Halfway Home

Chapter 2: "Wrong Turn at the Altar"

Al had always hated weddings.

Not in the bitter-divorcee-who-no-longer-believes-in-love way, but in the too-much-pageantry, too-many-smiling-strangers, too-long-to-sit-through kind of way.

Unfortunately, this wedding—his father’s second, shiny new upgrade of a marriage—was shaping up to be the worst one yet.

---

The grand ballroom of San Rafael’s only five-star resort was a monument to excess.

Gold-trimmed ceilings, towering floral arrangements, crystal chandeliers that dripped with wealth—actual wealth, not the aspirational kind you faked by shopping in the “premium” section of a fast-fashion store.

Al had barely stepped inside when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Try not to look too miserable," Mel muttered, leaning in so only he could hear. "You're drawing attention."

Al exhaled sharply, forcing his shoulders to relax. "I am relaxed."

"Right. And I’m the Queen of Spain."

He fought the urge to groan. She wasn’t wrong. The moment he had walked in, he had felt the subtle but unmistakable shift in atmosphere—the polite but assessing gazes of distant relatives, the curious whispers from his father’s business associates, the how-quaint-that-he’s-a-schoolteacher glances from people who had probably never met a person with a salary below six figures.

It wasn’t just the wedding that was extravagant. It was everyone in it.

Mel nudged him. "You want to find our table before you combust from secondhand capitalism?"

"Yes. Desperately."

They weaved through the crowd, past round tables draped in silk, each adorned with centerpieces so large they could double as jungle habitats.

Al barely made it three steps before—

"Alaric!"

He bristled at the sound of his full name but turned to face the source anyway.

Standing before him, positively radiant in a custom-designed gown that looked like it cost more than his entire student loan debt, was Catalina Benitez-Dela Cruz—his brand-new stepmother.

Al had only met her once before, at a tense dinner orchestrated by his father. He had been prepared to hate her on principle, but unfortunately, Catalina was… nice.

Painfully oblivious, but nice.

"It’s so wonderful to see you!" she gushed, pulling him into a light-scented hug before he could react. "Your father has been talking about you non-stop!"

Al highly doubted that, but he forced a polite smile. "Congratulations."

"Thank you, sweetheart!" Catalina beamed, practically glowing under the ballroom lights. "Isn't this all just magical?"

Al glanced around at the palace-level decor, the servers in white gloves, and the live string quartet playing an instrumental version of a song that was probably obscenely expensive to license.

"Sure," he said flatly.

Catalina, ever the optimist, took his tone as sincerity. "I know! We just wanted everything to be perfect! Especially for your father. He’s been under so much stress."

Al raised an eyebrow. "Stress?"

Catalina sighed, lowering her voice as if she were about to share a great burden. "Oh, you know. All the wedding planning. And, of course, keeping up with his business ventures. You wouldn’t believe how many important people are here tonight. He just wants to make sure everything runs smoothly."

Al’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Right. Because Andres Dela Cruz’s biggest struggle in life was hosting an event where everyone adored him.

Not, say, maintaining a meaningful relationship with the son he barely spoke to.

Mel, sensing Al’s patience fraying, swiftly intervened. "The ceremony was lovely, Catalina."

Catalina clutched her hands together. "Oh, thank you! I hope it wasn’t too much? I just love a little extravagance!"

Al bit back the urge to say, this wedding has a goddamn ice sculpture of my father’s initials.

Instead, he forced another smile. "No, it was… definitely something."

"Wonderful!" Catalina practically sparkled. "I hope you’re sitting near us at the reception! Your father would love that!"

Al tensed. "Actually, I’m—"

"There you are!"

Al knew that voice.

A slow, sinking feeling settled in his gut as he turned to find Jao approaching, a glass of champagne in one hand and that infuriating smirk on his face.

Great. Just when he thought this night couldn't get any worse.

Jao grinned. "You didn’t think you could escape me that easily, did you?"

"Wishful thinking," Al muttered.

Catalina clapped her hands together. "Oh, Jao! I was just telling Alaric—"

"Al," he corrected for what felt like the thousandth time tonight.

