Plans
757 Words
The rest of Buenos Aires passed without incident.
At least, without the kind of incident that made headlines.
There were meetings.
Dinners.
Site visits.
Conversations that lasted hours and somehow said very little.
Hope Fairbanks, future heir.
Jaxxon McCoy, Axel's grandson.
Every room we entered seemed to have already decided what it wanted from us.
Some saw a future queen.
Some saw a future king.
Most were smart enough to smile and keep their opinions to themselves.
By the end of the trip, I was more than ready to leave.
The moment our jet lifted off the runway, I kicked off my heels and curled up across the leather sofa.
Jaxx laughed.
"Long week?"
I glared at him.
"Say one more thing and I'll make sure your side of the wedding invitations accidentally disappear."
His eyebrows rose.
"You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would."
The look on his face made me laugh.
For the first time in days, it felt easy.
Normal.
Just us.
No Family.
No expectations.
No succession.
No politics.
Just Hope and Jaxx.
A few weeks later, life had settled into a familiar rhythm.
Or as familiar as life could be when your family controlled an international criminal empire.
Most mornings started the same.
Coffee.
Emails.
Conference calls.
Reports.
Meetings.
Somewhere in between, I was expected to continue learning the countless moving pieces that kept the Family running.
By lunchtime, my desk was usually buried beneath paperwork.
By dinner, my phone had accumulated enough messages to make me question every life choice that had brought me to this point.
Yet somehow, wedding planning had become my favorite part of every day.
Not because I cared about flowers.
Or seating charts.
Or color palettes.
I didn't.
What I cared about was what those things represented.
A future.
Our future.
One evening I found myself sitting cross-legged on the floor of our living room surrounded by invitation samples.
Hundreds of them.
At least it felt like hundreds.
Jaxx emerged from the kitchen carrying two glasses of wine.
He stopped.
Surveyed the damage.
And slowly backed away.
"No."
I pointed immediately.
"Get back here."
"Nope."
"Jaxxon McCoy."
"I have survived hostile negotiations, armed confrontations, and your mother's temper."
He handed me a glass.
"But this?"
He gestured toward the mountain of paper.
"This is where I draw the line."
I laughed.
"You are helping."
"I am absolutely not."
"You are."
"I'm not qualified."
"You can read."
"Barely."
I threw a folded sample at him.
He caught it effortlessly.
Unfortunately.
"Pick one."
His face immediately became serious.
Far too serious.
As though I'd asked him to determine the fate of nations.
He studied each invitation.
Compared fonts.
Paper quality.
Embossing.
Gold accents.
I watched the entire performance in amusement.
Finally he selected one.
"This one."
I blinked.
"Really?"
"Yep."
"Why?"
He shrugged.
"It looks expensive."
I stared at him.
"That's your criteria?"
"It has served the Family well for decades."
I burst out laughing.
A moment later he joined me.
The sound filled the room.
Warm.
Easy.
Comfortable.
The kind of happiness neither of us had expected to find growing up.
When the laughter faded, he reached over and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
His blue eyes softened.
"There she is."
I smiled.
"Who?"
"The woman I'm marrying."
My heart squeezed.
Even now, after everything, he could still do that.
Make the rest of the world disappear.
For a moment there was no Family.
No succession.
No expectations.
Just him.
Just us.
I leaned forward and kissed him.
Slowly.
Comfortably.
The way people kissed when they knew they had forever.
When we finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.
"You know," he said quietly, "we should probably decide where we're going for the honeymoon."
I laughed.
"At this rate?"
"What?"
"My mother will probably schedule us three meetings and a weapons shipment."
Jaxx groaned dramatically.
"Don't even joke about that."
"I'm serious."
"So am I."
I smiled against his lips.
Outside, the city lights glittered beyond the windows.
Inside, invitation samples covered the floor.
Our future stretched before us in plans and promises.
For the first time in weeks, neither of us talked about the Family.
Neither of us talked about power.
Neither of us talked about who might someday sit at the head of the table.
Because for one perfect evening, none of that mattered.
We were simply two people planning a wedding.
And neither of us noticed the storm quietly building beyond the walls of the life we'd begun creating together.
- Writer
