“Elise has a point,” Brandon puts in, every inch the helpful viper. “Optics, cousin. And the prenup, obviously. Please tell me you?—”
“There is no prenup,” I tell them.
“What?” they all shout at once, their eyes bulging out of their heads.
“Stop,” I order, and the word yanks the air tight. My voice has an edge. I don’t sand it down. “I’m not asking. I’m marrying Sienna. Tomorrow.”
My mother leans forward, fingertips steepled.
“Heath, darling. We worry because we love you. This… girl doesn’t understand our world. She won’t know anyone. She’s not going to be an asset for your business. She won’t anticipate?—”
“Good,” I cut in. “I’m tired of all of that.”
Charles tries a different route. “Son. You don’t marry out of… what is this? Rebellion? Infatuation? You marry a partner who?—”
“—who keeps the Rolodex tidy?” I ask, heat rising. “Who will trade blood for invitations?”
“We’re protecting you,” Victoria says calmly, almost pityingly. “Tomorrow is impossible. It will look desperate. People will talk.”
“They always do,” I say. “I’m done arranging my life so their sentences have fewer adjectives.”
Elise’s smile sharpens. “Then at least admit what this is. You’re rushing for the will. You’ll regret attaching yourself to… that, in a week.”
Something inside me goes very, very still.
“Listen to me very carefully,” I say, low enough that they have to lean in or miss it. “I am with her. I am marrying her. Not for you, not in spite of you. Because I want to. Because she’s mine.” I let that land. “You can show up tomorrow and be civil, or you can go back to your hotel and stay gone. Those are your options. Choose.”
Silence unspools. Somewhere down the hall, the bathroom door clicks open.
My father’s mouth thins. He looks at my mother. She looks at Elise. Elise looks at Brandon, who is staring at his phone.
Victoria stands. “We should let you… rest,” she says, tone delicate as spun sugar. “Big day tomorrow.”
“We’ll be there,” my father says, which means he hasn’t figured out a legal way to stop me in the next twelve hours, but he’s working on it.
“Make sure she wears something decent,” Elise says lightly.
I walk them to the door. No one offers a hug. They step out into the night air, and their car swallows them. I lock the door because I can, and because the sound of it makes something in my chest settle two inches lower in relief.
“Wow,” Sienna says from behind me, voice hesitant and wry all at once. “You sure know how to ruin a party.”
I turn. She’s leaning against the wall, hair a dark river over her shoulder, eyes still a little too bright. There’s a damp crescent where she pressed her palms to her dress to steady herself in the bathroom. I want to put my hands there instead.
“Wasn’t much of a party,” I say. “More of a performance review.”
She huffs a laugh. “Do I get notes? Areas for improvement?”
“Yeah,” I say, stepping in. My hands bracket her hips, thumbs pressing into warm fabric. “Stop fetching things for people who don’t deserve you.”
Her mouth tilts. “Yes, boss.”
I dip my head. “Don’t call me that in front of them.”
“In private?”
“In private, you can call me anything.” It comes out rougher than I intended. Honest.
Her breath softens against my cheek. “Are we… practicing again?” she asks, gentle tease in her voice, a thread of vulnerability beneath it.
