismund looked between the two of them with a bemused expression but finally, he shrugged and sat back in his chair.
"Okay, then," he sighed. "Have the two of you told your parents about your relationship?"
"My parents are dead," Geralt replied. "No brothers or sisters, either."
"And you?" asked Sigismund. "Are your parents conveniently dead as well?"
"Oh. No, they're very much alive, thank the gods. Well, they were the last time that I checked," Jaskier chuckled.
Geralt cleared his throat and said, "We plan on telling his parents about us—"
"This weekend," Jaskier cut in. "At my grandmother's ninetieth birthday party."
"We are?" asked Geralt.
"Oh yes. The whole family's gathering for the event. We thought that it'd be a nice surprise." Jaskier turned to Geralt and grinned. "Grammy is so excited to see you...dear."
Geralt and Jaskier glared at each other through strained smiles. It was taking all of their willpower to stop themselves from erupting into another argument in front of the immigration officer.
"Uh huh. And where is all of this taking place?" asked Sigismund, addressing Geralt. Geralt turned to Sigismund and shrugged.
"Jaskier's parents' house, obviously."
"And where exactly is that again?" Sigismund pressed. Geralt hesitated.
"It's in, uh..."
"Oxenfurt," Jaskier answered.
"Oxenfurt." Geralt repeated. "Oxenfurt on the coast?"
"Yes, dear," nodded Jaskier.
"You're both going to travel to Oxenfurt this weekend?" asked Sigismund flatly.
"For two weeks, actually," said Jaskier and the vein in Geralt's temple seemed to pulse with anger. "I'm on annual leave as of today."
"And how do you intend to get there?" asked Sigismund
"Flying, of course," Jaskier laughed. "We can hardly ride a horse there, can we, love?"
Geralt didn't answer. Oh yes, they were going to travel to the opposite end of the Kingdom for his grandmother's ninetieth birthday party, whether Geralt liked it or not. And to announce his upcoming nuptials to his boss, of course.
Sigismund sighed and pulled a notepad towards him. "Alright, suit yourselves. I will see you both here in two weeks' time for your scheduled interview, and your answers better match up on every account. I have to say..." Sigismund tore off the sheet of paper and slid it across the table towards the two men. "...I'm looking forward to this one."
"Me too," said Jaskier, slipping the paper into his trouser pocket.
"Have fun in Oxenfurt," Sigismund called after them as they left the office. As soon as Geralt slammed the door shut behind him, he rounded on Jaskier.
"What the fuck, Jaskier?" he snarled. "Promotions? Annual leave? Where do you get off thinking that you can—"
Geralt abruptly fell silent as Jaskier pressed his index finger to his lips. "First of all, let's get out of the bloody building before we start fighting like an old married couple, shall we?"
Geralt swatted away Jaskier's hand and stormed out of the building with Jaskier following close behind.
"If you think you're going to be an editor at the end of this, you've got another thing coming," Geralt raged as he stormed down the steps of the government building. "You'll be lucky if I don't sack you for insubordination!"
"Are you quite done?" asked Jaskier coolly. "Good. Now, here's what's going to happen. We're going to go to my parents' for annual leave, which I had already planned before you decided to cancel it this morning. We'll pretend that we're boyfriends and tell them that we're engaged. When we get back, you'll publish my manuscript with twenty thousand copies first run."
Geralt stopped dead in his tracks and gaped at him. "But we agreed—"
"Twenty thousand," Jaskier repeated more forcefully. "And a promotion to editor when we return to work. Not in a year's time, as soon as we get back from Oxenfurt."
Geralt looked furious. "Who do you think you are, making demands of me?"
"I am the idiot risking life and limb for you!" Jaskier cried. "Were you not just in that room? Did you not hear what Dijkstra said? Before it was just our jobs on the line. Now the stakes are higher. If all of this falls through, you just get to go home. I could go to jail!"
"You won't go to jail!" Geralt argued.
"I want what I'm owed," said Jaskier evenly. "Publish my manuscript and promote me to editor. Those are my terms."
Geralt shook his head. "No."
"Then I quit and you are screwed. Goodbye, Geralt."
Jaskier turned to leave but Geralt grabbed him by the shoulder. "Wait! Urgh...fine. I'll make you editor."
"And you'll publish my manuscript."
"Yes! Yes," he replied impatiently. "I'll give you whatever you want. But only if you do the trip to Oxenfurt and the immigration interview. Do that and I'll make you an editor. Deal?"
"Only if you ask me nicely."
Geralt frowned. "Ask you nicely to what?"
Jaskier smirked. "To marry you."
"What?"
"You heard me." Jaskier crossed his arms. "Get down on one knee."
Geralt looked uncertainly up and down the busy street. "Right here in the middle of the street?"
"Yup. Just think what a romantic story this will be to tell the children one day."
Geralt's expression darkened and Jaskier began to wonder if he'd pushed his luck too far this time. But miraculously, Geralt slowly began to bend down onto one knee. Jaskier couldn't put into words how satisfying it was to see Geralt bent on one knee before him. It was an image that he wouldn't forget any time soon.
"Does this work for you?" Geralt sneered.
"Oh yes," Jaskier chuckled. "On you go, then."
Geralt sighed and mumbled, "Will you marry me?"
"No."
"No?" Geralt snapped. "But you said—"
"Say it like you mean it," Jaskier demanded.
Geralt gritted his teeth in frustration. He looked close to throwing in the towel himself and just going home to Rivia to save himself the trouble. But he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm himself before opening them again and gently taking Jaskier's hand into his own.
"Jaskier. Would you please, for my sake and yours, do me the honour of being my husband?"
Jaskier rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment before giving a careless shrug. "Alright! I don't appreciate the veiled threat but it'll do."
"Thank the gods," Geralt groaned, clambering back onto his feet. "Thank you."
"No problem. I'll give you a call once I've booked you a ticket to Oxenfurt. I'm afraid you'll be flying economy with me. Not all of us are made of money, you know." Jaskier turned to leave but Geralt grabbed his arm.
"Woah, hold up. Is that it?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"But we have work back at the office," Geralt protested but Jaskier shook his head.
"Nah, I think I'll take the rest of the day off. It's been a very stressful morning and I have a suitcase to pack. I'm sure you understand."
With that, Jaskier turned on his heel and left Geralt standing alone on the side of the busy road. If he was going to risk a prison sentence for this guy, he was going to use this situation to his advantage as much as possible.