31. Operation Marriage （Now with Less PowerPoint）
Three weeks later
CONNOR
The ring has been burning a hole in my pocket for three weeks.
I bought it the day after Alex's wedding, watching my wife handle three different PR crises while making pancakes in our kitchen, realizing I wanted this—all of this—forever. Properly this time.
"No, Senator," she says into her earpiece, expertly flipping a perfect chocolate chip circle. "The yacht photos are contained. Though perhaps next time consider... Yes, I know clothing is optional in international waters, but... Hold please."
My hand drifts to my pocket, feeling the outline of the box. Not yet. The moment has to be perfect.
She switches lines without missing a beat. "Mrs. Platsky? The TikTok situation is... No, your daughter shouldn’t start calling herself ‘Be-Yacht-Say.’ It’s really unoriginal. Not to mention cheesy. Hold please."
I hide my smile in my coffee, watching her navigate chaos with the kind of grace that still takes my breath away. That still makes me want to risk everything. That still makes me want to?—
"Regina? The llamas are secured. Maybe consider alpacas next time? They're generally less prone to... Yes, I know they're emotional support animals, but... Hold please."
Maybe now. Maybe while she's being perfectly, impossibly her.
She ends all three calls with practiced efficiency, then turns to me with that look that makes my pulse skip.
"Your pancakes are burning."
I lunge for the stove. "They're not burning. They're achieving optimal caramelization."
"Of course they are, honey." But her eyes dance as she steals my coffee. “But, um, your technique seems a little... distracted."
You have no idea.
“Says the woman stealing my coffee."
"Sharing coffee," she corrects. "It's what married people do."
The words make my fingers brush the ring box again.
They have me wondering if the time is now. Here. In our kitchen, with the morning light making her look like something out of a dream…
"Speaking of married people." I pull her closer. "The board meeting went well."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Dad’s not exactly thrilled at me, but what’s new? The important thing is that after reporting our marriage to that lovely little organization called the Securities Exchange Commission, any current investigation into Clearwater Tech is officially closed." I take a beat for the suspense. "And as for Will…"
"Oh God. How many years are Sir Ass-hat and Madame Ass-hat looking at? "
"Enough." I kiss her neck. "Though I hear prison has an excellent wellness program."
She laughs, the sound doing dangerous things to my control. "Poor Will. All that karma and no crystals to cleanse it with."
"Poor Will who tried to steal from your father's kidney support group?"
"Okay, not poor Will." She tilts her head, giving me better access. “I do admit: watching you defend my family's honor was kind of hot."
"Only kind of?"
"Well..." Her hands slide up my chest. "The whole billionaire CEO thing does help."
I growl against her skin. "Is that why you married me? My money?"
"Obviously." But her smile is soft. "Though the pancake perfectionism didn't hurt."
"I'm never living down that PowerPoint presentation, am I?"
"Never." She pulls back slightly. "Though speaking of presentations..."
She shows me her phone screen and my stomach drops. "Ariana..."
“I don’t know how the Vegas wedding video got out! And we are in the clear with the IPO, so technically, if we still wanted to do that reality show with Graceland chapel, I’m just saying…that we could.”
“Fuck, I thought you took care of that.”
“How was I supposed to know that some rogue TikTok influencer would get her hands on, and I quote, 'Seattle's hottest tech CEO doing the Macarena in a sequined cape’?”
I close my eyes. "Please tell me you're joking." I open them again. Nope. It’s real. “The video has thirty thousand likes."
"Fifty thousand now.” Her smile falls as I stare. “But don't worry, I'm handling it. "
"Handling it how?" I take in her determined expression, the phone she's clutching like a weapon. "Do I want to know?"
"Probably not. Though I should warn you that the comment section is very interested in your... hip mobility."
"My what?"
"Apparently your Elvis impression was very..."
"Very?"
"Inspiring." Her lips purse together. "The Gen Z crowd is particularly impressed."
"Please tell me you have a plan that doesn't involve me trending on social media."
"Several, actually." She perches on the edge of the kitchen counter, close enough that I catch another whiff of vanilla. "Though option three might require you to learn the 'Cupid Shuffle.'"
"You're enjoying this."
"Professionally speaking? Of course not." But her eyes dance. “And look. Everyone is saying your rhythm is surprisingly?—"
"If you say 'good for your age,' I'm firing you."
“I own my PR firm now. I don’t need your patronage, Mr. Reeves.” She kisses me. “And I was going to say 'enthusiastic.'"
"That's worse."
"The hashtag seems to agree." She shows me her screen. "#SilverFoxShakedown is trending."
"Kill me now."
"Can't. You have a full week of board meetings. It would be irresponsible." She scrolls through comments. "Though your mother called. She wants to know if this means you're finally embracing crystal healing through movement."
"I hate everything about this conversation."
