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CONNOR

T his moment is the highlight of my entire fucking existence.

And Allie has no idea what just happened.

I grin as she staggers toward the bathroom, blissfully unaware of what I’ve done.

I’m so fucking happy I yank the contract from my pocket and kiss it. Full-on kiss it.

Then I press it to my forehead like it’s some holy relic.

I even let out a tiny, high-pitched squeal like the one Allie made when she saw the pink Barbie car.

I’m unhinged from the happiness lighting up my insides. Like a man who just single-handedly won the Stanley Cup.

She signed it.

She actually signed the contract. The one I had Stryker draft through King Morine’s team of lawyers.

Now she’s mine!

No annulments. No divorces. No escape.

For ninety fucking days, that woman is completely mine.

No takesies-backsies.

This is only the beginning.

I intend to make her mine forever.

* * *

My phone buzzes as I head to the restroom. I grin when I see Ford’s name.

Where the fuck are you?

Just taking care of some paperwork, brother.

Do I even want to know?

Not really.

What did you do?

What makes you think I did something?

Because you’re you.

I almost type “Made the girl I love mine,” but even I have limits. I’m not about to tell Ford I’m head over heels. Not yet.

Plus, giving Ford a heart attack right now won’t help. I need him to help with the wedding plans.

Let’s just say... Allie legally can’t get rid of me for 90 days.

WHAT? HOW?

WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO, CONNOR?

Nothing. Just got my soon-to-be wife to sign a little contract.

THAT’S MY WIFE’S BEST FRIEND! FFS!

I NEED A DRINK.

I have tequila.

I HOPE ALLIE MURDERS YOU IN YOUR SLEEP!

Not happening, brother. She’s mine.

I grin down at the contract, fold it carefully, and slip it into my wallet.

I’m framing you when I get home.