The Cece & Juan Vignettes: Chapter 11 - Marry Her
Hey, loves. We’re back for another chapter of the Cece & Juan Vignettes for the blog series. I do hope you enjoy it. We’re probably like a little over halfway through this blog series now. Hugs, loves.
Do you need to catch up?
Chapter Eleven – Marry Her
Juan POV
20 years old …
“I want to marry Cece.”
Beside him, Juan’s father stiffened subtly. Of course, it couldn’t be noticeable. Not when they were working for the queen, and by all appearances, needed to seem like terrifying statues that would suddenly come alive and move from their shadowed corner if Catherine’s—Cece’s mom—guest stepped out of line.
A lot of the time, Catherine liked to meet potential clients personally so that she could get a feel for who her girls would be dealing with when they supplied the client with product—usually cocaine, but not always. Anyway, she always made the final call on whether someone made it onto the list. At the moment, it didn’t look particularly good for the high profile, politician’s son who, for whatever damned reason, thought he was God’s gift to women and humanity alike.
Juan had news for him.
He wasn’t.
He was barely fucking tolerable and Juan hadn’t even needed to speak to the guy. But he was entitled, spoke like a fucking prick, and treated everyone around him like a servant meant to please him, and that didn’t say very good things for him. Nor was it very promising for his likelihood of getting on Catherine’s client list. People often thought that because they had deep pockets and pedigree, they were guaranteed whatever the fuck they wanted.
Not with the queen.
The rich rarely understood the difference between confidence and arrogance. It didn’t even surprise Juan anymore, although it annoyed him to no end. Part of him had a good mind to speak up and tell the asshole across the room where he could shove his entitlement, but … well, he knew better. He’d learned while working alongside his father as a personal guard for Catherine—a queen pin to the grossly wealthy and North America’s elite—that he was better served when he kept his mouth shut and let the woman do her job.
Catherine could—and would—handle herself. She had been doing it for years before he came along, after all. Soon, Juan knew, that would be Cece sitting in the same spot her mother did. Yeah, she was doing the whole college thing—or rather, giving it the old college try, but everybody could already tell … it just wasn’t for her.
They’d wait for her to figure it out, too.
She’d yet to say it.
Still dabbled in the family business, though. The girl couldn’t change who she was even if she cared to try. Which she didn’t. Not that it mattered. Regardless pf what Cece chose to do in the end, Juan was going to be right there following behind her. He didn’t know anything different, and he really didn’t want to, either.
Finally, after his declaration to his father and the responding minutes of silence that followed, Miguel said, “Say that again.”
A faint smile curved his lips while across the room, Catherine looked a few seconds away from telling the snotty politician’s son right where he could shove his money and prestige. Good. That meant they would be done here soon.
“I want to marry Cece.”
Miguel cleared his throat, which drew his Catherine’s attention. But when she looked their way, both men had quickly reverted back to their previous still states. She returned to her meeting but not before giving the two of them a look.
A silent hush.
The order wasn’t missed.
Miguel still opted to test it—then again, Catherine was his best friend. “You thought now was the right time to tell me that—first of all, I should add.”
Juan shrugged. “I had to tell someone.”
“Secondly,” his father continued as though he hadn’t said a thing, “the two of you have been on and off for the last couple of years. Are you even on right now—did I miss something?”
“Dad—”
Miguel gave Juan a look from the side, stopping him before he could say anything more with, “Not that it mattered—I’ve known you wanted to marry her since … well, for a long time, Juan.”
“Yeah.”
“But you’re also twenty, and she’s only—”
“I’m not saying right now,” Juan was quick to say before his father could continue. “But … someday.”
Miguel let out a soft sigh.
Then, he smiled. “Well, someday, and by that I mean before you think of even asking her, you better make sure you speak to her father.”
Juan swallowed hard.
Right.
He’d forgotten about that bit.
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