Chapter Text
“What d’ya mean, we got married?” Hungover to the point that he thinks his brain might be about to burst and then leak out his ears, Josh glares at the (somehow still) stunningly attractive man he’d woken up next to, and snatches the piece of paper out of his hands when he sheepishly offers it up.
It’s a marriage license alright, one as official looking as any Josh’s ever seen. Not that he’s had a lot of experience with these particular documents, mind you, but that’s his name and his signature, sure enough. Right next to the godawful mouthful that apparently is his now dearly beloved’s full moniker.
“I don’t even know how to pronounce half of these,” he grumbles, choosing to focus on that rather than the swell of panic rising up from the pit of his stomach. He’s done his fair share of stupid shit in his life, but taking a much needed trip to Vegas with the intent of losing himself at a bar/card table, and instead winding up married to a perfect stranger is right at the top of the list.
“You reckon there’s any way we can get it annulled?” He asks, and the guy, Alejandro (no wait, Ale - he’d definitely told Josh to call him Ale at one point), makes a face at him.
“I woke up as naked and ... worn out as you, guero,” he says flatly. “I think it’s safe to say an annulment is very much not on the table.”
“Right,” Josh mumbles, feeling his face heat as he has an abrupt flash of clarity to a moment last night, one involving cool lips tracing a pattern down his chest right before things got really interesting. “That happened.”
“Yes, it did,” his companion agrees, and Josh briefly considers punching his brand new husband right in his perfect teeth at the smug tone in his voice. Honestly, it’s probably only the pounding headache that stops him. “Repeatedly, if I recall correctly.”
“Wonderful,” Josh grunts, once again glaring at the paper in his hand. It’s an awful innocuous looking thing, considering all the trouble it represents. “So, I guess it’s a divorce then. You got any idea how to go about doing that?”
“Er,” his companion says, looking flustered for the first time all morning. He brings one hand up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, inadvertently calling attention to the truly stunning array of bite marks adorning one side of his throat. “That might actually be somewhat complicated.”
And oh but Josh does not like the sound of that. Not even a little. “Complicated,” he repeats, harshly enough that the other man winces at his tone. “Define complicated.”
Ale opens his mouth and closes it a few times, clearly looking for the right way to explain himself. Finally, he says. “How closely have you been following the local news of late?”
Josh snorts. “I’ve barely turned it on since I’ve been here. The whole city’s losing its collective mind over that visiting royal whatchamacallit. The one from Europe, or whatever. Apparently, he’s quite the looker.”
For some reason that earns him a pleased grin - the same pleased grin that had caused all this trouble in the first place when Josh had offered to buy its owner a drink. “Really?”
“Damned if I know,” Josh replies. “I wouldn’t be able to pick the guy out of a crowd.”
“Yes,” Ale says slowly, and now Josh has absolutely no idea what his face his doing. His expression is nigh on unreadable. “You know, I had sort of figured that out.”
Gearing up to demand just what exactly that means, not to mention why it’s relevant, Josh is thrown off his game when the door to their hotel suite is unceremoniously shoved open, and a large black man who’s entire bearing screams ‘security’ stomps into the room.
The guy glances back and forth between them, before slamming the door shut behind him and glaring at Ale.
Who offers him the faintest grin Josh has ever seen in his life. “Sam,” he says weakly. “Good morning.”
“No, it fucking well isn’t.” ‘Sam’ replies. He casts an irate gaze over Josh, raking him from top to bottom before his eyes finally fall on the marriage certificate, at which point he groans. “Alejandro, tell me you didn’t.”
Which is how Josh learns he’s not only gotten married, but somehow landed himself an honest to god prince in the process.
*****
“It’s possible I may have fucked up.”
Josh hears an exasperated sigh on the other end of the phone, and he doesn’t have to be able to see Red to know he’s making a face like he’s got the opening stages of a headache. He waits a few beats to say anything, and then ... “How much bail money do you need? I have to weigh how much I’m willing to fork over to not be stuck watching your demon animal for longer than I agreed to.”
“Fuck you, Jack is a delight,” Josh snaps, instantly on the defensive where his dog’s honour is concerned. It’s not his fault no one else can tell that his beloved rescue mutt just needs some getting used to.
