36. Connor
Chapter 36
Connor
Only a week has gone by since the dinner with her parents.
Mary’s reaction was priceless. The shock on her face, the way her cheeks flushed pink. I could tell she was torn between wanting to kiss me and wanting to slap me. But when we slipped away to talk privately, everything fell into place.
She actually said yes. I still can’t believe it.
Her family’s reaction was mixed, to say the least. I’ll never forget the purse-lipped glower her mother aimed at me as if I were some cockroach sullying her pristine home. She just needs time. Some incentives.
Richard, on the other hand, beamed, clearly delighted at the prospect of his daughter settling down with someone he approved of.
I send a quick text to Mary, letting her know I’ve arrived.
Connor: I’m outside.
Mary: Be right down!
I retrieve the box containing the engagement ring I had painstakingly selected for her. A modest yet elegant piece set with a sapphire stone, its color matching her eyes perfectly.
Understood. That’s how I felt the first time I noticed those eyes, deep and endless like ocean waves crashing over me. I want to drown in them.
I went through her jewelry collection multiple times, noting her preference for minimal and understated gold pieces—nothing too flashy or ostentatious. Unless she’s meeting her mother, of course, in which case she opts for more luxurious statement necklaces and gemstone earrings. I understand her need to meet certain familial expectations, but this ring is for her, not her mother.
This is it. The official start of forever with Mary.
The buzz of my phone snaps me out of my thoughts, and I carefully tuck the ring box into my jacket pocket.
Mary: Which outfit would you prefer?
A grin tugs at my lips. There are two pictures of Mary, one of her dressed in a skirt and a sweater and the other in a dress, with a question mark emoji beside each photo.
Both versions are beautiful, but only one truly embodies her essence. She has a style of her own, effortlessly chic and stylish without seeming like she’s trying too hard.
Connor: The first one.
Mary: Thank God! That’s what I wanted to wear .
My father won’t care one bit about her outfit. All he’ll see is the woman who makes his son happy, who fills the void inside of me in a way I never thought possible again.
I scramble out of the car to meet Mary, who emerges from the front entrance. Without saying a word, I pull her close and give her a kiss. She lets out a soft gasp, and I plunge my tongue into her mouth, my hands tangling in her hair.
When will I ever get enough of her?
That’s right.
Never.
Mary’s cheeks are flushed, and her lips are kiss-swollen. Pride surges through me at being the one who can reduce her to this.
“What was that for?” she asks.
“I missed you.” It’s the truth. Every second we’re apart feels like an eternity now.
“We saw each other yesterday.”
“So? A day without you is a day too long.” I nuzzle my nose against hers, stealing another quick kiss.
She pushes me back. “I want to look put together when I meet your father, not like I was just ravaged by a barbarian.”
I nip at her ear. “Is that what it feels like when I fuck you until you’re shaking and screaming beneath me?”
“Connor!” Mary swats at my chest. “Stop.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior.” I step back. “For now.”
My eyes drop to the bottle of red wine in her hands. No doubt a gift for my father. She’s trying so hard to make a good impression when the truth is she already has. And after this, she will be my family in every sense of the word.
The drive to my father’s house takes us 30 minutes.
In front of the door, Mary fidgets with the hem of her sweater, smoothing imaginary wrinkles, and I reach over to still her hands. “He’s going to love you.”
“You keep saying that. But what if he doesn’t?”
I bring her hand to my lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “You’re the woman I chose. That’s all that matters to him and to me. Besides, he’s been wanting grandkids for years now. Once he sees us together, he’ll jump at the chance.”
“Grandkids? We can’t do grandkids. At least not—”
“Relax, Blue. You’re going to be fine,” I say. “Just be yourself.”
“Right.” She squares her shoulders. “Be myself. I can do that.”
“That’s my good girl.” I press another kiss on her hair. “Ready?”
“Okay, let’s do this, my stalker.”
Her stalker.
I like it when she calls me that.
It’s like our little inside joke, except it’s not really a joke at all. I have been stalking her, watching her every move, hacking into her devices and accounts. I know everything about her, from her favorite coffee order to the way she taps her chin with a pen when she’s concentrating on something.
And I fucking love it .
But there’s a part of me that wonders if she truly understands the depths of my obsession. Does she know that I would do anything for her, that I would kill for her if I had to? Does she realize that she’s mine, now and forever?
Sometimes I worry that she doesn’t. But then she calls me her stalker… She understands the twisted nature of our relationship and my obsession, and she accepts it.
Accepts me.
And fuck, it turns me on.
I press the buzzer.
After a few moments, the intercom crackles to life, my father’s gravelly voice filling the air. “Connor, that’s you?”
“Yeah, Dad. Got someone special I’d like you to meet,” I say.
Mary clutches the bottle of red wine to her chest, her eyes downcast. I give her hand a gentle squeeze.
The door opens, and my childhood nanny, Margaret, envelops me in a hug, a wide smile on her face. “Connor, dear, it’s so good to see you.”
I return the embrace. “You, too. How have you been?”
She pats my cheek fondly. “Oh, keeping busy, as always. But never too busy for my boys.” Margaret’s eyes fall on Mary. “And who is this lovely young lady?”
“I’m Mary. It’s nice to meet you,” Mary extends her hand. “Connor has told me so much about you.”
“Has he now? All good things, I hope.” Margaret envelops Mary in a hug, which seems to catch her off guard, but she returns the embrace tentatively .
Margaret takes a step back to admire my fiancé. “Aren’t you a vision? Connor, she’s even prettier than you described.”
“Please. You’ll make her uncomfortable,” I say.
