That was the one thing I was afraid of.
Because Eleanor was right.
My family did not understand.
When I told them, the reaction was worse than I imagined.
My father put his glass down slowly.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me.
“You’re marrying a woman who is older than me?”
“She’s the person I love.”
My aunt laughed.
Not kindly.
“Love? Travis, be realistic.”
My cousin leaned forward.
“She has money. You’re telling me that has nothing to do with it?”
I felt anger rise inside me.
“Do you even know her?”
My father shook his head.
“I know enough.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
Those words followed me for weeks.
Everywhere I went, people had an opinion.
Neighbors whispered.
Friends questioned me.
Strangers online called me names.
But Eleanor never complained.
That was what hurt the most.
She accepted every insult directed at her, but she worried about what those insults were doing to me.
“You deserve a life where you don’t have to defend your happiness every day,” she told me one night.
I looked at her.
“And you deserve someone who doesn’t walk away when things become difficult.”
For the first time, Eleanor looked like she might cry.
Then she smiled.
And that
smile was the reason I knew I had made the right choice.
Our wedding was unlike anything I had ever imagined.
It took place at an old hacienda outside the city.
The walls were covered with flowers.
Hundreds of candles illuminated the courtyard.
Musicians played beneath golden lights.
It was beautiful.
But there was something strange.
Something I noticed but ignored.
There were men everywhere.
Not guests.
Not family.
Men wearing dark suits, standing near entrances and watching the surroundings.
Some had small radios hidden beneath their jackets.
There was security around the property.
Too much security.
I asked Eleanor about it.
She simply smiled.
“Old friends.”
I laughed.
“You have unusual friends.”
“You have no idea.”
I thought she was joking.
I didn’t know those words would come back to haunt me.