“He’s Satan in a fur suit,” Red replies. “He’s already chewed not one but two legs off my coffee table, which you are replacing by the way. Just like you’re going to pay me back every cent I hand over to get you out of lock up.”
“Fuck you,” Josh says again. “Do you honestly think I’d use you as my one call from jail? I’m being serious, Red. I’ve got a real problem on my hands, and not the kind I usually get you to help me with. An actual problem.”
Something in his tone must click with Red because Josh can tell between one instant and the next when his friend stops messing with him. “What is it?” He asks, not quite managing to keep the worried inflection out of his voice. “What’s wrong?”
Josh pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, and sighs. “So, it’s like this,” he starts, “I was at the hotel bar when this incredibly hot guy sat down next to me, and - hey! Give that back, asshole!”
His hands grasping futilely, Josh gets shoved unceremoniously backwards by Ale’s head security goon, who’s just swooped in out of nowhere to steal his phone. He can hear Red’s voice demanding to know what’s happening, only to be cut off when the guy shuts the phone down, and stuffs it in his pocket. “Sorry, but I can’t let you do that.”
“Excuse me?” Josh barks, his already terrible mood worsening as he goes from distressed to apoplectic fury in the span of a moment. Not caring that the guy could probably snap him in a half like a twig, Josh gets right in his face.
“Listen here,” he snarls. “I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, or who you work for. If you think I’m going to sit around and let you walk all over me, then you’ve got another thing coming. Give me my fucking phone back!”
Security type cocks his head to the side, obviously unimpressed with Josh’s little tirade. He purses his lips for a moment, and then smirks meanly. “No.”
Pushed to the brink thanks to everything that’s happened, and not caring what it’s likely to cost him, Josh draws his fist back with full intention of taking a swing, when there’s a soft click to one side, and the real source of all this trouble enters the room.
Ale’s gotten changed in the time that Josh has been trying to commiserate with his oldest friend. Last night’s clothes, which had been hastily thrown on after they’d woken up, are gone, replaced by a pair of faded jeans and a long-sleeved sweater that Josh can’t help but wonder if it’s as soft as it appears. He doesn’t look like a prince, even if he is unfairly handsome. Mainly, he looks confused.
“What’s going on here?” He asks, his softly accented voice washing over the room like some kind of goddamned soothing balm. “What are you two shouting about?”
“I wasn’t shouting,” the security jackass says primly. “That was all him. I was doing my job.”
“He stole my fucking phone,” Josh snaps, gearing right back up for a fight. Never mind that this guy could likely kick his ass at the best of times, which these most decidedly aren’t, he’s fast approaching his breaking point, and punching someone sounds like a damn fine idea no matter the consequences. “Like I’m some kind of fucking criminal.”
“Well, we’ve yet to rule that out,” security asshole says, and it turns out Josh was right about his inability to sufficiently clock the guy. He dodges the first punch easily, before squaring up to get ready to throw a few of his own.
“Enough!” Ale barks, effectively making it so that doesn’t happen. “No more fighting. We’re all going to approach this situation like rational adults, and that’s the end of it. Sam. Give him his phone back.”
“You can’t be serious,” security bastard snaps. “Alejandro!”
“I said give it back, Sam.” There’s no arguing with Ale’s tone, and for the first time since they’d met, he sounds like how Josh would expect a prince to. “Now.”
A low growl rings out, for once not coming from Josh, and the next thing he knows his phone is being flung at him with more force than necessary. Fumbling to catch it, Josh glances at the screen and notes that not only has Red tried to call back twice, but Emma’s number is there too.
“Fucking awesome,” he grits out because the problem’s just increased tenfold. “I hope you realize you’ve just made things a thousand times worse.”
“Ah!” Ale raises a finger to cut off his head goon before he can respond with what’s no doubt going to be an incredibly rude invective against Josh’s person. “Sam, could you please leave us alone for a minute? I don’t think your presence is helping.”
Josh’s grumbled “No, really?” is drowned out by the ensuing protest, but Ale must be made of sterner stuff than he looks like because he holds his ground until Sam gives a gruff nod, and stomps out of the room as impressively as he’d first stomped in.
“I’m sorry about that,” Ale says, turning to Josh, and sounding like he genuinely means the apology. “If it helps, I can pretty much guarantee that he’s far more upset with me than he is with you.”