"Even the part where I tell you I’m already in the process of paying off the influencer, scrubbing the video, and starting a counter-trend about tech CEOs doing charity work? "
I pause. "How are you managing that?”
"I'm very good at my job." She stands, smoothing her skirt. "Also, I may have implied you're building a sanctuary for displaced show ponies."
"I'm what?"
"The internet loves animals." She heads for the dining room. "Especially ones in sequins."
"Ariana."
"Is that a yes to the animal charity?”
Jesus. The things I do for this woman. “That's a maybe, alright?”
But her smile suggest she hears something else entirely. "Also, you might want to check your email. Someone sent the board a very interesting PowerPoint presentation from 1995..."
"You didn't."
"What can I say?" She backs away, grinning. "I'm very thorough at my job."
"Ariana!"
But she's already gone, her laugh echoing down the hallway.
I check my email, and sure enough:
FROM: Mrs. Eleanor Reeves
TO: Clearwater Board of Directors
SUBJECT: My grandson's first venture into data analysis
ATTACHMENT: Prom_Proposal_Final_Final_FINAL.ppt
I'm going to kill my grandmother. Or better yet, I’m going to have her removed from the local Seattle hospital board.
That’ll show her.
Right after I figure out how to get my hands on my wife. And not in the sexual way…for once.
My phone buzzes.
GRAMS: Oh darling, don't be cros s
GRAMS: I had to share. It has pie charts!
Slipping the phone in my slacks pockets, I head out to grab a hold of my wife.
Until the penthouse elevator dings.
Oh God.
"What did you do now, Mrs. Reeves?” I call into the empty hallway.
From another room in the penthouse, I hear: Nothing!"
"SURPRISE!" Multiple voices ring out as her family pours in, led by Lily brandishing what appears to be a sequined banner.
"Happy Vegas-iversary!" She announces, while their father wheels in what can only be described as a protein powder volcano.
"It's ceremonial!" He beams. "For good luck!"
"Though maybe step back," Kat advises. "The last test run was a little... explosive."
I hear the sound of heels clicking, and I turn to look at my wife, who's definitely not meeting my eyes. "Vegas-iversary?"
“One month since the reenactment!" Lily starts hanging decorations. "Though technically it's been three months since the actual wedding, but who's counting?"
"Everyone," Kat mutters. "Everyone is counting."
"I can explain," Ariana starts.
But before she can, Callum strolls in, looking far too amused as his green eyes widen at me. "I brought champagne.”
I glance at the bottle in his hands. “For God’s sake, Cal, that’s whiskey.”
“Scottish whiskey. And it’s the same thing as champagne.”
I throw up my hands. “It’s literally not.”
"Speaking of entertainment!" Lily unveils what appears to be a karaoke machine. "Who's ready for some Elvis classics?"
"No one," Kat says firmly. "No one is ready for that. "
And as if knowing things can’t get any worse, my too-enthusiastic father-in-law’s volcano decides this is the moment to start spewing.
The hulking monstrosity sends slime-green smoothie parts flying everywhere. Parts that splatter on the walls. On the sequined banner. On the Elvis cut-outs stacked into the corners.
And I try not to panic. Much.
"Oops?" Gideon offers. “If it helps, you know, the spirulina really brings out everyone's eyes..."
I look at my wife, covered in protein powder and glitter—representing everything I once tried to push out of my life.
And I've never been more certain that this is all I want for the rest of my days.
As for the rest of this day…
Hours later, after the protein powder has been cleaned up and the mechanical Elvis has finally given up the ghost, I find myself on the balcony, staring at the single framed photo I usually keep on my desk. James grins back at me, young and bright and forever twenty-three, his Stanford diploma caught mid-flutter in the wind.
"I knew I'd find you here."
I don't turn as Ariana's footsteps approach. She still has glitter in her hair, still smells faintly of spirulina, but her voice is soft. Understanding.
“You know, his birthday is technically next week,” I say quietly.
She moves closer, her hand finding mine. "Tell me about him?"
"He would have loved all this chaos." I gesture. "The protein powder disaster, the Elvis memorabilia... he always said I was too serious."
"Sounds like a smart guy."
"He was." I squeeze her hand. "He also would have loved you. Probably would have helped your dad with his protein empire just to drive me crazy."
She laughs softly, the sound warming the center of my chest. "To James then?"
"To James." I pull her closer, breathing in the vanilla scent of her hair. "And to finally being brave enough to live the way he always told me to."
She leans into me like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and I place the frame on the nearby end table, wrapping my arms around Ariana, slow and steady.
“This was quite the party, by the way," I murmur, resting my hands on her waist.
"Mmm. It was." She sighs, her body melting into mine. Then, almost shyly, “To be honest… my favorite part was watching you try to protect your pocket from the protein powder explosion."
I huff a quiet laugh, my heart pounding harder than it should. "You noticed that?"
