Chapter 39
brIGGS
Istood in the middle of my penthouse—our penthouse—watching the movers bring in the last of Mandy’s boxes. Two months of flying back and forth, of living out of suitcases and missing each other, were finally over. She was here. For good.
My wife was home.
“That’s the last of it,” the mover said, handing me the clipboard to sign.
I scrawled my signature and handed it back along with a generous tip. “Thanks for your help.”
As soon as the door closed behind them, I turned to find Mandy standing in the middle of the living room, surveying the organized chaos of boxes. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, she was wearing jeans and one of my old T-shirts, and she looked absolutely perfect.
“Welcome home,” I said.
She turned to me, her face breaking into a beautiful smile. “Home. I like the sound of that.”
“Come on.” I took her hand. “I want to show you something.”
“Briggs, I’ve been here dozens of times. I know the layout.”
“Humor me.”
I led her through the living room, pointing things out as if she’d never seen any of it before. “So this is the living room. Great views of the city. Those windows you see? Floor to ceiling. Very expensive. The couch is new. I got rid of the old one because you said it was too stiff.”
She laughed. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted you to be comfortable.” I pulled her toward the kitchen. “And this is the kitchen. Fully stocked, by the way. I may have gone overboard at the grocery store.”
I opened the fridge with a flourish. Inside was everything I knew she loved—the fancy yogurt she preferred, the specific brand of almond milk she used in her coffee, fresh berries, and some overpriced organic juice she claimed was worth it.
We had found it at one of the local markets the last time she was here.
I bought about six different types of cheese because I couldn’t remember which one she liked best. But I knew she loved charcuterie boards. I had a whole drawer of various meats.
“Oh my God.” She peered inside, then looked at me. “You got all my favorites.”
“And the pantry.” I opened it to reveal shelves stocked with her preferred snacks, the brand of granola bars she ate for breakfast when she was running late, her favorite tea, and enough chocolate to survive a nuclear winter.
“You really did go overboard,” she said, but she was smiling.
“I wanted you to have everything you needed.” I closed the pantry and took her hand again. “Bathroom next.”
I led her to the master bathroom, where I’d carefully arranged all her products. Her shampoo and conditioner. Bubble bath. Face masks. Everything I’d seen her use over the past few months, I made sure to have ready for her.
“Briggs,” she said softly, picking up the bubble bath. “This is incredible.” She set it down and turned to me, her eyes suspiciously shiny. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“I wanted to. You are home with all your creature comforts.” I squeezed her hand. “Now for the real surprise. Close your eyes.”
“What? More?”
“Trust me. Close your eyes.”
I led her down the hall to the guest room I’d been secretly renovating for the past month. I’d managed to keep it hidden during her visits by claiming it was being used for storage and keeping the door locked.
“Okay,” I said, positioning her in front of the door. “Open them.”
She opened her eyes as I opened the door.
The room had been completely transformed into a walk-in closet and dressing room.
Custom shelving lined the walls, ready for her clothes and shoes.
There was a beautiful island in the center with drawers for jewelry and accessories.
And in the corner, positioned perfectly to catch the natural light from the window, was a makeup vanity with professional lighting and a comfortable chair.
“Oh my God,” she breathed, walking slowly into the room. “Briggs, when did you do this?”
“I’ve been working on it for the past month.
Contractors came while you were in LA. I wanted you to have your own space.
Somewhere that was completely yours.” I leaned against the doorframe, watching her take it all in.
“I know my closet is big, but I didn’t want you to feel like you were just squeezing into my space. This is yours.”
She ran her hand along the vanity, then turned to look at the empty shelves that would soon hold her wardrobe. “This is incredible.”
“The lighting is adjustable. Sebastian told me different lighting for different looks.”
She walked back to me with tears streaming down her face.
“Hey,” I said, immediately concerned. “Are these good tears or bad tears?”
“Good tears, you idiot.” She threw her arms around my neck. “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me.”
I held her close, relief flooding through me. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Like it? I love it. I love you.” She pulled back to look at me. “How did I get so lucky?”
“I’m the lucky one.” I wiped a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “You gave up everything to be here.”
“I didn’t give up anything that mattered.” She kissed me softly. “Everything that matters is right here.”
We stood there for a moment, just holding each other in her new closet. Then she pulled back with a laugh.
“Okay, we should probably start unpacking. These boxes aren’t going to unpack themselves.”
I grimaced. “Wait, what? You want me to help you unpack?”
She slapped at my chest. “Stop it.”
She spent the rest of the day unpacking boxes and organizing her new closet.
Every time she walked into that room, her face lit up in a way that made everything worth it.
I’d thought of everything I could, tried to anticipate every detail to show her just how grateful I was she had packed up and moved.