“It doesn’t help,” Josh grunts. Typing out a quick message to both Red and Emma that he’ll call them as soon as he can, but in the meantime not to panic, he sends it off, and then looks up to find Ale staring at him. “What?”
“Nothing. I just,” Ale shrugs. “I guess this whole thing is starting to sink in. Mierda.” Looking slightly sick, he crosses to one of the plush armchairs scattered about the living room of his hotel suite, and sags into it. “What a disaster.”
“I don’t mean you, personally,” he adds immediately, flapping a hand at Josh for some unknown reason. “I’ve no doubt you’re a perfectly nice person, but, take it from someone who knows a thing or two about publicity scandals, this is going to be awful.”
“Thanks,” Josh drawls. Although, if he’s being honest, he does find it somewhat comforting to know he’s not the only one freaking out. “What do we do now?”
“Well,” Ale says thoughtfully, sinking even further down in his chair. “First we wait until someone informs my mother of this development. Then, you will no doubt be advised on how to proceed by a PR rep, while I will be killed.”
“Sounds fun,” Josh grunts. He hesitates for a second, unable to believe he’s about to ask his next question seriously, but then powering through. “Your mom, she’s the, uh, queen?”
Ale nods. “Maria Alejandra Isabella Vasquez. Also known as Her Royal Majesty, Queen Maria the Second. Who I’m sure is about to remember she has two other children, plus a grandchild on the way, and therefore the throne is still secure if she has me executed.”
He sounds so miserable, Josh almost feels sorry for him. Then he pictures how big of a wrench this is going to throw in his own life, and any sympathy he might be leaning towards goes right out the window. “I need a drink.”
“We can’t,” Ale says grimly. “If the next person to come in here finds that we’ve resorted to alcohol after it’s what got us into this mess, then we will both be killed. Possibly by using some very medieval methods for maximum pain and gruesomeness. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel much like being drawn and quartered today.”
“I don’t even know what that means,” Josh informs him. “Just like I don’t know how I woke up yesterday as a normal guy on vacation, and now today I’m married to a future king.”
“Oh, I’m not the heir,” Ale says, waving a hand like that’s of any comfort whatsoever. “My sisters are both older than me. I’m only third in line for the throne, soon to be forth since Francesca, who is the heir, is pregnant. That much, at least, you don’t have to worry about.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Josh asks. “Because I hate to break it to you, but it’s really not.”
Before Ale can reply, there’s a rather insistent knock on the door, followed by Sam’s voice. “Alejandro, open up. I’ve got an update for you.”
“It’s not locked,” Ale says, without bothering to get out of his chair. “Come on in.”
Sam does so, stepping inside, and then closing the door behind him with a quick snap. “Two things,” he says, without giving either Josh or Ale a chance to speak. “First, Goody’s on his way over to try and sort out damage control.”
“Of course he is,” Ale says, apparently forgetting the fact that Josh isn’t in the loop, and therefore has no idea what that means. “What’s the second thing?”
Sam smiles in a way that Josh finds distinctly unpleasant, and holds up a cellphone the same way one might a nuclear detonator. “Your mother would like a word.”
Ale now slinks so far down in his chair, Josh is surprised he doesn’t wind up on the floor. “Wonderful,” he says, burying his face in his hands. “Just wonderful.”
*****
‘Goody’ turns out to be a PR rep by the name of Goodnight Robicheaux. He’s a cagey looking little bastard, Josh thinks instantly upon meeting him, and he’s come armed to the teeth with all sorts of important sounding documents. Josh pretty much hates him on sight.
The same, however, cannot be said for Ale, who emerges from the bedroom he’d retreated into to talk with his mother looking like a victim of shell shock. His eyes fall on where Goodnight is unloading a whole bunch of things on the coffee table, and he lights up like a drowning man who’s miraculously been thrown a lifeline. “Please tell me you have a plan.”
“That depends on how you define plan, your highness,” Goodnight says flatly. “This isn’t the first mess you’ve gotten yourself into over the years, but it’s definitely the most spectacular. Don’t expect me to be able to simply snap my fingers and make the problem go away.”
“And what’s that mean when it’s at home?” Josh wants to know. He’s parked himself up against one of the walls, not wanting join Goodnight and Ale on the couch. “You people are royalty, why can’t you fix this?”
