Chapter Twenty-Five
sam
Two weeks later.
It’s been two weeks after Paris, and the ring still feels weightless on my finger, like I was floating with it, not weighed down by it. Which is saying a lot, considering it was about the size of a small planet and had its own gravitational pull in my hand.
We haven’t told anyone, not even Rose, who’s going to kill me for sure. But I asked Theo to give me some time to really feel all the feels, if that makes sense. It’s not because I want to keep this as a secret, God no.
I wanted to scream to the world that I’m engaged to the most wonderful man on earth. But I know that the second we say it out loud, it will become something else, people will have opinions, and right now? Right now, I just want to be happy.
I know this was fast. I know the math didn’t make sense on paper, ‘met in January, engaged by spring’ kind of fast, not literary, but a very close almost. The thing about Theo and me is… nothing about us ever made sense, and it doesn’t have to.
We—well, I— decided today is finally the day I’ll tell everyone.
So, like a mature woman that I am, I went ahead and created a group chat. My best friend, my sister, his sister. Simple and effective.
I hope so.
Oh, and Harper, because she needs to know.
Girl power group chat
Me: Hey, so I didn’t want this to be like a huge thing, so I just want to say it…
Naomi: Are you pregnant, Samantha? Do you know there are ways to avoid that, right?
Elena: Is it Theo’s? Are you keeping it?
Rose: Oh, you are definitely pregnant.
Elena: I love the group chat’s name btw.
Rose: How did that happen? I thought you had an IUD.
Naomi: You have an IUD? Then how? What?
Harper: Do I need to prepare a board meeting about whatever this is?
Oh, nice, the exact reaction I was aiming for.
Me: No, I’m not pregnant. I’ve been on birth control since I was fourteen, and I’ve been fucking around since eighteen. I know how to not get knocked up, and yes, I have an IUD.
Which, btw, is none of your business.
What I wanted to say is that…
Theo and I got engaged.
Rose: WHAT?
Elena: Ha, I knew it.
Naomi: How is that better than being pregnant?
Harper: Board meeting, it is. Naomi, gather the legal details.
And this is exactly why I didn’t wanna say anything.
Me: First of all, STOP. All of you.
This IS better than being pregnant.
No Harper, no board meeting, or legal stuff needed. Can you please just be happy for us for, like, a second?
Rose: ARE YOU KIDDING? I’m HELL OF EXCITED! My best friend is getting married. You know better, babes.
Elena: I knew it, and I’m all for it. I was just messing with you and following along with Naomi. Congratulations, Sam!
Naomi: Okay, Okay. I’m happy for you. But please be smart and do a pre-nup.
Harper: I can’t believe this man proposed again. The second time is the charm, I guess.
Harper: I’m happy for both of you.
Me: Love you guys! And when I say that, I mean Rose and Elena.
Naomi, he already owns our company, a prenup for what? My share?
Harper, she was a bitch. I’m not.
Harper: Still debating on that.
Naomi: Yes, exactly, a pre-nup for your share. See, you are smarter than you look.
I hate them.
Me: I hate you guys.
I put my phone on DND and went to grab a shower.
This is the kind of thing I don’t need in my life. A judgy sister, and an even judgier assistant. I know Rose is happy, and Elena seems like it, too. That’s all that matters.
Naomi can go fuck herself, and Harper can follow her.
While I’m showering, I can hear voices and glass clinking. But it’s way too early for Theo to be home. Nico knows better than to come uninvited.
Am I being robbed? Oh shit, I’m being robbed.
I’m about to die in the shower, and they are going to find my naked body here. That’s going to be so embarrassing. Oh no, no, no. No one is killing me here. I turn off the shower, grab my towel, and run to the kitchen. To my surprise, while my apartment has been trespassed, I’m not being robbed.
“CONGRATULATIONS SOON TO BE MRS. JONES” is all I hear in unison.
Now I’m crying, even more than when I saw Theo on one knee. “Oh, girls”
“I know I was a bitch, but I had to keep my personality intact if we wanted this to work,” Naomi said with what looked like a real smile on her face.
I wipe my face with the corner of the towel, which, by the way, is doing a terrible job because it was NOT designed for surprise-attack-crying.
“Naomi,” I sniff. She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and that’s how I know she actually means it.
Rose is already shoving a glass of champagne into my hand—real champagne, the kind Theo buys without looking at the price tag. “Drink,” she orders.
“You look like you survived a horror movie.”
“Honey, I did,” I say, pointing to my towel. “I sprinted in here naked, thinking an intruder was about to film my final moments.” Elena snorts into her own glass. “Honestly? That’s very on brand for you.”
