"Fuckin' pendejos," Javier curses, hand shaking as he smokes a cigarette outside of your apartment complex.

He hadn't touched one in a couple of months, wanting to quit because you said they weren't good for him, and he wanted to be good for you. But also because you threatened not to make out with him anymore.

Javier had made good until all of this wedding planning. It wasn't you that was freaking me out; he could handle you, his perfectionist love that wanted everything to be nice and proper. But he couldn't handle his family.

The same parents that ignored him his entire childhood, favoring his little brother, Issac, since the moment he was born. Their golden child.

It didn't matter what he did; he could win the Nobel Prize, and they would still praise Issac for breathing. This hurt him and made him feel pathetic and worthless, but not after you.

You were his rock, helping him through that rough patch, staying by his side, and being proud of every achievement he had. You were all he needed.

But now, after proposing to the love of his life came the stress of thinking about his family. He had talked to you about it, deciding not to invite those jerks, and you supported him. Now, he was dealing with the backlash from them.

They had been blowing up his phone, calling him non-stop, and texting him until they couldn't anymore. Those assholes wanted an invite after everything they did to him.

Yeah, right.