“First of all, he is the only person here who’s actual royalty,” Goodnight says, nodding at Ale. “The rest of us just happen to work for him. Second of all, royals, even visiting ones, aren’t above the law, and nor should they be.”
“Your marriage,” he continues on, seemingly oblivious to Josh’s increasing ire, “may be the result of a loveless, drunken bout of stupidity, but it was a legally binding loveless, drunken bout of stupidity. Trust me, I checked.”
Goodnight waits a moment for any potential responses to come in, and then keeps talking when he doesn’t get any. “Now, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess that neither of you knows much about the American divorce system.”
Josh briefly considers announcing that he has a friend who happens to be one of the best family law lawyers in the business, but he has a sneaking suspicion that bringing Emma up at this juncture won’t go over well. Besides, it’s not like he himself knows much about what she does.
He tunes back in to Goodnight, who’s still speaking, apparently oblivious to Josh having zoned out for a moment. “There’s a time period you have to wait to process a divorce, a lengthy one, and it can’t be done here. It has to be done in the State where one of the parties is ordinarily resident, so if you’re both sure an annulment is off the table ...”
Here he looks at Ale, who gives him a brittle smile. “We had sex,” he says flatly. “Multiple times. I may not remember everything, but I’ve got that much.”
“And lying under oath would negate the annulment if anyone ever got wind of it.” Goodnight sighs. “Alright then, it looks like we’re playing the long con for the next year.”
“Excuse me?” Josh blurts. He can’t possibly have heard that right. “A year? We have to wait a year to make this go away?”
“You live in California,” Goodnight replies, smirking slightly when Josh stutters. “You shouldn’t look so surprised. I’ve been digging into your history since I got the call this morning.”
“That is a huge invasion of privacy!” Josh snaps, glaring for all he’s worth. “You’ve got no right to go poking your nose into my fucking business.”
“I’m sorry?” Goodnight demands, and now it’s his turn to sound incredulous. “You, a perfect stranger, had a quickie marriage to a member of the royal family whose image it is my job to protect. If you think we’re not going to find out everything about you from your birthdate to your address to your shoe size, then you’re out of your mind. In less than twenty four hours, you’ve become one of the country’s biggest security threats.”
“Goody, stop it.” And there’s Ale finally speaking up again. Part of Josh is getting a little annoyed that he keeps needing the prince to call off his goons, but most of him is busy being grateful he’s willing to do it. “He’s a tourist who bought a man a drink on vacation, and things got a little out of hand. Nothing more.”
Sam grunts from where he’s been standing quietly by the door since Goodnight’s arrival. “One, you don’t get to judge the level of threat here, Alejandro, that’s our job. Two, calling this whole mess ‘nothing’ is about as far off the mark as you can possibly get, and you know it. Three, what did you turn up, Goody?”
Goodnight flaps a hand dismissively towards Josh, which does nothing to endear himself to him. “Given that I’ve only had an hour or so, it’s a minimal dossier at best, but nothing too horrible so far. Joshua Eliot Faraday, age twenty eight. Born in Missouri to Eleanor and Daniel Faraday. She was a nurse who passed away nine years ago, and I couldn’t find much on him.” He cocks his head at Josh. “Is there a reason for that?”
Josh smiles, and it must be as sharp as he intends because the other man actually takes a quick step away. “He went to get groceries when I was about two or so, and I reckon he must’ve taken a hell of a wrong turn on his way back on account of how he still hasn’t made it home.”
“...Right,” Goodnight says awkwardly. He pauses for a moment, and then makes an obvious decision to keep soldiering on. “Moved from Missouri to California at age eight, and been there ever since. Co-owner and operator of a mechanic shop along with a Mr. Red Harvest?”
Josh snorts. “You call Red mister to his face, and he’s either gonna laugh or punch you, maybe both.”
“Is that who you were on the phone with earlier?” Sam asks sharply, no doubt having picked up on the same.
“Yeah,” Josh says, seeing no point in lying. “Red and I have been friends since we were kids. He’s the first person I call whenever shit hits the fan.” Either that or Emma, he thinks silently, but she only gets first call when Red is right in the middle of the mess with him.
