28. SOS Send More Sequins
28
SOS: SEND MORE SEQUINS
ARIANA
The thing about apologies is that they’re a lot harder to pull off in real life than they are in your mind.
In my mind, I had convinced myself that walking away was the right thing. That leaving Connor was protecting him, sparing him from the chaos that seemed to follow me. I told myself I was being responsible, rational. I’d spent my entire life managing crises—putting out fires before they started, making sure the people I cared about never had to feel a moment of uncertainty.
But in trying to control everything, I had destroyed the one thing that mattered most.
Him. Us.
It’s taken days for the full weight of it to settle in my bones. The silence in my apartment was the first thing that hit me. It wasn’t just the lack of Connor’s voice, his grumbled commentary about my coffee choices, or the warmth of his presence. It was the emptiness of it all—the realization that I had built my life around making sure everyone else was okay, but now, for the first time, I wasn’t okay .
I’ve spent years holding everything together.
Fixing. Managing. Controlling.
Afraid that if I ever let go, everything around me would shatter. But what I never realized until now was that in trying to protect myself, I was the one doing the breaking.
I broke us.
And I would rather throw myself into the unknown than live with the regret of not trying.
And that’s where reinforcements come in.
My sister Lily had been the first person I told about my one-stop apology tour.
She had listened, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, before finally sighing and declaring, "Well, it’s about time. But if you’re doing this, you’re doing it right. And sequins. Lots of sequins."
Which is how I ended up here.
Fighting with a mechanical Elvis that won't stop playing "Suspicious Minds" at the worst possible moments.
"Come on," I mutter, wrestling with the singing photo frame that's supposed to be the centerpiece of Connor's transformed penthouse. "Work with me here."
"Having trouble?" Lily asks from where she's arranging what appears to be every sequined item the chapel ever sent us. "Because I have to say, watching you fight with Elvis is way better than watching you mope."
"I'm not moping." I finally silence the frame. "I'm strategizing."
“AKA breaking and entering.”
"It's not breaking and entering if you have a key."
"A key you got from his assistant?"
"Yasmin's very supportive."
“I’ll say,” Dad adds from the kitchen where he's attempting to recreate Connor's pancakes. “But I’m telling you, Ari: This chocolate-chip pancake recipe could use more spirulina..."
“Dad, please. No more adding protein powder to the pancakes!" I steady a wobbling cardboard Elvis cutout. "This has to be perfect."
Because it has to be.
My phone buzzes:
YASMIN: Update on CEO location
YASMIN: Just left your apartment
YASMIN: Heading to dance studio
YASMIN: Operation Elvis is go
"He's on his way!" I nearly drop the photo frame. "Everyone out!"
"But the pancakes—" Dad protests.
"Out!"
"The decorations—" Lily starts.
"OUT!"
They scramble for the elevator, leaving me alone with approximately eight thousand dollars worth of Elvis memorabilia and a heart that feels too big for my chest.
I check my reflection in the window, Seattle's spring sunset painting everything in shades of possibility. The sequined dress Lily insisted I wear catches the light like stars, and something about the moment feels magical.
Terrifying.
Perfect.
My phone buzzes again:
KAT: You've got this
KAT: Though maybe skip the Macarena dance this time
I laugh wetly, adjusting the "Love Me Tender" banner one last time. Everything has to be exactly right. Has to show Connor that I remember every detail, every moment, every?—
The elevator dings.
Oh god.
The mechanical Elvis chooses that moment to start playing again, because of course it does.
"What the..." Connor’s voice carries from the entrance .
I close my eyes briefly, gathering courage. Then I step into view.
He stops.
Because his perfectly controlled penthouse has been transformed into a Vegas wedding chapel—complete with cardboard Elvises, sequins everywhere, and what might be an illegal number of fairy lights—Connor stands frozen in the doorway.
His sharp, calculating gaze sweeps over the room before landing on me. On the ridiculous, glimmering dress I never would’ve worn before. On the poker chip ring crushed in my palm.
I force myself to breathe. “Hi.”
He doesn’t answer right away, just watches me like he’s trying to decide if this is real. If I’m real.
“Ariana.” His voice is low, rough.
I step forward, my pulse stuttering. “Before you say anything, I need you to know…I remember everything about that night in Vegas. Every moment. Not just the ones I tried to dismiss or rationalize, but the ones that mattered.”
His jaw flexes. “Such as?”
“Like how you looked at me when I stole half your pancakes. How you held me like I was something precious. How, for the first time in my life, I wasn’t carrying everything alone.” I swallow, fighting the lump in my throat. “How it felt to just… be with you.”
Something in his face shifts—just enough that I see the man beneath the armor. The man I’ve spent weeks convincing myself I didn’t need.
“And the wedding?” His voice is quieter now, but no less intense.
I force myself to meet his gaze. “It was real.” My voice breaks on the last word. “Not just legally or technically. It was real because you were real. Because for the first time, I wasn’t someone’s crisis manager. I wasn’t bracing for disaster. I was just me. And I was happy.”
Connor exhales sharply, tension coiling through him. “Then why did you lie? Push me away?”
