Beckett ‘GLACH TECH’S CEO CHANCE TABORAS GIVES NEW MEANING TO U‘SEX, LIES, AND VIDEOTAPE’’ ‘CHANCE TABORAS AND FIANCÉE MARIAH GOLIGHTLY CONSPIRE IN EVIL BLACKMAIL PLOT’ ‘ARIANNE BUCHANAN VIOLATED IN THE WORST WAY. SHAME ON YOU, CHANCE TABORAS’ ‘GLACH TECH AT RISK OVER SEX VIDEO SCANDAL’ U nbelievable. I move my gaze away from my i Pad and look up. Arianne is shaking her head, her eyes still riveted on her i Pad. “I can’t believe the length Chance was willing to go to renege on his promise,” she says. Her nostrils flare. “I made him an incredibly rich man, and he was willing to steamroll me to avoid paying out what was rightfully mine.” She pauses. “I wasted three years of my life with that asshole.” It’s been two taxing days since Mariah barged into my office with her lame ass threats and ludicrous demands. Stupid cunt. The media has been relentless since the scandal broke, the screaming headlines a testament to the frenzy. Yesterday, was a zoo at the office. Even though we beefed-up security, there was no holding back the army of r eporters and bloggers or their litany of questions. Since Arianne is at the heart of the scandal, I recommended she hire a top-notch publicist to help her navigate through this nightmare. In the meantime, Joey handled the press with finesse. Today, we have the luxury of extracting ourselves from all this shit. It’s just Arianne and Beckett. Thank God. We finished breakfast and we’re lingering at the kitchen table on a lazy Saturday morning. I’m still in my pyjama bottoms and she’s wearing nothing more than shorts and a soft pink t-shirt, her hair bunched up in a messy bun on the top of her head. She’s as beautiful as ever, but I can tell this ordeal has taken a toll on her. “I made some calls, and I found you a lawyer with a stellar track record,” I say. “He feels this is an open and shut case.” “Really?” “The video doesn’t lie. It’s not like I tricked Mariah into confessing. She was too happy to spew her venom. Good thing I held you back and prevented you from striking her.”
She sighs. “I still wish I’d been able to get one blow.” “Arianne, it would’ve added a layer of complexity you don’t need.” She nods. While the police were babysitting Mariah, I slipped out of my office to phone my lawyers to secure a search warrant and an arrest for Chance. Given what Mariah had shared, I was afraid the asswipe would seek revenge by sharing the videos. “I’m still not sure how I’m going to pay for a top lawyer—” “I’ll cover your legal fees.” “Beckett, you can’t do that. It’s too much—” I place two fingers against her lips, silencing her protest. “Chance has de ep pockets. I’m sure he’ll lawyer up with an army of sharks. But my pockets are much de eper than his. He duped you. He cheated on you. He cheated you. And to make matters worse, he was willing and ready to taint your r eputation forever. What he did is r eprehensible. Once a sex video is out there on the web, it’s a nightmare and costly to get it removed from every website.” She nods. “The law is on your side. Use it to your full advantage.” “Thank you.” Arianne offers a shy smile. “Money—or lack thereof—is what prevented me from going after Chance the first time around. I’m glad it won’t happen twice.” “No way.” I shake my head. “The asshole and his bitch need to be held accountable. The lawyer I got you is ruthless when it comes to protecting his clients. I also reached out to Larkin. He knows some of the best investigators in the business. We’ll put a team on the job to scour the internet as precautionary measures. We don’t want to leave any stone unturned.” “Thank you.” “Don’t mention it.” I squeeze her hand. “Let’s talk about something else. We’ve devoted enough brain cell matter to those lowlifes.” “I’m with you,” she says before popping the last bite of muffin into her mouth. “Do you want more coffee?” “I’m good. Thanks.” “Another muffin?” She shakes her head. “I’ve said it before, but these are to die for,” she says in between chewing, pointing at her mouth. She’s had high praises for Mom’s homemade dark chocolate and banana muffins. Not that I blame her. “I’ll make sure to tell Mom you like them.” “You mean, I love them,” she says. I laugh. “What do you want to do today?” I change the subject. “I wouldn’t mind spending the whole weekend locked up in your mansion,” she says. “Did you have something in mind?” “I did, but if you’re too tired...” Her eyes light up. “I’m never too tired for sex.” “I appreciate the enthusiasm, but this has nothing to do with my big cock.” “Oh.” “Don’t look so disappointed.” “What is this about?” Worry colors her words. I push my chair back and angle it so I’m facing her. I reach out for her hands and grab them in mine. “When was the last time you stayed at your sublet for longer than a few hours to clean-up the place and grab fresh clothes to come back to my house?” She draws her brows together. “I can’t remember. It’s been a while— Am I crowding your space? Is this what this is about?” I shake my head. “No.” She pulls her hands from mine and rubs them over her face. “If it’s an issue, I don’t have to stay here as much. I’ll go back to the sublet so I’m not in the way.”
