Wed, Set, Go!

Althea stood there, hand wrapped in Max's, but the rest of her frozen in shock. Her legs had followed him on instinct, not intention. Now they betrayed her, locking in place as if her heels had been nailed to the marble floor.

The crowd stared. Phones hovered mid-air. Even the chandelier above looked judgmental.

What just happened? her mind screamed. What is happening? She blinked once, twice, as if that would reboot her brain. Spoiler: it did not.

She could still feel the heat of Max's palm against hers, grounding her in a reality she absolutely did not sign up for. This was not the plan. The plan was to disappear. Dramatically. Tragically. Heroically. To board a flight with nothing but a hoodie and spite and maybe return in six years with a new face and a fake name.

Not...this.

"Let the wedding begin," Max had declared, like he was auditioning for a telenovela titled The Groom Who Stole the Plot.

And now everyone was looking at her like she had masterminded this. Which, to be fair, she had masterminded something. But it was supposed to be a quiet disappearing act. Not whatever this Max-staged circus was.

Max, what the hell?

She didn't say it aloud. She couldn't. Her vocal cords were still trying to figure out whether to scream, laugh, or just completely vacate her throat. Her gaze flickered to the front row where Adrian's mother looked one blink away from a stroke.

Some auntie in the back whispered loudly, "Is this a flash mob wedding?"

I'm going to die, Althea thought. This is how it ends. Death by public scandal and poor lighting.

Max, apparently unaware of the fact that her soul had just left her body, calmly turned away from her and walked straight toward the press corner.

Oh no. Oh no no no.

She shuffled behind him in half-hearted protest. "Max, don't—"

Too late.

Max reached the reporters like he was born for this. With Lilith the cat still chilling in his wedding-themed crossbody sling, like some judgmental Greek chorus.

"Everyone," he said, raising one hand dramatically, "thank you for your patience. Let me clarify a few things."

Althea nearly faceplanted from pure dread.

"The wedding is still on. Just redesigned. Rethreaded. Realigned." Max said.

Althea muttered behind her palm, "Did he just thesaurus his way out of a scandal?"

Max cleared his throat. "Althea and I... well, we love each other."

I'm going to hit him with my shoe, Althea thought. After I throw up from anxiety.

"We're in love," Max declared, throwing an arm around Althea like a magician revealing his assistant.

Althea did not move. Her brain was buffering like a dial-up connection in a thunderstorm.

She smiled. She waved. On autopilot. Her PR training from surviving Velasco family brunches kicked in.

One journalist asked, "So you were secretly together this whole time?"

Max looked thoughtful. "No comment."

Althea nearly choked. "Max!"

He leaned closer and whispered, "Trust me. You wanted to disappear. Let me make you so infamous that no one will believe the truth even if you write it in skywriting."

This man is out of his mind, Althea thought. And somehow, I am going with it.

Someone else asked, "So what happens now?"

Max shrugged. "Cake, I assume?"

And just like that, the crowd rippled with a strange wave of amusement. A few claps. A few laughs. A few more phones lifted to capture this historic mess.

Althea stood beside Max like she was watching her own life unfold on a reality TV show she never auditioned for. He smiled at her, cat smug in his sling, and said under his breath, "Play along."

Her expression finally cracked. A half-laugh, half-sob escaped. Maybe she was losing her mind. Maybe she'd already lost it. But for some reason, next to Max and his chaos, it didn't feel like a full-blown disaster.

Just...a slightly derailed rom-com.

She whispered, "You're insane."

Max beamed. "And you're welcome."

End of Chapter 21.