Page 90 of Worth the Fall

"These ones!" She flips open her notebook with the flourish of a seasoned professional, revealing pages covered in crayon scribbles, glitter glue, and what I strongly suspect is yesterday's juice box casualty. "See? Rule number one: Every princess needs a carriage. Rule number two: The carriage must be sparkly. Rule number three: Horses are optional but highly recommended."

"Did you write these rules yourself?" I ask, peering at the elaborate crayon manifesto.

She gives me a look that could rival any seasoned lawyer. "Pinterest helped."

"Pinterest?" I turn to Mia accusingly. "You let her on Pinterest?"

Mia shrugs, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "She's got a point about the rules. Very official-looking. And the glitter really adds credibility."

"Not helping," I say, giving her a look that only makes her grin wider.

"I mean," she continues, clearly enjoying my predicament, "if there's a rule book…"

Felicity beams, sensing a victory in Mia's support. "And we also need a cake with layers like a castle and sparkles everywhere and—" She flips to another page in her notebook, this one featuring what appears to be a cake taller than our house.

"Let's focus on one thing at a time," I interrupt, holding up my hands in surrender. The last time she got on a roll like this, we ended up with a three-page proposal for releasing doves during the first dance.

"Daddy, look!" She points to a particularly detailed drawing. "The cake needs a working drawbridge. And a moat! With chocolate sauce!" Her eyes light up with the kind of enthusiasm that usually costs me a small fortune.

"A moat?" I repeat weakly.

"With little sugar fish!" She bounces on her toes, her sash sending another shower of glitter to the floor. "And maybe tiny knights made of candy to guard it."

Mia sets her laptop aside, trying and failing to suppress her laughter. "The knights are a nice touch. Very security-conscious."

Felicity's face lights up like I've just agreed to crown her Queen of Everything. "Okay, then the princess carriage first, then we can talk about the moat cake!"

"That's not what I—" I start, but it's too late.

Mia bursts out laughing, nearly spilling her coffee. "You walked right into that one, Ramirez."

I glance between them—my bride-to-be and my daughter, both wearing matching expressions of pure mischief—and despite the glitter explosion that is my current reality, I can't help but smile. This chaos? This is my life now. And honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way.

"Can we at least negotiate on the horses?" I ask, already knowing I'm fighting a losing battle.

Felicity taps her chin thoughtfully, a gesture she definitely learned from Mia. "Well… maybe we could use unicorns instead?"

"Unicorns," I repeat flatly.

"They're more magical," she explains patiently, like she's teaching a particularly slow student. "And they match the theme better."

"There's a theme?"

"Daddy." She puts her hands on her hips, looking alarmingly like her mother when she's about to win an argument. "There's always a theme. Ours is 'Enchanted Royal Wedding with Extra Sparkle.'" She pronounces each word carefully, like she's presenting a case to the Supreme Court.

Mia sets down her coffee, wiping tears of laughter from her eyes. "I have to say, she's thorough. Did you see the color-coded tabs in that notebook?"

"Those were your idea," I accuse, remembering the afternoon I came home to find them online shopping for crafting supplies.

"Just helping our wedding planner stay organized," Mia says innocently. "Professional development and all that."

The tuxedo shop is my next battle zone, and I'm already regretting my life choices as I push open the door. The bell chimes cheerfully, mocking my impending doom.

Hector and Austin accompany me, because apparently, I didn't learn my lesson about letting them help with anything. The last time I let them "help" with wedding planning, we endedup with a DJ who specializes in heavy metal covers of Disney songs. Celine still hasn't let me live that one down.

"This is going to be epic," Hector announces to the entire shop, earning a startled look from the elderly tailor measuring a suit nearby. "Second weddings are where you get to go wild."

"No one is going wild," I warn, but he's already disappeared into the racks of formal wear like a kid in a candy store.

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