Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
theo
I thought running a billion-dollar company would prepare me for anything.
But it did not prepare me for Samantha Hayes with a Pinterest board. And her “bridesmaids” who are sending packages and text messages at any given hour of the day. I thought Harper and Elena would have more respect for me, guess I was wrong.
I’m standing in our kitchen watching my fiancée with her laptop open, a legal pad full of bullet points, sitting cross-legged on the counter in an oversized sweatshirt that says brIDE in gold letters—that I know for a fact she didn’t buy, but immediately fell in love with it when she opened the package.
Elena and Rose have been pampering her in a way that I didn’t expect. Well, not from Elena anyway. She was never like that with my ex-wife. I bet she even hated her. So seeing her like this, giving so much love to Samantha, has really shown me a side of my sister that I truly appreciate.
She’s holding her phone in both hands, eyes narrowed. “I hate it,” she declares. I glance at her screen. “That’s a bouquet.”
“It’s a statement bouquet,” she corrects. “And it looks like something a Victorian ghost would carry into battle after her husband died defending their country.”
“It’s… white flowers.”
“It’s too many white flowers.” I take a sip of coffee and pretend this is normal. “Okay. No Victorian widow battle bouquet. Noted.” Sam smiles like she’s won a war. “Good.”
I reach across the counter and brush my thumb over her knee. “We don’t have to do anything big. You know that.”
“I know,” she says, softer, smiling at me. “I just… I want it to feel like us.”
“It will.” She studies me for a second like she’s trying to figure out if I’m being sincere or CEO-sincere.
The problem is I’m both. I’m always both.
But with her, I’m trying—actually trying, to be only one thing.
Not Theodore Jones. Just Theo. Her fiancé.
She moves my way, giving me space between her legs as she plays with my hair. “Okay. So. Here’s what I want.”
I tilt my head. “I’m listening.”
“I want a small ceremony,” she says. “I don’t want any press there. I know you are the CEO of Hayes International and all, but no. No Hayes spectacle. No ‘legacy family moment’, nothing like that. This is not about our jobs. This is just about us.”
“Agreed.”
“And I don’t want it at the Hayes estate. I’m so over my family’s home.”
“Also agreed.” She looks relieved enough that I feel like a sharp knife just twisted in my chest. It’s like the idea of that place still feels like a cage to her, even when it’s dressed up in marble and money. Which is sad, but I completely understand.
“What about your dad? Is he coming?” I ask carefully.
Sam’s expression tightens a bit. She’s not angry.
Not really. She’s just… tired. Of him, of everything related to that name.
“Yes, I invited him. I don’t know if he’ll be there.
Probably will be,” she says. “Because Naomi would kill me if I didn’t invite him.
And because he’d make it a whole thing if I didn’t too, so. ”
I nod. “Okay, he should be there. You are his daughter despite everything.”
“And your parents?” she asks, suddenly a bit nervous. “Are they like, really excited about this?” I smile. “You know they are. My mom even cried when I told her.” Sam’s eyes widened in such a soft way. “She did? Really?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘Finally. A woman with sense will be joining the family. Thank God.’” Sam laughs, bright and startled. “Your mom likes me, right?”
“She loves you.” Sam’s smile falters just a fraction, like she doesn’t fully trust that kind of unconditional approval. Like she’s waiting for the fine print. I lift her chin gently. “She’s already too obsessed with you, I’m afraid.”
“Great, I’ll take that.” Sam grinned.
“You’re collecting them,” I say, deadpan. “It’s like a hobby.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling again. “Okay. So for the ceremony. I was thinking something very intimate. Obviously romantic. Like… maybe a garden? Or a rooftop? Something that looks warm and cozy, but still elegant.”
“I like the rooftop idea,” I say instantly. Sam squints at me. “Why do you say that like you already chose?” I shrug. “Because you like the sky. You like being on top of things.”
“That’s not entirely true.” I raise a brow. Sam sighs dramatically. “Fine. It’s true. I like being on top of things. Like on top of you, for example.”
“That I know. So rooftop,” I repeat. “Small venue, around sunset time. Just a few of our closest friends and family. With good wine, good music—”
“And good food,” she adds immediately.
“Of course.”
“And no speeches longer than three minutes,” she says. I smile. “That’s clearly directed at Naomi.”
“That’s directed at everyone, but yeah, especially at Naomi,” Sam says, and I laugh. She steps back, grabs my legal pad, and starts reading my list. “Venue, officiant, guest list… okay, wow,” she says, impressed. “You made this sound like a business plan.”
“It’s how I cope.” She taps the paper. “What’s this?”
“Ring insurance.” Sam looks up slowly. “Theo.”
“What?”
“I’m wearing it on my finger,” she says, holding up her hand like evidence. “It’s not like we are getting married on a yacht or something.” I tilt my head. “It’s just a safety measure.” She stares at me, then laughs so hard she bends at the waist. “Oh, my God. You think I’m going to lose it.”
“I think you’re going to do something impulsive, and it might fall, or you’re going to put it somewhere safe, and it’s going to disappear.” I correct. “Which is different.”
“I’m not impulsive,” Sam says, as if she didn’t once disappear from a bar and let me carry her out over my shoulder while she yelled, I AM A FUNCTIONING ADULT. I keep my face neutral. “You’re right.” She narrows her eyes. “That tone was suspicious.”
“I’m being supportive of your statement,” I say, and she throws the legal pad at my chest. I catch it easily, grinning. “Ow.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet,” I say, stepping closer, “you’re marrying me.”
Sam’s gaze drops to my mouth. “Unfortunately.” I slide my hand to the back of her neck, tugging her in just enough to make her inhale sharply. “I’m going to be so good to you.”
Her eyes soften. “You already are.” That hits me harder than it should. It’s simple. Honest. Like she doesn’t even realize what she’s giving me when she says it. I kiss her slowly, carefully, like I’m still learning how to love her without scaring her.
When I pull back, she’s smiling. “Okay,” she says, breathless. “Small rooftop wedding. Sunset hour. A simple dress. And no chaos.” I raise an eyebrow. “No chaos?” Sam’s grin turns wicked. “Okay. Minimal chaos.”
I nod. “That we can promise.” She leans into me again, whispering like it’s a secret. “But I want one thing.”
“Anything.” She looks up at me. “I want it to feel like the first night we met.” My chest tightens. I immediately thought of Paris and how we shared those bottles of wine. Her mouth, her laugh. The way she looked at me. “Done,” I say, voice low. “We’ll do it our way.”
Sam exhales like she’s been holding her breath for months. Then she presses her forehead to mine and whispers. “Okay.” And for the first time in my life, planning something doesn’t feel like pressure. It feels like peace. “Now, can I do something my way?” I ask, spreading her legs open.
She just stares at me. I grabbed one side of her panties and pulled them to the side, as I knelt in front of her. She leans back on the counter and spreads her legs wider. “You can do this, in whatever way you prefer, Mr. Jones.”
“Oh, I will.” I pressed my mouth into her and licked her, just once. Then, I started to rub her clit with the wetness from my tongue as I slid one finger into her. That made her melt, moan, and desperately grab me closer to her. But when we made eye contact, that was it. I knew what she needed.
“Theodore, fuck me, NOW.”
As I stood up in front of her, I kept touching her while I freed myself, teasing her entrance. With the other hand already covered in her, I kept rubbing her clit. She gasped and clenched around me. “Like this, Samantha?”
“Yes. Oh fuck, yes.”
She lost her mind, and I lost mine.
But this woman was going to be my wife in 72 hours, and I couldn’t wait.