Then—“You’ve never made a decision that didn’t serve us well.”
The tension leaves my shoulders as his voice softens just a fraction.
“If you believe she’s the right call,” he says, “then I’ll trust it. Finalize the paperwork. Get it done.”
I nod. “I will.”
We hang up without another word.
That’s how we operate—clean. Efficient. No emotional back and forth. I was given the family name because I know how to protect it.
And I just did.
I head back inside, straightening my cuffs as I reenter the parlor.
Sabrina is still in the corner, talking to Ariana in hushed tones, their foreheads almost touching. For a second, I don’t move. I just take her in—the dress, the fire, the way she exists like she was never meant to be caged.
She must sense me because she turns. Her mouth presses into a flat line.
I walk toward her, slow and steady.
“When’s your flight?” I ask.
She arches a brow. “Back to Chicago?”
“No,” I deadpan. “To the moon.”
She sighs. “Two days. I wasn’t sure if I’d need time to talk you out of marrying my sister… or help her pack her shit and disappear before the wedding.”
My brow lifts. “Planning to teach her how to disappear?”
“Please,” she mutters. “I had escape routes mapped before I even got on the plane.”
She rolls her eyes when I don’t respond fast enough.
I let it slide.
“You won’t need the full two days,” I say. “We’re getting married tomorrow. First thing.”
That wipes the amusement clean off her face.
“At the courthouse,” I add before she can fire off some snark. “Then I’ll fly you home to Chicago.”
She blinks.
“I can fly home on my flight.”
I step closer to her. Causing her to step back against the wall. I lean into her almost close enough to touch her, but I don’t.
Leaning down I whisper. “You will fly home with me.” I turn and leave her. I head into the office to sign the agreement with her father.
I don’t have to threaten or plead or promise.
I just deliver.
Because tomorrow, she’ll carry my name.
And soon… she’ll understand exactly what that means.
