Chapter 31 #2
Across the aisle, Griffin finally snaps, “So this is it? Drag me halfway across the world to watch you play house?”
“Not play.” I swirl the champagne lazily in my glass. “Marry.”
Griffin’s jaw ticks and Tiana’s brows lift in amusement. He shoots her a glare that only makes her grin wider.
I open my briefcase and slide a folder onto the table. “Here’s the plan.”
Mya blinks at me. “You actually wrote out a fake proposal presentation?”
“Optics matter,” I say. My eyes trace her mouth, not the papers. “And no one questions a man who puts a ring on the woman he can’t keep his hands off.”
Her blush deepens.
After going through the plan a couple times, exhaustion wins and Mya leans back, shoulders softening.
“Rest,” I murmur, tugging a blanket over her lap. “We’ve got hours to Paris.”
She hesitates, then lets her head fall against my shoulder. I shift, adjusting to make her more comfortable, my fingers brushing her arm. Not for the staff. Not for show. For her.
For me.
Paris greets us with soft gray skies and the faint shimmer of rain on cobblestones. Even after all the years of business trips here, the city still carries that air of romance and mystery and ‘je ne sais quoi.’ Exactly the kind of place where lies can masquerade as truth.
The car winds through narrow streets, until we pull up to the hotel I chose—one with suites that look straight out at the Eiffel Tower. The staff is already lined up at the entrance, ready to usher us inside.
I step out first, adjusting my jacket, then offer a hand to Mya. She takes it, reluctantly at first, but doesn’t let go.
Griffin emerges from the car behind us, looking as sour as he did when we left. Tiana follows, phone already in hand as she takes pictures. His glare follows her every move.
Inside the lobby, I pause, issuing orders before either of them can complain. “Mya. Tiana. I’m sending you both shopping.”
Tiana’s brows arch above her sunglasses. “Shopping?”
“For dresses.” My gaze cuts to Mya, holding hers steady. “You’ll need something for tomorrow.”
Her lips part, caught between shock and protest, but she doesn’t get a word out before Tiana clasps her arm with sudden enthusiasm. “Wedding dresses in Paris? Don’t mind if I do.”
“You’ll have a driver. Charge whatever you need to my card,” I say, giving them my black Amex card.
Mya swallows, eyes widening, and I know she must be overwhelmed. Paris. Wedding dress shopping. The facade is becoming more real by the minute.
Tiana throws a quick, smug smile over her shoulder as she pulls Mya along, and the car door shuts with a snap.
By the time Griffin and I step into the penthouse suite, he looks one comment away from combusting.
I toss my jacket onto a chair, and take in the sweep of the room—the velvet furniture, the champagne chilling on ice, the glass wall framing the Eiffel Tower like a painting. Paris knows how to dress for the part.
Griffin doesn’t move, just prowls to the window, jaw tight.
“So, you want to tell me what your problem is?”
He snorts. “Take a look around. You dragged me across the ocean to play witness to your fake wedding, Worth. That’s problem enough.”
I study him a long beat. “No. This is about Tiana.”
His shoulders stiffen. “I don’t know what—”
“Don’t waste my time. You’ve been seething since we boarded the jet—hell, before we even left the house. So what is it with her?”
Griffin exhales hard, raking a hand through his hair. “You really want to know?”
“Wouldn’t ask otherwise.”
He turns, pacing for a few moments before blurting out, “I knew who she was before I even met her.”
I blink. “How?”
“Instagram.”
Confusion knots in my chest. “Instagram? You hate social media.”
“I know,” he snaps, glaring at me as if I forced the confession out with a knife. “But one night I was scrolling. Don’t ask me why—I couldn’t sleep—and I stumbled across her profile.”
I arch a brow.
“She was… Fuck, Worth. She was captivating. I couldn’t look away. So I kept watching. Her videos, her stories.” He shakes his head, almost disgusted with himself. “Imagine my surprise when I show up to Willow’s and find out she’s Mya’s sister. I had no fucking idea.”
I lean forward, arms crossed. “Okay. What’s the big deal?”
His laugh is bitter. “What’s the big deal?
She’s a beautiful twenty-one-year-old influencer with the body of a goddess.
She has no business being around me or my son.
How the hell am I supposed to focus while she’s parading through my life?
I can’t function when she’s around. She’s—” Griffin cuts himself off. “Forget it.”
For a moment, I just stare. And then a laugh rips out of me.
Griffin’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is so funny?”