“Give me your hands.” She looks at me funny, but she obeys my command. “I love having you here, Arianne.” “What’s bothering you, then?” There’s a tinge of nervousness in her voice. “Nothing is bothering me.” “Then, why do I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop?” “Someone woke up on the pessimistic side of the bed this morning,” I say. “Whatever it is, tell me.” She still looks petrified. “We’ve been dating close to three months and we’ve been doing this back and forth dance—” “You want to break up with me?” My jaw drops. “You’re putting words into my mouth—” “It’s your fault, Beckett. You’re being all mysterious and shit.” It takes me a while to catch on. I grab her chin. “Arianne, I’m not about to dump bad news into your lap. We’re talking. People who date, talk.” Stress lifts off her shoulders and she allows them to fall. “Maybe I’m being paranoid—” “Ya think?” “Okay, I am.” “Let’s drive to your sublet, grab all your belongings, stuff your entire universe in the back of my SUV, and drive back here,” I say. She stares at me. I cup her face, drop a soft kiss on her lips, and spell it out for her in no uncertain terms. “Your stuff belongs in my house. You belong in my house.” No response. “Arianne, I want you to move in with me.” “Wh—what?” “For all intents and purposes, we’re living together.” “Are you sure about this?” I get up, walk to the counter, grab the little black box I hid first thing this morning and return to sit next to her. Her eyes bounce from the box I’m holding to mine. “I was going to give you this two nights ago, but you were dealing with a lot. However, I don’t want to delay things any longer.” I hand her the box. “What is it?” She worries her bottom lip. “Open it.” This was planned. Same for the new set of wheels waiting for her in my garage. Phoebe was instrumental in the decision-making. It turns out, my girl is quite partial to German luxury vehicles. So, I got her an Audi R8. She opens the box and gasps. Her big brown eyes bounce to mine, searching my own, shimmering with bewilderment. “Beckett.” Her gaze drops to the box. “Oh, my God,” she says, teary eyes meeting mine. She pulls out the keychain and holds it at eye level. “Is this what I think it is?” I smile at her. I grab the box and toss it on the table. I nod. “Those are all the keys to my house.” I drop my eyes to her clinging hands. “Consider the keychain your entrance to my world, Miss Buchanan.” She brings the set of keys close to her heart. “I’m bursting at the seams,” she says. “Mi casa es tu casa, bebé.” She laughs. I stare at my girl as if she’s the only thing in the world... because she is. “You’re now part of the small group of people I care de eply about. People I ke ep close. People I protect. People I’d go to war for. People I’d die for.” “Dear God,” she says. More tears roll down her beautiful face. I wipe them away. “I’ve never had a woman I called my own before—never wanted to and never felt the need... I’m damn happy you’re
it. I love having you in my life and I love knowing you’re mine.” “I can’t believe you just said that.” “Silly girlfriend, I’m sure you already knew. It’s obvious to everyone around us how I feel about you.” She rewards me with a lopsided smile. “I love—” She stops mid-sentence. “I mean, I love being yours,” she says in a trembling voice. “Is that all you were going to say?” “I love having you in my life.” The uncertainty is back in full force. I chuckle. “That’s it?” She averts her gaze. “I love you, Arianne,” I say. She blinks at me. “I love you, baby.” “You... love me?” “Every sexy inch of you.” “Oh, my God.” “I love you, Arianne Buchanan.” I shout my declaration at the top of my lungs. She dissolves into a fit of laughter and tears. I chuckle and I kiss her lips. “You really love me?” “I already told you I love your fine ass, woman. What more do you want?” She jumps into my arms. I catch her and cover her beautiful face with kisses. I pull away from her. “Guess what?” “What?” “We’re officially roommates.” “We are.” She laughs. “It’s about time.” We stare at each other for a beat, smiling like fools. Something