“You let him talk to someone?” Goodnight demands, looking wild. “Why in God’s name would you do that? That’s one more person we’re going to have to account for, damnit.”
Josh very carefully doesn’t say anything about the fact that Emma knows something’s up too. The last thing he wants to do is give Goodnight more crap to yell about.
“Regardless,” Ale says, speaking up again. “Goody, you can give us a full background check later,” and he at least has the common decency to shoot Josh an apologetic look. “What’s the plan? We just sit quietly on this for a year, and then file the paperwork?”
“Dear me,” Goodnight says, his voice going sickeningly sweet in a way that instantly gets Josh’s hackles up. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if that were an option, Alejandro? Wouldn’t it be great if the most logical and simple solution was available to us? Pity that it’s not.”
Pulling out a tablet from the mess of items stacked on the coffee table, he taps the screen once to rouse it, and then lets his fingers dance across the surface. “As always, I’ve got a whole system of alerts keyed up to let me know when you’ve gotten yourself up to no good. Which is why I already knew something had gone down before Sam called, since I woke up to this.”
Finding what he’s after, he calls up a specific picture, and then thrusts the tablet forward for both Josh and Ale to see. “It’s not a bad photo, all things considered,” he says as Josh is forced to stare at a shot of himself and Ale getting notably handsy in a club somewhere. “I particularly like the part of the headline that refers to Joshua here as a ‘royal mystery man’, but it’s definitely a problem.”
“Someone will find out who he is, who you are,” he adds for Josh’s benefit. “And then someone else will find out where he’s from, and what he does, and anything else they possibly can. Eventually people will dig into how you met, and the second that goes too deep, this entire debacle will come shooting to the surface.”
“Well, how do we stop that?” Josh asks. He feels stick to his stomach, and he barely resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. “How do we make it so that doesn’t happen?”
Goodnight shrugs. “We get ahead of it,” he says simply. “And then we lie.”
“Meaning?” Josh asks. He’s got no issue doing just that, has in fact bluffed his way out of more than one tricky situation, but here and now he can’t come up with the right angle on his own. He needs someone to tell him what to say.
“We provide an alternative scenario that’s intriguing enough for people to grab onto it,” Goodnight informs them. “Something that’s extraordinary, yet somehow plausible at the same time.”
“As far as the public is about to be concerned, last night wasn’t the first time you two met.” He holds first Josh and then Ale’s gaze like he expects protests to be forthcoming, and then carries on when none are. “We’re going to have to play it like you two were previously introduced - we’ll figure out the details of how later - and have been quietly talking and seeing each other for the past few months. You decided to spend a vacation together when Ale was sent here by her Majesty.”
“These photos,” and here he taps the tablet screen pointedly, “can be played off as the two of you getting a little caught up in the moment. You didn’t mean for things to be revealed so soon, but now that they have been you intend to be honest about it.”
Josh has never heard such a crock of shit in his life, and he says so. “No one will ever believe it,” he adds when Goodnight shoots him an affronted glare. “I say this as a person well versed in bullshit, it’s too out there.”
Goodnight snorts before jerking a thumb towards Ale. “Under normal, everyday circumstances, perhaps, but nothing is ever too outlandish where this one is concerned. For once it’s going to work in our favour to have his reputation proceed him.”
“I am standing right here,” Ale says dryly, though Josh notes he doesn’t exactly look offended. “I can hear you no trouble.”
“How nice for you,” Goodnight replies. “Now here’s the most important part. You’re about to be spending a lot more time than usual in California. In order to keep people distracted by the lie, we have to keep feeding it.”
“I really don’t like the sound of that,” Josh grumbles. The sick feeling that’s been lodged in his stomach all morning is somehow, impossibly getting worse. “How do we feed it?”
“Public courtship,” is the reply, and Josh doesn’t think he’s imagining the gleeful note in Goodnight’s voice. The bastard may not be enjoying the headache they’re causing him, but it’s clear he’s not above spreading the pain around. “Alejandro’s past antics are just wild enough that most people will accept a decision on his part to shirk much of his responsibility back home in order to chase a pretty mechanic.”
Josh considers what he’s hearing. “How,” he asks finally, “is this plan any less of a mess than what really happened? Either way, you’re basically telling me I’m fucked, and that my private life is open for business.”