“This is karma.”
His scowl deepens. “Karma?”
“Yeah. For every time you mocked me about hiring Mya. For every time you called me whipped, distracted, unprofessional… Look at you.” I gesture at him. “A gorgeous twenty-something smiled your way and suddenly you’re spiraling.”
His glare could cut glass. “It’s not the same thing.”
“It’s exactly the same thing. And you stalked her social media.” I pour myself a drink, shaking my head. “Welcome to my world, brother. Tiana got under your skin, and now you can’t shake her off. ”
Griffin mutters something obscene and stalks toward the second bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
I take a sip of scotch, still grinning, the Eiffel Tower glittering beyond the window. Paris is going to be fun.
Later that evening, while the girls are still roaming Parisian boutiques, Griffin and I slip away to meet one of his brothers, Adrian—who now lives in France to run his Formula 1 team—for dinner.
The driver drops us at Le Petit Lutetia, a tucked-away bistro near Saint-Germain-des-Prés.
Adrian is already seated near the back, one arm slung casually over the chair beside him. His cane is tucked neatly between the table and his seat—close enough to reach, but not on display.
“About time,” he says when he notices us, a grin breaking across his face.
Griffin reaches him first, clasping his shoulder before pulling him into a careful hug. “It’s good to see you, little brother.”
When Adrian first lost mobility, watching him move slower, get frustrated, and go from world-class race driver to man-relearning-steps gutted all of us.
But he’s been working hard, and with his new physical therapist (the one he’s totally, absolutely, completely not in love with), he’s damn near himself again.
He still needs a cane and a wheelchair sometimes, but his swagger is back.
Once we’re settled, the waiter takes our orders, setting down our drinks when my phone vibrates on the table.
I pick up. “Worth Miller.”
“Good evening, sir. Apologies for the interruption, but we need authorization before processing some charges to your Black Card.”
I lean back in my chair, already shaking my head. “Go on.”
“First, Dior for €500,000.”
My brows tick upward, but I keep my face neutral.
Half a million at Dior. Jesus, Mya.
“Second, Cartier for €325,000.”
I drag a hand across my mouth, forcing my expression to stay flat.
“And lastly, a private opera singer and an entire string quartet booked for tomorrow evening. €150,000.”
My eyes widen, and I stifle a laugh. Is Mya serious? Why stop at the clothes and jewels when you can bring half the Paris Philharmonic along too?
I exhale slowly through my nose. “Run it.”
“Yes, sir. ”
The line disconnects.
“What was that?” Griffin asks.
I take a sip of wine, unbothered. “Just my fiancée putting my Black Card to use.”
Adrian barks out a laugh. “What’d she do, buy out all of Paris?”
“Something like that.”
I grab my phone again.
A million euros in one shopping trip. Really, Mya?
I spear a bite of sea bass.
Mya:
You said it yourself that I should get used to being spoiled.
A smirk tugs at my mouth. I take another sip of wine to hide it.
You’re right. If that’s the case, try harder next time.
Mya:
I wasn’t trying anything. I just couldn’t pass up on the diamonds. They were so shiny!
I shift in my chair, leg bouncing under the tablecloth, picturing her in that dress and those jewels.
Well, I’m not sure what’ll shine brighter tomorrow… those diamonds, or your face when you’ll be screaming my name after I take you out of them.
I set the phone down just long enough to cut my fish. Griffin glances up at me, brow furrowing. I give him nothing. Inside, I’m burning, every thought hijacked by Mya. That brat lives to get under my skin.
The screen lights up again.
Mya:
…
I huff a quiet laugh, covering it with a cough.
Cat got your tongue?
Mya:
We are not having sex, Worth.
A newly-married couple should consummate their marriage, Mya.
Mya:
Jesus. Do you hear yourself?
I think you want it as much as I do, wife.
Mya:
I’m not your wife yet. And you sound like those mafia men I read about.
I smirk to myself.
Maybe they’re onto something.
Mya:
Too bad I’m not a virgin.
A sudden stab of jealousy cuts through me, uninvited. My grip on my fork tightens.
If I could erase all the men you’ve been with before, I would.
Mya:
Erase??? You’re unhinged, Mr. Miller.
I fucking love it when she calls me that. My smile darkens.
Guilty, when it comes to you.
Mya:
Stop giving me mixed signals. This marriage is fake.
Whatever you say, Mrs. Miller.
Mya:
It’s Ms. Jones.
Not for much longer.