I flip her off lovingly. “If I had died, I’d come back to haunt all of you.” Rose gasps dramatically. “As long as your ghost still has that ass, haunt me all you want.”
Harper, of all people, steps forward. She touches my arm lightly. “For what it’s worth,” she says, “I’m really happy for you. For both of you. You deserve someone who goes feral for you. And he deserves the same.”
“Aww,” I whisper, “she has feelings.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she mutters, taking a sip. I look around at these women, this beautiful disaster of a makeshift family, and my chest squeezes so hard I might actually pass out. Or it might just be the lack of panties. Hard to tell.
“So,” Rose says, eyes sparkling with unholy excitement, “when are we planning the party?”
“What party?” I ask, instantly suspicious. “The engagement party, duh. And the wedding, of course.” Naomi hops onto my counter like she pays rent here. “We need themes, outfits, invitations—”
“Nope, nope.” I cut in.
“Absolutely not. We are not doing some spectacle. Theo and I agreed we’re keeping this low-key.” Three sets of eyes look at me as if I just announced I’m joining a cult. “Low-key?” Elena repeats slowly. “You? Low-key? Have you met you?”
“Babe,” Rose says gently, “you can’t even order iced coffee without causing a scene.”
“I do NOT cause a—” Rose cackles.
“Sam, sweetie, you’re not low-key. You’re barely medium.” I groan, pressing my face into my hands. “Theo is gonna kill me if you guys turn this into a circus.”
“Oh, please, he knew what he was getting himself into when he decided to start sleeping with you,” Naomi scoffs. Before I can argue, Rose throws an arm around me, pulling me into a side hug that squishes my towel dangerously low.
“We’re not hijacking your engagement or wedding,” she says softly. “We just want to celebrate you.”
Elena nods. “You picked a man who worships you. And that’s worth celebrating.” Naomi lifts her glass. “To Sam. And to the man who is somehow even more obsessed with her, than we are annoyed by her.”
“Rude,” I mutter, but my throat is tight again. Harper raises hers last. “To the future Mrs. Jones—may she always remember to lock the office doors,” I laugh. I cry a little more. I try not to flash anyone when the towel shifts. And just when I think it can’t get any sappier, the front door opens.
“Samantha?” Theo’s voice echoes at the entrance, and the four women who trespassed in my apartment look at me like hungry wolves. “Oh no,” I whisper.
Rose grins. “Oh yes,” Naomi smirks, and I swear, right then and there, I considered drying off fully before walking toward my fiancé, but where’s the fun in that? He likes me better when I’m wet anyway.
Theo steps fully into the living room, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees the scene: four women, an open champagne bottle, confetti that was NOT here this morning, and well, me in a towel.
Dripping wet. He blinks once. Then slowly drags his gaze from my wet ankles all the way up to where the towel is threatening to give up on its career.
“Sam,” he says, voice deliciously low, “is there a reason you’re hosting a party dressed like you’re about to film my favorite kind of home movie?” Rose chokes on her drink.
Naomi fans herself dramatically. “God. No wonder she said yes.”
I shoot them a glare before turning back to Theo. “I thought I was being murdered,” I say defensively. He raises a brow. “And your plan for dealing with a murderer was… running toward them in a towel still dripping wet?”
“Uhm, yeah?” I snort. “In what universe will that work?”
“In mine!” I snap, pulling the towel tighter as Theo walks toward me with that slow, calculated, I ’m-about-to-do-something-inappropriate stride.
He stops in front of me, eyes heated, amused, and entirely too pleased.
“I leave you alone for one afternoon,” he murmurs, “and you end up half-naked in front of an audience.”
I whisper back, “It’s not my fault they broke into the apartment like champagne gremlins.” Harper raises her glass. “We take offense to that.”
“No, you don’t,” I shoot over my shoulder. Theo brushes a wet strand of hair off my cheek, thumb grazing my jaw, the bastard. “You know,” he says softly, “you could’ve texted me a warning.”
“What? ‘Hey, babe, come home, I’m naked and terrified for my life?’”
“I would’ve run red lights.”
“Told you,” Naomi mutters. “He’s obsessed.”
“Ladies, if you excuse me,” he says to them, but leans in, mouth at my ear, whispering so low I feel it, right down my spine. “When they leave, that towel’s coming off.” My knees attempt to resign from their job.
Elena claps her hands. “Okay! Boundaries. Let’s give them a few minutes to get Sam dressed before Theo combusts.”
“Or before I do,” I mutter. Theo just smirks, brushing past me toward the kitchen like he didn’t just threaten to ruin my life in front of an audience. And God help me, I can’t wait for them to leave. I manage to escape into the bedroom, muttering something about ‘needing panties’.
