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“To the wedding of the year,” Tyler says, raising a glass.
We all toast.
But the gears are still turning in my bride-to-be’s mind. “It will be ready in time?”
“I’ll make sure it is. Whatever it takes, whatever the cost. The venue has staff,” I go on at her expression. “Plus, Leni is working around the clock.”
“I thought she was on holiday?”
“She was planning to be. Her plans changed.”
Rae tugs at an earring. “You mean you changed them.”
I swallow my sigh. It’s easy to forget she wasn’t around for the decade I built my business from the ground up. Probably for the best, as she wouldn’t have approved of many of my methods.
“This is why I pay her, love. Generously.”
I compensate people for their work. In return, I expect them to execute what I want when I want it. If everyone did things on their own timeline, nothing would ever get done.
“A good paycheck is one thing, but you can’t run peoples’ lives.”
Down the table, our friends laugh at something Tyler said, but my fiancée doesn’t turn to look.
“You’re serious,” I realize as her brows pull together. “Our wedding is important. You’ll forgive me for wanting the best. I don’t cut corners on my clubs, my homes, my security—”
“We also need to talk about that.”
My gaze cuts to the man at the door. “Is there a problem with your detail?” She hasn’t complained about him yet. If anything, she’s been complimentary.
“He’s fine,” she exhales. “But having someone watch my back twenty-four seven is unnecessary now that my residency is over.”
I turn my glass in my fingers. “We’ll discuss it later.”
She shoots me a look. “It’s my decision, not a discussion.”
“Please, let’s discuss it later,” I amend as I brush my thumb across the crown tattoo on her wrist, the one that matches the scar on my chest.
She doesn’t answer but doesn’t argue.
Most of the time, I forget how much younger she is. But occasionally, she’s still oblivious to the necessary aspects of public life.
Through the meal, we focus on wedding details, such as the flights my staff are arranging for our intimate list of guests including Toro and Natalia and Raegan’s cousin and brother.
Beck insists on hosting bachelor and bachelorette parties. It seems uncharitable—and knowing Beck, perhaps futile—to protest.
Conversation drifts to family, life, travel plans. But Raegan seems distracted, picking at the salmon filet in front of her and barely touching her wine.
I’ve never had a problem knowing what women want.
But this one, the woman who carved a place in my chest that’s more than skin deep, she’s a puzzle I never tire of solving.
As we finish our entrées, I lean over to murmur in her ear, “If you’re not happy with the venue, we’ll find another.”
She shakes her head. “No. It’s beautiful.”
“The dress, then,” I press. “I can have one made for you.”
“In three days?” Her dark eyes snap to mine.
