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Everything was magically, wonderfully perfect.
“Sophie,” Larry yelled, rushing over when Max and I were just about to cut the cake.
“Yeah?”
“We’ve got a little problem,” he said, lowering his voice.
“What is it?” I asked, catching the this-can’t-be-good look that Max shot me as he picked up the cake knife.
“Rose wants to have someone over at our place tonight, and she doesn’t want him to know she lives with a man.”
“So...?” When I’d told Larry and Rose I was moving in with Max a few months ago, I assumed they would be devastated. Instead, they told me they’d been counting the days until I left, because apparently, I cramped their style.
And they hated Karen and Joanne.
“So can I crash at your place tonight?”
“Hell, no,” Max said, looking at him like he was out of his mind. “It’s our wedding night, Einstein.”
“So?” Larry said, giving Max an arm smack. “You’ve lived together for months. Be real, it’s just another Saturday night.”
“The answer is yes,” I said, giving Max a look. “But only because I’ve made other accommodations for us tonight.”
“I thought youwantedto stay here.” Max had tried to convince me to go to a hotel with him until we left for our honeymoon in two days, but I’d insisted we stay at home.
Because I was planning something else entirely.
“That’s what I wanted you to think,” I said, leaning into him a little. “Now cake me.”
He stepped closer, his eyes getting that amused squint that was my third favorite thing about him (the first two were wildly inappropriate). “I’m never going to be bored, am I?”
“Not a chance, Objector.”
Max
“Stop.” Sophie laughed and smacked my hand, which was pawing at the top of her dress. “Your aim is pretty impressive, though.”
“When can I take off this blindfold, Mrs. Steinbeck-Parks?” I reached out again but only touched air this time.
“One sec.” I heard a zipper—yes, God—and some rustling before she said, “Okay—now.”
I felt her move behind me, untying the bandanna she’d insisted I wear since the minute we left the rooftop.
The fabric slipped away, and for a hot second, I didn’t know where we were because it was dark, the only light being the massive amounts of candles that appeared to be everywhere.
But then my eyes adjusted.
“Holy shit.” I looked around, my eyes taking in the beams and concrete as I turned in a circle. We were at the Orchid Hotel, the first project I’d been awarded since being promoted to president of Parks Construction—and my current obsession. The hotel was originally built in 1915 and was on the National Register of Historic Places, and we were restoring every bit of it to the tune of $75 million, right down to the hand-carved terra-cotta columns and over eight hundred windows. I spent more time here than I did at home sometimes, but Sophie loved it, too. “Holyshit, Soph.”
“You like?”
I turned in the other direction, and there she was, sitting on a white-draped mattress in the center of the space, looking stunning in candlelight and—fuck me—some very transparent white lace. I walked toward her, totally blown away by the whole package. “I can’t believe you did this.”
She shrugged. “Why not christen our marriage in the very honeymoon suite that you’re bringing back to life?”
I narrowed my eyes and looked at the raw space. “This is the honeymoon suite?”
“Correct.” She reached down beside the makeshift bed and grabbed a bottle of champagne from the floor.