For me. For us. I wanted her to feel at home.
By evening, her clothes were hung, her shoes were lined up on their designated shelves, her makeup arranged on the vanity like a mini beauty counter. She stood back and admired it all. I stood in the doorway watching her, two glasses of wine in my hands.
“Looks good,” I said.
“It looks perfect.” She turned and accepted the glass I offered. “Thank you again. For all of this.”
“You’ve thanked me enough.”
“I can’t help it. This is so incredible. Nobody’s ever done anything like this for me.”
I pulled her close and kissed her forehead. “Get used to it. I plan on spoiling you for the rest of our lives.”
“I can live with that.”
We clinked glasses and sipped our wine, standing in her new closet like it was the most natural thing in the world. I supposed, for us, it was.
We ordered in and then went to bed early. I honestly couldn’t wait to be in bed with her. It wasn’t just about sex. It was being able to hold her. Smell her. Listen to her soft breathing.
The next morning, I found her at the vanity putting on makeup.
She’d chosen a navy dress—professional but not stuffy—paired with heels that gave her an extra inch of confidence she didn’t actually need.
Her hair fell in loose waves, and the bold lip was a statement.
She looked stunning. She looked like she belonged.
“You look beautiful,” I said, catching her eyes in the mirror. I leaned down and kissed her neck. “We have to go. We don’t want to be late.”
The car was waiting at the curb. I could feel the tension radiating off her the moment we settled into the backseat. She was anxious. I knew her well enough by now to read it in the set of her jaw, the stillness of her hands.
“Breathe,” I said, squeezing her hand.
“I am breathing.”
“You’re holding your breath.”
She exhaled slowly and made a visible effort to relax her shoulders. I kept her hand in mine for the rest of the ride.
The elevator doors opened into the sleek reception area, and I watched her take it in—really take it in—this time as someone who belonged here.
“Good morning, Mr. Blackwell,” the receptionist said. Then she smiled at Mandy. “Mrs. Blackwell. Welcome.”
I felt Mandy tense slightly beside me. Mrs. Blackwell. She’d get used to it. I hoped she would. I liked her carrying my name. Call me alpha, but it felt like I had truly claimed her.
I led her down the hallway lined with framed photos—fashion shows, magazine covers, decades of Blackwell history pressed behind glass. I caught her glancing at the ones with a younger version of me and resisted the urge to steer her past them.
The conference room was already full. Cleo and Callum jumped up to embrace her the moment she walked in. She immediately relaxed.
Adrian, Dash, Sebastian, and Bernadette were already seated. Elizabeth came in just behind us, looking slightly frantic, which was her natural state before any major presentation.
Adrian called the room to order and the lights dimmed. The Blackwell Occasions logo appeared on the screen and the presentation began.
The numbers were extraordinary. Thousands of pre-orders before an official launch. Features in Vogue, Martha Stewart Weddings, The Knot. Inquiries from Neiman Marcus, Nordstrom, and Bergdorf Goodman.
“Holy shit,” Mandy breathed beside me when the pre-order slide came up.
I squeezed her hand under the table. I’d known the numbers were good. Seeing her react to them made them feel real in a different way.
When Adrian turned the room’s attention to the retail expansion and her role in it, I watched her sit up straighter. She’d been nervous in the car, and now she was composed. That was her. She could do that.
The meeting wrapped, Sebastian ordered enough food to feed a small country, and Dash materialized champagne from somewhere. The formal atmosphere dissolved fast. That was how it always went with this family—business to chaos in under ten minutes.
“Where’s Bucky?” Mandy asked.
“With Adrian’s mom,” Elizabeth said. “She insisted.”
“Mom’s obsessed,” Adrian said, though he couldn’t quite suppress a smile.
Lunch arrived in thirty minutes, something expensive and impossible to book, but the Blackwell name had its uses. We spread out around the conference table and it stopped feeling like a meeting and started feeling like a Sunday dinner.
“So,” Dash said, pointing his fork at Mandy. “How does it feel to be officially part of the family business?”
“Terrifying and exciting in equal measure,” she admitted.
“That’s the Blackwell way,” Sebastian said.
I watched her laugh and settle into the conversation. She fit. She’d asked me once, early on, whether she’d ever feel like she belonged here. I hadn’t known how to answer then.
I had my answer now.
When she turned to me and asked about her office, I let Adrian field it—two doors down from mine, already being set up. Dash made some crack about not wanting to be traumatized. Mandy laughed again.
“Now that we’re all married or almost married, I think you’re next Dash,” I said.
“Hell no. I’m good. You guys got soft and sappy. I’m going to appreciate and savor my bachelorhood. You guys carry on the Blackwell line.”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you say now.”
I looked around the room. My family. And now her family.