"I notice everything about you." She finally turns in my arms, looking up at me with those bright, knowing eyes. "Ryland Connor Reeves, you're not as subtle as you think you are."
"No?"
"No." Her fingers trail lightly over my chest, right where my heart is hammering. "Though maybe that's why I love you."
It hits me all at once—how much I need her, how much I never want to wake up another day without this, without her. The words tumble out before I can think, before I can stop them.
"Marry me."
She blinks, lips parting. "We're already married."
"Marry me again." My voice is rough, unsteady. I pull out the ring, the real one, the one I should’ve given her before. "Not because of Vegas, not because of bad decisions or impulse or convenience. Marry me because you want to." My throat tightens. "Because I damn sure want to be married to you. Every day. In every way."
She stares at me, her breath hitching, her eyes glassy with something that makes my chest ache.
Then, suddenly, she surges forward, kissing me, her arms wrapping around me.
I pull her closer, sinking into the moment, into her.
Between my arms, Ariana tastes like forever, like home, like every impossible thing I never thought I’d get to have.
My hands slide down her back, feeling the curve of her spine, the warmth of her body pressing against mine. Her breath hitches as I deepen the kiss, my tongue exploring her mouth with a hunger that matches the fire in her eyes.
"Connor," she breathes, her voice a symphony of longing and surrender. Our hearts dance in unison, each beat echoing the other's desire. My hands glide downward, gripping her hips, drawing her close until our bodies meld as one. Her eyes widen, dark pools reflecting the city's distant glow, as she feels the intensity of my need.
"I want you, Ariana," I whisper, my lips brushing her ear, voice husky with yearning. "Here, now, under the starlit sky."
"Yes," she sighs, her breath a soft caress. "Take me, Connor. Make me yours."
I turn her gently, the city lights twinkling below like a canvas of stars, but my world narrows to her alone. My hands explore her form, tracing the curves of her breasts, the valley of her waist, the swell of her hips.
Bending her over the balcony railing, my hands firm on her hips, she looks back at me. Her eyes hold a universe of lust and love, the city's glow dancing in their depths. "You're exquisite," I murmur, my voice thick with desire .
I lift her skirt, revealing lace that barely conceals her heat. My fingers trace the delicate fabric, feeling her arousal. She moans, pressing back against my touch. Slowly, I slide her panties down, and she steps out of them, her body bared to the night and to me.
Freeing myself from my constraints, I tease her entrance, coating my cock in her wetness, and she whimpers out loud.
“Please, Connor," she begs, her voice a desperate whisper. "I need you to fuck me.”
I pull her closer. “I want you to know…fucking you is my absolute pleasure, sweetheart.”
Gripping her hips, I enter her with a single, fluid motion. She cries out, her body bowing, bending against mine, and the sounds of our lovemaking blend with the city's distant hum, creating a symphony of passion. I lean over her, my chest pressed against her back, feeling her heartbeat match my own.
"You're mine, Ariana," I whisper, my voice a low growl that rumbles in the back of my throat. "Mine forever."
She turns her head, capturing my lips in a hard kiss. "Yours," she breathes. "Always yours."
Her body tenses, muscles clenching around me. I reach around, finding her most sensitive spot, rubbing in tight circles, matching the rhythm of our dance. As her climax shatters through her, the sounds of her ecstasy push me over the edge.
I thrust into her one last time, my own release exploding through me.
We stay that way, bodies connected, breathing in tandem until our gasps finally slow. In the aftermath, I trail kisses down her shoulder, her neck, her cheek.
The very knowledge that I can do that—that I can shower my wife with love and devotion and all that she could never need—nearly makes me hard again.
"I love you, Ariana," I whisper in her ear. "More than anything in this world."
She turns in my arms, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I love you too, Connor," she says, her voice soft. “That will never change.”
We stand there, wrapped in each other's arms, the city lights twinkling around us before I can’t take it any longer.
I need to know. I need to know now.
“Going back to the ‘you being mine’ part…” I say to her softly. A beat passes before I kiss her hair. “Just to be sure, that was a yes to marrying me, right?”
“Are you asking me if the mind-blowing sex we just had an acceptance of your proposal?”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
She laughs, the sound a sweet melody I’ll never tire of hearing. “I’m pretty sure that was a ‘you’re never going to get rid of me, Connor Reeves’.”
“So, same difference, then? Good.” I wrap her tighter. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
Ariana kisses me again, the smile growing on her gorgeous face. “Though, I can't make any promises about the synchronized dance routine..."
"The what now?"
But she's already kissing me again, and I forget to care about anything except this moment.
This woman. This forever.
This everything I never knew I needed until a drunk Vegas wedding taught me that some mistakes are actually destiny in disguise.
Though maybe next time with less glittery capes and singing Elvises.
Probably.
There are more gorgeous men in suits, meddling families and spicy times to come!