Page 35 of Bossy Bride: Emma and Jesse

“Yeah, once! And that month had five Saturdays instead of four, so it was a bonus dinner! And she forced my whole family to drive up to the city in the freaking Suburban!”

“And I did tell her I wanted to come when we first met.”

“Twice a month! Not every week. See, this is what I mean. She makes all these reasonable offers like, ‘Would you like first and third Saturdays, Jesse? Or second and fourth?’”

“And I chose second and third. See? I made my own plan.”

“She wants you to think that, but it’s not true. Not even a little bit! Second and third turned into every week. That was her plan all along.”

“You make her sound like a sneaky buttinski mother-in-law.”

“She is! Mark my words. When my mother makes a plan, she makes a freaking plan. I’m talking plan A, B, C, D all the way to Z. And each plan is worked and reworked so that no matter what road you take to get to the end, it always turns out the way she wants it to.”

I laugh at her.

“It’s not funny!”

“OK, your mother is some crime-family matron who has all the power and will send in her henchmen to get what she wants. Got it.”

“No! That’s me! I’m the crime-family matron now!”

“Oh, Emma.”

“Stop looking at me like I’m ridiculous! I’m telling you, she’s plotting my wedding so that no matter what I do, it will end up the way she wants it. I’ve been through this all before. Ask me about prom night!”

I’m not gonna ask her about prom night for two reasons. One, I’ll get jealous no matter how it turns out. And two, I need to talk her down off this ledge she’s on before things really go off the rails. We were very close to being charged with carjacking last night. And we did steal the Kraken’s Italian Christmas Eve eve dinner. So I say, “Well… not anymore, right?”

She sighs. “Right. This is the perfect plan. I’m telling you. The look on her face when I tell her we eloped and it’s a done deal—that’s my Christmas present this year. That’s all I want.”

“To foil your mother’s wedding plans?”

“Yup.”

“OK, babe. Then get ready for your present. Because that sound right there?” I point to the floor where we can hear the landing gear being released. “That’s Santa’s sleigh coming in for a landing.”

We take our seats in the main cabin and Miles serves us coffee and mini rolls to munch on while we land. Then we go back into the bedroom and put on yesterday’s refreshed clothes. Once that’s done, we exit and meet Miles at the bottom of the jet stairs.

Vegas isn’t as hot as Key West was, but it’s still pretty nice when we finally get out in the sun and turn to Miles, eager to hear what our plans are.

He hands me a glossy black mini-folder and says, “Here is your itinerary.”

I open it up to find the charter jet scheduled for our return trip, the details for the car that will take us to our first meeting with Fingers, and a hundred dollars cash.

“For any incidentals you need until you can get to an ATM,” Miles explains.

God, I love this dude. He thinks of everything. When I’m in Miles’ capable hands, everything is right in the world.

“But,” Emma interjects, taking the little folder from my hands, “there are no wedding plans in here. Just the car and the plane.”

“Fingers will have all those details for you when you meet him at the restaurant,” Miles says. “I hope you both have the Vegas wedding of your dreams and I’ll see you after New Year’s.”

“Thank you, Miles,” Emma coos, then kisses him on the cheek.

“Merry Christmas, ma’am.”

I stuff the little folder into my back pocket, take Emma’s hand, and head off across the tarmac with a smile.

It’s not every day you get to marry your soulmate in an impromptu Vegas elopement planned by a dude called Fingers.