The door clicks shut behind me, and I’ve barely taken two steps before I feel Theo at my back. “Thought you would like the sight of me wet in a towel,” I tease without turning.
“Oh, I do…” he says, voice dark and velvet-smooth. “But that towel needs to come off, you know, so I can have a better view of how wet you might be.” Before I can fire back, his fingers hook the edge of my towel, and he pulls it loose.
The towel slips down my skin in a hush, pooling at my feet. I gasp, not because I’m cold, but because he’s already sinking to his knees in front of me. “Theo—” I whisper, but my throat goes tight when he places his hands on my hips, thumbs stroking slow, sinful circles that melt my bones.
He looks up at me, eyes dark, full of hunger. He doesn’t bother to hide it. “Let me take a moment,” he murmurs. “Don’t make a sound.” His lips brush my inner thigh, and my knees wobble. I thread my fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. “You have five minutes.”
He smirks against my skin. “Oh, that’s more than enough.
” The rest of the world, the champagne, the chaos, the towel at my feet, everything fades into a blur as he pulls me closer, as my breath catches, and he puts his mouth on me.
He licked me once, twice, and I was long gone by the third.
One of his hands slid under my thigh, and he lifted one of my legs over his shoulder, giving him better access to, well, everything. “Oh, fuck—”
“Quiet, Samantha, they’re going to know what I’m doing to you.”
“Oh, let them know that my fiancé is going down on me.” He just chuckled and kept going.
I was so close already, it was ridiculous.
By the time I could breathe again, I was half draped across Theo’s shoulder, drunk in that very satisfied, very ‘I forgot what year it is’ sort of way.
He presses one last kiss to my hip—smug bastard—before standing and pulling me up with him.
I pat his chest. “You’re a menace.” He kisses my forehead like he didn’t just obliterate all my motor functions. “You’re welcome.”
I try to walk. I really do. But my legs wobble like a newborn deer in heels. “Ugh. I can’t go out there like this. They’ll never let me live it down.” Theo slides an arm around my waist before I eat the floor.
“Sam, they already saw you sprint in a towel. The bar’s low.” I glare up at him. He just laughs. He steers me to the closet, opens the door, and immediately ignores every piece of clothing that is remotely practical. “Wear this.”
“That’s lingerie.”
“I know,” He said with a smirk on his face. “Theodore.”
“Okay, fine.” He grabs a dress, one he likes way too much, and hands it to me with that innocent look that should be illegal. “This one.” I step into the dress, but my fingers are still shaky, and I fumble trying to pull the zipper up. “Ugh. I can’t—”
“Come here.” His voice goes soft. He turns me around, sliding the zipper up agonizingly slow, fingertips tracing my spine. He knows exactly what he’s doing. When he finishes, he rests his hands on my hips, squeezing once. “Perfect.” I slap his hand away when he smacks my ass.
“Behave.” Theo steps in and straightens the hem of my dress. “You look like you’ve been thoroughly celebrated.”
“Oh my God,” I groan. Rose asks, “So… getting dressed took a while, huh?” Theo answers before I can lie. “She needed assistance.” Naomi cackles while Harper covers her face.
Elena whispers, “We knew it.”
“Okay, let’s go,” Rose says, almost walking out the door already. “She’s ours for the night.” Theo narrows his eyes at her. “Bring her back in one piece.”
“No promises,” Elena says. Naomi grabs the keys off my hook like she owns the place. “Let’s go, Sam. If we miss the reservation, you’re paying the fee.”
Rose screeches, “SHOTGUN SITTING NEXT TO THE brIDE.” I turn to Theo, pouting shamelessly. “Save me, now.”
Rose yells, “I said we were leaving, not filming softporn.”
Elena yells back, “Let them kiss, damn—”, I can hear Harper giving orders, “On a clock, people.” Theo breaks away last, thumb brushing my lower lip. “Have fun,” he murmurs. “I’ll try not to get arrested,” I whisper back.
“Please don’t,” Naomi mutters. “I need a break from paperwork for a night.” I grab my purse, my dignity, barely, and my four personal disasters disguised as friends. As we step into the hallway, Rose links her arm through mine.
“Let’s go celebrate the fact that you’re getting married to 1A, the hottest billionaire boss you’ve ever had.”
“Christ,” I mutter, but my cheeks are hurting from smiling. Harper presses the elevator button. “Ladies, we have one mission tonight.”
We all look at her in surprise, mostly. She smirks. “Get the fiancée drunk enough to let us plan the wedding.” I groan. “I hate all of you.” They all cheer. The elevator doors open, and just as we step inside, Naomi pats my shoulder. “Relax. We’ll be gentle.”
No, they won’t. And honestly? I can’t wait.