Chapter 31
WORTH
The words leave my mouth as calmly as if I’d just said we were going for coffee.
Mya blinks at me, mouth parting, brow furrowing. “What?”
I steeple my fingers. “Paris. The city of love. We leave Friday.”
She’s still staring at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “I—what do you mean we’re going to Paris?”
I can’t help the smirk tugging at my lips. “Exactly what it sounds like. A weekend trip. You, me, a few staged photos. And… our wedding.”
She jerks back. “Our what?”
I push off my desk and walk toward her, slowly.
“Think about it. People know about us now. The tabloids are circling. The headlines are everywhere. If we play this like it was a spur-of-the-moment decision—two people madly in love, swept away by the magic of Paris—it sells the story. No one will question it.”
Mya shakes her head, curls bouncing around her face. “No one just runs off to Paris to get married, Worth.”
“They do when they’re rich and in love. And that’s exactly what they’ll believe.”
I can see the battle waging in her eyes—logic versus the reality of what we’ve already set into motion. “This is crazy.”
“Crazy,” I agree, taking her hand, my thumb brushing her knuckles, “but believable. And believable is what we need right now.”
Mya finally exhales, like she’s given in to a battle. “Fine. Paris it is. But right now, I need to get back to work before Seraya hunts me down.”
I nod once, watching her walk out of my office with her head held high.
The second the door clicks shut, I pull my phone from my pocket.
“Dre,” I say when she picks up. “Clear my schedule Friday through Monday.”
There’s a beat of silence. “You’re taking a long weekend?”
“Not just me. Ms. Jones, too. Tell the pilot we’re heading to Paris.”
“France?” Dre’s voice hikes up an octave. “As in… Paris, France?”
“Yes, Dre. The other Paris doesn’t quite cut it for what I need.”
Another pause. “Done. I’ll adjust the schedule and inform the pilot.”
I hang up and lean back in my chair, texting the boys.
Going to Paris on Friday.
Henson:
Thanks for the invite, bro.
I shake my head, smiling.
I actually need one of you to tag along.
Griffin:
What for?
I drag a hand down my jaw, knowing this is going to land like a damn bomb.
My wedding.
Henson:
What?
Griffin:
***
Mya and I decided to elope in Paris, but I need a witness. Who’s free?
Henson:
Damnit. I could’ve gone for a good croissant this weekend, but no can do. I promised Amira I’d help her with an event.
I smirk. My brother, turning down Paris for a woman.
He’s been hooked ever since the holidays in Nantucket.
I’ve never seen him like this, not even with his ex.
Amira is an event planner, and after pulling off our family’s New Year’s Eve party flawlessly, she caught the attention of half the city’s elite.
Her calendar has been packed with high-profile events ever since. They make a good match. He’s smitten.
Griff?
There’s a long pause before his reply.
Griffin:
What am I supposed to do with my boy, Worth?
Maggie can watch Sylas and Brianna for the weekend.
Griffin:
*Sigh* Fine.
I push off my desk and pace to the window. I switch threads and fire off a message to Mya.
You’ll need a witness.
Mya:
Uhhh, okay. I’ll see if my sister can take the weekend off. This is pretty last minute, after all.
I smirk, already typing.
I’m sure she won’t mind an all-expenses paid trip to Paris.
Mya:
Don’t be such a rich douche.
I chuckle under my breath.
You like it.
Mya:
I don’t like anything about you, Mr. Miller.
Liar.
I’ve closed billion-dollar deals without blinking, but telling my daughter I’m getting married feels like walking a tightrope blindfolded.
Brianna’s curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, half-watching some baking competition. She’s growing up so fast, but right now she still looks like my little girl: barefoot, hair in a messy bun, and focused on frosting techniques like it’s life or death.
I clear my throat. “Piglet.”
She hums in response, eyes still on the screen.
“Can I talk to you for a second?”
That gets her attention. She pauses the TV and turns to me, brows raised. “You sound serious.”
“I am.” I take a breath, my palms damp against my jeans. “It’s about Mya.”
“Okay… what about her?”
“I’m going to marry her.”
The words hang there between us for a few moments.
Brianna blinks. “Wait… like, marry marry?”
“Yeah. In Paris.”
Her jaw drops slightly. “Wow. That’s… fast.”
I nod, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “It is. But sometimes when you know, you know.”
She tilts her head, studying me with a gaze that’s too perceptive for her age. “Do you?”
I look down at my hands, pretending to brush invisible lint from my jeans. “I do. I know Mya is good for us. She makes things easier, and I haven’t felt that in a long time.”