“Because I didn’t know how to need you without losing myself.” The words spill out, unfiltered, raw. “I’ve spent my entire life making sure no one ever had to catch me if I fell. Because the people who were supposed to… couldn’t. So I didn’t fall. I couldn’t.”
His hands twitch at his sides, like he wants to reach for me but isn’t sure if he should.
“I get it,” he murmurs. “I spent years making sure no one got close enough to hurt me. Control meant safety. Distance meant I wouldn’t have to watch someone leave again.”
My heart cracks open at the admission. “I don’t want to live like that anymore.” My voice wobbles, but I push forward. “That’s why I did this. Because I know you don’t believe in fate or chaos or letting things spiral out of control, but I do. And I am choosing this. Choosing you.” I take a shaky breath. “I don’t want to be strong by myself anymore. I don’t want to do life alone. I want to need you, Connor. I want to fight for you.” My throat tightens. “I just need to know if you’ll fight for me too.”
A sharp breath leaves him, like the words have struck deep. His hands clench at his sides. His jaw tightens. He’s standing there, so still.
Then, in a single step, he’s in front of me, his hands framing my face, his touch achingly gentle.
“You think I don’t believe in fate?” His voice is rough, unsteady. “Ariana, I fought like hell against it. Against you.” His thumb traces the curve of my cheek, like he still can’t believe I’m real. “But even when you weren’t in my arms, you were everywhere. In every empty room, in every goddamn moment I wished I could share with someone. I told myself it didn’t matter, that it was better this way. But you ruined that. You ruined me.”
A breath shudders out of him. “And the worst part? I wanted you to. I wanted you to come crashing into my life, to make me question everything, to make me need you in ways that scared the hell out of me. And when you left—” His voice catches, and he exhales hard. “I didn’t just miss you. I lost you. And I am so goddamn tired of losing the people I love.”
I let out a quiet, broken sound, my fingers curling into his shirt. “Connor…”
His breath is ragged, his forehead pressed to mine.
“I wanted to hate you for what you did,” he admits, voice raw. “I wanted to shut it all out—bury myself in work, pretend you were just a mistake. But you weren’t. You never were.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, his gray eyes stormy and open in a way I’ve never seen before. “I don’t know how to do this, Ariana. I don’t know how to give up control, how to trust that this won’t fall apart. But I know that losing you hurt more than any risk I’ve ever taken.”
A sharp sob escapes me, my heart splitting wide open. “I don’t want you to give up control, Connor. I just want you to let me in.” I lift a trembling hand, resting it against his jaw. “I know I’ve made mistakes. I know I hurt you. But I was scared. Scared of what it meant to need you, to love you, because I’ve spent my whole life making sure I never relied on anyone. And then you came along, and suddenly, I didn’t want to do it alone anymore.”
He swallows hard, his grip tightening around me. “Then don’t.”
I blink up at him, my breath catching.
“Don’t do it alone,” he says again, more fiercely this time. “I don’t want to be someone you have to manage. I don’t want to be another responsibility you carry like a weight on your shoulders. I want to be beside you, Ariana. I want to fight with you, not against you.”
I laugh softly, choked with tears. “Even if that means compromising on pancake opinions?”
His lips turn twitchy again, just slightly, before his expression turns serious again. “Even then.”
A shaky breath leaves me, but I don’t pull away. “I can’t promise I won’t screw this up again.”
“Me either.” He brushes his thumb along my cheek, his touch reverent. “But I can promise that if you run, I’ll come after you. Every single time.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and he catches it with his thumb.
“I love you, Ariana.” His voice is hoarse. “And I don’t want to spend another second pretending I don’t.”
My chest tightens, and I clutch his shirt harder. “I love you too.” The words tumble out, unguarded, the easiest truth I’ve ever spoken. “So much.”
His lips brush mine, just once, like a question. When I don’t pull away, when I lean in, answering with every inch of me, he deepens the kiss. His mouth is hot, demanding, stealing my breath and my sanity in equal measure. I fist my hands in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing?—
The mechanical Elvis starts playing "Can’t Help Falling in Love."
We break apart, laughing, breathless.
"See?" I gesture to the chaos around us. "This is what you’re signing up for. Protein powder empires and Elvis serenades and a family that thinks spirulina belongs in pancakes."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Yes." He tugs me closer. "Because you know what I remember most about Vegas?"
"The glittery cape you wore? ”
"How you made me feel brave enough to want closeness.” His forehead presses against mine. “To want this. Intimacy. Something I never let myself have before. Something you gave me that I never want to lose.”
“You mean you wouldn’t even lose the Elvis decorations?"
“Not even Elvis." He grins. “Your harmonizing needs work."
"Excuse you, but I have it on good authority that my verse about PR crisis management was inspired."
“I’ll still want you—bad verses and all.”
"Prove it." I step closer. “Shut up and kiss me."
"Yes, wife."
There’s that word again.
Something I didn’t even know I’d want. An acquired flavor. And it tastes like permission. Like belonging. Like everything I've been afraid to need.
"Say it again," I whisper.
His smile is worth every broken rule. "Wife."
Then he kisses me like he means it.
The Elvis cutout falls over again, taking the rest of the decorations with it.
But neither of us notices.
We're too busy risking everything on a love that finally feels right.