“You are, and it is,” Goodnight says simply. “However, my way avoids the kind of scandal that could permanently mar the reputation of the royal family, and you’ll be much more likely to quietly return to your regular life once it’s over. The truth will leave you as the butt of a joke for the rest of your life.”
“Well,” Josh says grimly, and it’s very hard for him not to glare at everyone in the room. Especially Ale. “I suppose I don’t have much choice, do I?”
*****
“I’m sorry.”
Too busy pacing the room they’ve been told to stay put in like a caged animal, Josh doesn’t initially realize that Ale has spoken. It’s only after a number of seconds have passed that this registers. “What was that?”
Having migrated from one of the armchairs to the large sofa at one end of the room, Ale gives a one shoulder shrug where he’s sprawled lengthwise across the thing. “I said I’m sorry,” he repeats. “It just occurred to me, I don’t think I’ve apologized for getting you into this mess.”
There is a very large part of Josh that wants to grab Ale’s self-blame like a lifeline and then browbeat the man with it. Unfortunately, his conscience chooses this exact moment to rear its ugly head, and he stops moving with a sigh.
“Don’t apologize,” he says, unable to keep from grinning faintly when Ale jerks his head around to stare at him in surprise. “Don’t lock so shocked, dude. I’m man enough to admit that I got myself into this mess right along with you.”
“Maybe,” Ale says, and he’s looking at Josh like he’s a puzzle he can’t figure out, like he’s not toeing the party line. “You didn’t have all the facts, though. I’m sure you’d have been more hesitant if you’d known who I was.”
“Possibly?” Josh shrugs. “I honestly couldn’t say one way or the other. I came here to blow off some steam, and I do stupid shit when I’m in that kind of mood.”
“I see.” Sitting up slowly, Ale rearranges himself on the couch so that he can pin Josh squarely with his gaze. “Why did you need to blow off steam?”
That much Josh isn’t willing to discuss with him. It might not be anything bad, is in fact just him having been stressed due to not having taken time off in years, but it’s also nobody’s business but his own. “It doesn’t matter. My point is, I got myself into this as much as you did, and I’ll thank you to remember it.”
Ale still looks confused, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to press the matter, which Josh decides to take as a win. As he watches, the prince - and he’s not getting over that any time soon - scrubs a tired hand over his face before flopping back into the cushions. “What a mess.”
“Mmhmm,” Josh agrees. “I can safely say this is a new one for me.”
“For me too,” Ale replies, “and I say that as someone who’s caused a scandal or two before.”
“Yeah,” Josh says, thinking over their talks with Sam and Goodnight. Those conversations had certainly involved a number of digs at Ale’s expense. “I have no idea if this means anything, but I don’t know anything about you.”
“And that is startlingly refreshing, I must admit. Even if it is a little hard to believe.” Ale grins sheepishly when Josh gives him a pointed look. “What can I say? I’m used to people knowing who I am.”
“Lucky you,” Josh grunts. “I’m not.”
“Yes,” his expression sobering, Ale looks contrite. “Joshua, I truly am sorry about everything.” He fidgets awkwardly for a moment, his fingers twitching noticeably, before he adds softly. “You should know that you’re free to handle this however you want. No one’s going to force you to go along with Goody’s plan. I promise.”
“I reckon your boys might have a thing or two different to say to that, but don’t worry about it,” Josh tells him. “I’m not interested in having this mess blow up anymore than it absolutely has to. I’ll play along with the plan.”
“Really?” Ale asks. It’s clear he’s skeptical, but Josh supposes in his shoes that makes sense. Hell, Josh himself isn’t entirely certain why he’s agreeing to this insane scheme - except for how he really doesn’t want the truth going public. Contrary to popular belief, he has some sense of shame.
“Yeah,” he says, realizing belatedly that he’s let the silence drag on for too long. He shrugs. “I mean, I can’t promise I’ll be any good at acting, or whatever, or even that I won’t somehow screw up and get busted, but I’m willing to try it this way.”
“Huh,” Ale says then. He stands unexpectedly, crossing the room to where Josh is eyeing him warily, and, of all things, holds out his hand to shake. “It looks like we have a deal, guero. I promise to try and make the whole experience as painless as possible.”
Against his better judgement, Josh takes the proffered hand with a grin.
“Here’s to the next year, I guess.”