Tattooed in Moonlight

Chapter 26

Chapter 26

I barely had time to recover from my meltdown before the next bomb dropped.

"Darling," Marcella trilled the next morning, barging into my room like the neon devil she was, "we're meeting the planners today!"

I groaned, face buried in my pillow. "No. Absolutely not. Planners are where dreams go to die."

"Darling, it's not the wedding yet. This is the engagement party!"

My head snapped up. "Engagement... party?"

Marcella beamed. "Yes! The announcement soirée of the century! The prequel before the main event!"

I stared at her. "Marcella, you make it sound like a Marvel franchise."

She gasped. "Exactly!"

By the time I was dragged downstairs, still half in denial, Travis was already waiting in the car. Calm, composed, sipping his coffee like this was just another Tuesday.

"Engagement party?" I hissed as I slid in beside him.

"Yes," he said simply.

"You do realize an engagement party is supposed to be, like, twenty people in a backyard with barbecue, right?"

"Incorrect."

I gaped. "Oh my God, I hate you."

We drove into the city, and when we pulled up to the venue—I knew I was doomed.

It wasn't a restaurant. It wasn't even a hotel ballroom.

It was an entire convention center.

And inside?

A small army.

Event planners with clipboards. Designers with swatches. Caterers with tasting trays. Lighting crews, stage managers, sound technicians.

And at the center of it all, a scale model of the venue—complete with fireworks, drone choreography, and seating arrangements that looked like they belonged at the UN General Assembly.

I froze. "This isn't an engagement party. This is a summit."

Marcella clapped her hands. "Darling, you're going to make history!"

I turned to Travis, wild-eyed. "This is insane! This is supposed to be about us, not about—whatever this is!"

He met my gaze, calm as always. "It is about us."

I threw my arms wide. "Really? Because it looks like it's about inviting every politician, billionaire, and media outlet on the planet to watch me choke on hors d'oeuvres!"

His eyes stayed steady. "Choice," he said quietly.

And damn him—damn him to hell—the word lodged in my chest again.

Because I realized, standing in the middle of that circus, that I had two choices.

Run.

Or stand.

And for reasons I couldn't explain, the thought of running suddenly felt impossible.

I was going to die.

Not from a sniper. Not from political enemies. Not even from paparazzi swarms.

I was going to die in a conference room, buried alive under vision boards and canapé samples.

"Darling!" the lead planner cried, waving a giant binder like it was the Bible. "We've narrowed the engagement party themes to four options! One: Celestial Elegance! Two: Timeless Love! Three: Dynasties United! And four—my personal favorite—The Power of Two Empires!"