“Nonsense!” Margaret gives Mary’s hand a pat before releasing it. “Now, lunch is ready in the dining room. Come along. I’m sure you two have an appetite.”
Mary glances up at me. “I like her already.”
“I knew you would.” Sliding my arm around her waist, I guide her toward the dining room. “Just wait until you try her cooking. You’ll be begging to take her home.”
“Over my dead body,” Ezra, my little brother, is already digging into the shepherd’s pie. “We’re keeping Margaret, thank you very much.”
Margaret swats at Ezra with her oven mitts, scolding him. The table is laden with my favorites – roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and fresh bread. The scents alone are enough to transport me back to my childhood.
“Come give your old man a hug. We’ve been waiting for you two.” My father’s voice appears behind us.
“Sorry, it’s my fault.” I pull him into a quick embrace, clapping him on the back.
After releasing me, his focus shifts to Mary.
She thrusts out the wine bottle like a peace offering. “Mr. Milton, it’s wonderful to finally meet you. I’m Mary Wempton.”
“Please, call me George.” He takes the bottle, studying the label. “An excellent choice. You have good taste. ”
Tension bleeds from Mary’s expression.
“Come on in. Sit down,” my father says.
Mary stands still, her eyes darting between the several chairs.
“Love you.” I lean in to press a kiss to her temple.
She tilts her head up. “Love you, too.”
When I nudge her toward a seat, I notice my father and brother watching us, identical grins on their faces.
My father raises his glass, waiting until we’ve settled in our seats and filled our plates before speaking. “We’re happy to have you here, Mary.”
“Thank you,” Mary says.
Ezra leans forward. “What did my brother threaten you with to get you here?”
My father regards Ezra with raised eyebrows. “Ezra.” His gaze moves to Mary, apologetic. “Please forgive my impertinent offspring.”
“Oh, just the usual threats.” I reach for Mary’s hand beneath the table. “Nah, I didn’t have to threaten her at all. One look at this handsome face, and she was begging me to bring her home.”
Mary rolls her eyes, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.
My dad chuckles. “Well, whatever you did, I’m glad she’s here. It’s about time I got to meet the woman who managed to capture my son’s heart.”
“I hope I can live up to whatever Connor has told you about me,” Mary says .
“I’m sure you’ll exceed any expectations,” my dad says. “Connor tends to be a bit sparing with his compliments. If he says you’re remarkable, you must be truly extraordinary.”
Mary glances at me, eyebrows raised. I just shrug, not about to get into how enthusiastic I’ve been about her with my family. No need to embarrass myself further.
“So, Mary,” my father says. “Tell us about yourself. Connor mentioned you work at your father’s company. Hotels?”
The conversation flows easily throughout dinner. Mary charms my dad and Ezra with her quick wit and warm humor. I find myself unable to take my eyes off of her, captivated by the way her eyes light up as she speaks and marveling at how seamlessly she fits into this part of my world. Like she belongs here, with me, with us.
The whole time, her hand remains clasped in mine, anchoring me. I brush my thumb over her knuckles.
Ezra catches my eye across the table, his eyebrows raised slightly. He knows me well enough to sense the shift in my demeanor, the way Mary’s presence has softened me.
After dinner, my dad clears his throat. “Mary, would you like to see some childhood photos of Connor? I have an entire album in the living room.”
“I’d love to.” Mary stands up, following him.
I follow, too, and settle down beside Mary and my father on the couch. Ezra leans on the sofa’s backrest, peering over my father’s shoulder, who flips through our old photo album, reminiscing about each picture .
“Here.” George points to a photo of me as a young boy, covered in mud. “Connor always loved getting dirty, even from an early age. This was taken after he’d spent hours digging holes in our garden… claimed he was searching for buried treasure.”
Mary giggles at the image, and I feel my own lips twitch in amusement.
“Here’s Connor on his first day of school. Wasn’t he tiny?” My father continues.
“He was,” Mary says. “And he had the same serious expression even then. Did you ever smile as a child?”
“Only on special occasions,” I say.
Mary points to a photo of the three of us at the beach, Ezra, still a toddler, perched on my father’s shoulders. “You were such a cute little boy. Look at those chubby cheeks.” She pinches my cheek playfully.
I bat her hand away with a scowl that holds no real annoyance. “Not all of us can remain eternally adorable, Blue.”
My father chuckles, flipping to reveal a gawky and awkward picture of me at twelve. “Here’s the proof. Our little boy wasn’t so little anymore and not quite grown into his limbs.”
“Dad!” I protest, trying to snatch the album away. He jerks it out of reach, and I’m left swatting at empty air.
Mary dissolves into giggles at my expense, earning a mock glare.
“Be nice, or I’m hiding all the childhood photos where you can’t find them,” I say .
She presses a kiss to my cheek, unrepentant. “You were adorable then, and you’re adorable now.”
I glue her to my side. My father’s features soften as he watches us, and for a moment, I glimpse the depth of his affection. It’s a look I’ve only ever seen directed at my mother in old photographs. A pang of bittersweet nostalgia fills me.
“Who’s this?” Mary points to a picture of me as a toddler, cradled in the arms of a woman with blonde hair and pale blue eyes.
My smile falters, and an uneasy feeling twists my stomach.
That damn picture. It’s been years since I’ve laid eyes on it, yet seeing it now fills me with a seething rage.
Her smile is radiant but distant as if she’s gazing at something beyond the camera. I wonder if even then, in that single moment the photo was taken, she was dreaming of escape, of a life without the responsibilities of a husband and two young boys who needed her.
My mother.