"—how wonderful it is that he’s here!" Catalina finished, completely ignoring him. "Isn’t this exciting? A whole new family!"

Al barely contained his flinch. Family. That word felt… misplaced.

Jao, meanwhile, was clearly enjoying himself. "Absolutely. And Al is thrilled to be here."

Al shot him a glare.

Jao just raised his glass in mock cheer.

Before Catalina could launch into another speech about love, unity, and the magic of blended families, a soft chime rang through the ballroom, signaling the beginning of the reception speeches.

Catalina gasped. "Oh! That’s my cue!"

She squeezed Al’s hands before hurrying toward the front, leaving him alone with his new stepbrother from hell.

Jao watched her go, then turned back to Al, eyes gleaming with amusement. "You’re really bad at faking enthusiasm, huh?"

Al scowled. "I wasn't faking anything."

"Yeah. That’s the problem."

Al exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "Just—don’t talk to me for the rest of the night, and we’ll get along just fine."

Jao chuckled. "Oh, Al. We both know that’s not going to happen."

And with that, he winked—actually winked—before strolling off to join the other wedding guests.

Al watched him go, half tempted to throw his drink at the back of his perfectly tailored suit.

Unfortunately, this night was far from over.

And if Jao was already having this much fun at his expense?

Then Al was completely screwed.

---

By the time the reception speeches began, Al had successfully avoided Jao for exactly twenty-three minutes and forty-six seconds.

Not that he was counting.

Unfortunately, his winning streak came to an abrupt end when a waiter approached his table with a bottle of very expensive-looking champagne.

“For Mayor Alcantara,” the waiter announced, placing the bottle directly in front of him.

Al blinked. “I think you’ve got the wrong—”

“Ah, no mistake.”

He barely had time to react before Jao slid smoothly into the seat beside him, looking every bit the picture-perfect golden boy that had the entire town wrapped around his finger.

Jao grinned. “Consider it a peace offering.”

Al narrowed his eyes. “Why would I need a peace offering?”

Jao leaned in slightly. “Because you looked about two minutes away from committing a felony back there.”

Al exhaled sharply. “I’m fine.”

“Sure you are.” Jao poured himself a glass, completely unfazed by Al’s visible loathing. “You do realize this is a wedding, right? People are allowed to be happy.”

Al crossed his arms. “I’m aware, thanks.”

Jao took a slow sip, watching him over the rim of his glass. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Al clenched his jaw. He refused to let Jao get under his skin. Not tonight.

So he did the mature thing.

He turned away.

Unfortunately, that only led him straight into his father’s voice booming through the microphone.

“And now, I’d like to hand it over to the man of the hour,” Andres Dela Cruz declared, beaming like he had just brokered world peace. “My new son—Joaquin Alcantara!”

A wave of applause rippled through the ballroom. Al fought the urge to sink into his chair.

Jao—ever the showman—stood effortlessly, flashing a charismatic smile as he took the mic.

“Thank you, everyone,” he began, his voice smooth and self-assured. “I’ll keep this short because, let’s be honest, none of you came here for a speech. You came for the open bar.”

A ripple of laughter followed.

Al rolled his eyes.

“I won’t lie,” Jao continued, “when my mom first told me she was marrying Andres, I was skeptical.”

More chuckles. Even Andres laughed.

“But over time, I realized something,” Jao said, turning slightly toward the happy couple. “Love isn’t about timing. It’s not about perfection. It’s about choosing someone—every day, even when it’s not easy. And the way my mom and Andres look at each other? That’s the kind of love that doesn’t just happen. That’s the kind of love you fight for.”

A collective aww swept through the crowd. Someone even sniffled.

Al?

Al was positively nauseous.

Jao lifted his glass. “To my mother, who deserves every happiness in the world. And to Andres, who clearly knew a good thing when he saw it.”

A chorus of cheers erupted as guests clinked their glasses.

Al took a very large, very bitter sip of his drink.

Jao sat back down, far too pleased with himself. “Well? How’d I do?”

Al didn’t even glance at him. “You missed your calling as a cult leader.”

Jao chuckled. “That good, huh?”

Al let out a sharp breath through his nose. “How do you even do that?”

