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 closedbillion-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,marrymarry?”
“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.”