My gut twists, because it’s a lie, or at least, it’s supposed to be.
Brianna is quiet for a moment, as if turning the words over in her mind. “I like her,” she finally admits. “She’s nice, and she actually listens to me.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“But…” Bri hesitates, frowning slightly. “Be careful, Dad. I don’t want you to get hurt again.”
“Hey.” I reach over and take her hand. “I appreciate that, Piglet, but I promise, I know what I’m doing. I just need you to trust me.”
She squeezes my hand back, her eyes softer now. “I do trust you, Dad. If you’re happy, then I’m happy.”
I pull my daughter into my arms, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
She groans against my shoulder. “Okay, okay, you’re crushing me.”
I laugh, releasing her. “You’ll live.”
Brianna rolls her eyes but smiles. “I just hope she says yes.”
I let out a soft laugh. “Yeah. Me too.” I ruffle her hair and add, “You won’t be upset about not being there, right?”
“Not as long as you promise to have another party here. Soon.”
I grin. “Deal.”
The word barely leaves my mouth before guilt starts to eat at me. Because there won’t be another party. The marriage won’t last long enough for a promise like that to mean anything.
Brianna beams, leaning into my side, already picturing something I know I won’t be able to give her.
The worst part about all this is letting her believe in a future that I’m already planning on taking away.
But I convince myself that it’s the best thing to do in order to protect her.
I stand in the foyer, my bag slung over my shoulder, the car waiting outside.
“I’ll call you when we land, Piglet.”
“Okay. Be safe.” Her arms squeeze me tight, and when she lets go, Maggie steps forward to hug me too.
“Don’t worry about a thing here,” she assures. “We’ll be fine.”
I nod, but worry is second nature to me when it comes to my daughter, especially now. I give Bri one last look before I step out the door.
Right then, a car pulls up to the house. It’s Griffin.
As soon as he exits the vehicle with Sylas in tow, he fixes me with an unimpressed glare.
“What?” I ask.
Griffin ignores my question at first, ushering his son inside. He pulls Sylas into a quick hug, presses a kiss to his hair, and promises to call as soon as he lands. Only then does he turn back to me. Once the door is shut, he finally responds.
“Don’t ‘what’ me. We need to talk about this Paris bullshit.”
I rub a hand over my jaw. “Which part?”
“The part where your girl’s sister is tagging along.”
I arch a brow. “Since when do you give a damn?”
Griffin snaps, “Since Sylas won’t shut up about her.”
I bite back a smirk. I’ve known my best friend my whole life. And if I’ve ever seen him off his game, it’s now. “Tiana does a good job with him. Admit it.”
Silence. Then, through gritted teeth, “That’s not the point.”
But it is. Because for a man who’s built his reputation on not giving a damn about women, Griffin seems rattled. And that makes me suspicious.
“You sound pissed. You sure this isn’t about something else?”
His growl is answer enough, and I exhale a laugh through my nose. Paris is already complicated, and we haven’t even left yet.
When we all arrive on the private tarmac, the driver opens my door, and the cool wind cuts across my face.
Mya emerges from another car, clutching her bag, hair whipping around her cheeks. She looks up at me as we start walking toward the plane.
Griffin strides ahead, all long legs and bad attitude, barking something into his phone before snapping it shut. He’s muttering by the time he climbs the stairs, and I know exactly why.
When I board after my future wife, Tiana is already curled into one of the wide leather seats, legs crossed, phone lifted at just the right angle to catch the cabin light.
The first thing out of Griffin’s mouth is a grumble. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Tiana doesn’t bother looking up. She just rolls her eyes and turns her chin to catch the light better.
I bite back a laugh. Apparently, the dramatic eye roll is a family thing.
Griffin drops into the seat opposite her with a scowl. “You here to witness or to pose?”
Tiana turns her gaze over him, unimpressed. “Can’t it be both?” She flashes a grin and goes right back to her phone.
His grunt is low, venomous. She hums to herself like she doesn’t hear it.
I shake my head, amused, before guiding Mya toward the seats on the other side. “Sit here.”
She arches a brow. “Why?”
“In case anyone on staff decides to gossip later.” I let my hand hover at her back, not quite touching. “Better they see us together. Let them carry the right story.”
Her mouth opens, as if wanting to argue, but then she sits. Our thighs brush, though neither of us moves away.
The attendant brings champagne. I take two glasses, handing Mya one. She tries to refuse, but I press it into her hand. “Get used to it. You’re about to be my wife. Paris won’t be the last time you’re spoiled.”
Her eyes narrow, though she sips anyway, muttering something about me being insufferable. I smirk into my own glass.