Jao tilted his head. “Do what?”

“Make a room full of people fall in love with you in less than three minutes?”

Jao shrugged. “It’s a gift.”

Al scoffed. “More like a curse.”

Jao smirked. “Don’t be jealous, Al.”

And that was it.

That one comment—smug, self-satisfied, delivered with just the right amount of teasing—was enough to make Al’s patience snap like an overworked rubber band.

He turned to face Jao fully, meeting his gaze with a slow, deliberate glare. “Jealous?”

Jao simply arched a brow, utterly unbothered. “It’s okay, you don’t have to admit it.”

Al clenched his jaw. “You really think I envy you?”

Jao swirled his champagne lazily. “Well, you’ve been glaring at me all night. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were obsessed.”

Al let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I’m just baffled that people actually buy whatever it is you’re selling.”

Jao hummed. “And what exactly am I selling?”

Al gestured vaguely at him. “This whole thing—the perfect son, the golden mayor, the charming public figure who just happens to say all the right things at all the right times.”

Jao leaned in slightly, resting his chin on one hand. “And yet, despite all that, you still don’t like me.”

Al shot him a look. “Congratulations. You figured it out.”

Jao grinned. “But why, Al?” He said it slowly, deliberately, like he was savoring every syllable. “Why don’t you like me?”

Al narrowed his eyes. “Do you really want an answer?”

Jao shrugged. “Humor me.”

Al took a sip of his drink, thinking. “Fine. You’re smug. You talk like you’re reciting from a perfectly crafted script. You have zero concept of personal space. And—” He gestured toward the crowd. “People worship you like some small-town deity, and you eat it up like it’s your birthright.”

Jao blinked once. Then twice.

And then, to Al’s absolute horror, he smiled.

Like he was delighted.

“You’ve really been paying attention, huh?” Jao mused.

Al set his glass down very carefully. “Oh, my god.”

Jao chuckled. “That was quite the list. Impressive attention to detail.”

Al pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is exhausting.”

Jao reached for the champagne bottle and poured himself another glass. “For the record, I don’t actually care whether you like me or not.”

Al exhaled sharply. “Great. We’re on the same page.”

“But…” Jao took a slow sip. “I do think it’s interesting.”

Al’s brow furrowed. “What’s interesting?”

Jao set his glass down and tilted his head slightly. “That you showed up here tonight like you had nothing to prove.” His voice was light, conversational—dangerously casual. “And yet… you’ve spent this entire night proving something.”

Al’s grip tightened around his napkin. “What the hell does that mean?”

Jao smiled, infuriatingly calm. “It means I think you’re angry. Not at me. Not really.” He gestured toward the head table, where Al’s father was laughing with his new bride. “You’re angry at him.”

Al stiffened.

Jao leaned back, watching him. “And you hate that I get along with him so easily.”

Al’s jaw clenched.

Jao had no right to say that.

Even worse?

He wasn’t wrong.

Before Al could summon a proper response—before he could say something cutting, something to end this conversation—a voice interrupted them.

“There you are!”

Al turned just as a woman with carefully styled waves and an expensive-looking silk dress approached their table.

“Joaquin,” she said warmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jao immediately stood, flashing a charming smile. “Sorry, Tita Letty. I got distracted.”

Al raised an eyebrow. Tita?

Letty turned to Al, her eyes twinkling with curiosity. “And you must be Alaric.”

Al stiffened. “Uh. Yeah.”

She beamed. “It’s so lovely to finally meet you! I’ve heard so much.”

Al threw a quick glance at Jao, suspicious. “Good things, I hope.”

Letty laughed. “Of course! I was just telling Joaquin earlier how wonderful it is to have you here. Your father is so proud.”

Al forced a smile. “Yeah. Right.”

She didn’t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. Instead, she turned back to Jao. “Come, Joaquin. There are some people who want to say hello.”

Jao nodded, then shot Al a final look—one that clearly said this conversation isn’t over.

Al barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

And with that, Jao walked away, effortlessly slipping into the next group of eager admirers.

Al watched him go, exhaling slowly.

This was going to be a very long night.

...to be continued.