passes between us. This gorgeous and vivacious woman is all mine. With my eyes boring into hers, I reach out and trail a finger down from her lips, over her collarbone, over her breasts. She sucks in a breath, my thumb teasing over her nipple. That’s all it takes for me to have a raging hard-on. “I like those, roomie,” I say low and rough. “I like touching them.” I reward her throaty moan by teasing her a little more. “I like how hard they are under my touch.” I squeeze the tight pebbled bud. She lets out a curse. Or is it a prayer? I lean into her and brush my lips along the underside of her jaw. “You respond beautifully to my tease. I know your body so well...” A whimper es capes her lips. I capture her mouth with mine and kiss her hard and hungry as if I haven’t already kissed her half a dozen times this morning alone. Like every time I take ownership of her mouth, the contact is potent, traveling straight to my balls. We both let out a shuddering moan as our tongues dance. After a few heated seconds, I break the kiss, stand up, and extend my hand to her. “Come on, roomie. We’re going upstairs.” She eagerly takes my hand. I help her to her feet. “One of the many benefits of living with the woman I love is having access to her sweet pussy anytime I want.” “Oh, I’m more than okay with that, roomie,” she says. I lift her in my arms. She wraps her legs around my waist, her thighs bracketing my torso. I’m trapped in my favorite place in the world. Her hands lace around my neck, and I’m second-guessing the idea of leaving my house today. “I love our new living arrangement, Beckett.” She tightens her thighs around me. Her shorts are dripping wet, the heady smell of her arousal tickles my nostrils and hardens my cock. With rushed st eps, I eat the floor underneath me as I head to the staircase. “Mine.” I murmur the word low in her ear as I climb the stairs. “Yours.”
Epilogue Arianne Eighteen months later y parents, Phoebe, Oscar, and I are weaving our way through the crowd at the spectacular Los Angeles Music Center, home to the Los Angeles Philharmonic. It’s the perfect venue for a big night like tonight. “Oh my God, Gregor, can you believe it?” Mom can hardly contain her excitement. “This is living it large.” “Muriel, ke ep walking,” Dad says. “Stop rushing me,” Mom says. “Oh, look at the ornate balconies.” She points. “And the curtains look so regal.” “I see, dearie,” Dad says. “Let’s take a selfie,” Mom says. “Not now, woman.” Dad pulls Mom’s hand, forcing her ahead. “We’re in the way.” “Mom, Dad is right.” I cut in. “We need to get to our seats.” “All right, all right, I’m walking,” Mom says. Phoebe and I look at each other and laugh. As my parents stroll in front of us, Mom’s head whips to the left then the right, oohing and aahing along the way. She’s in awe. And I’m as giddy as she is. The buzz of excitement is palpable. Given the smash hit of their latest album, Anders and Tomas are holding an exclusive concert. Beckett, his band—Random Misconc eption—and badass female guitarist Stasia van Gameren will join Cello2 Cello on stage in an unprecedented musical collaboration. Since Cello2 Cello, Beckett and Stasia are co-judges on Jam Session, they’ve performed on the show, but this kind of star power gathered on one stage is a first. Two thousand plus tickets sold out in the blink of an eye. This will be a night to remember. Rhys waves at me. Thank God the man is so tall. He’s impossible to miss. I wave back. “Let’s go, gang.” I usher my parents, Phoebe, and Oscar along. We make our way to our seats. Rhys’s girl, and Blythe and Erik— Beckett’s parents—are already there. Beckett’s cousin Jagger and his daughter Bree are with them. So are Levi Aldridge, his pregnant wife Jules —she’s expecting their second child—his older brother Linc and his wife. Linc is a renowned stage designer. Levi was Linc’s business partner until he had to focus all his attention on another successful company he helped Jules launch. They’re also part of Beckett’s entourage and responsible for the set design for tonight’s concert. Beckett’s mom and I greet each other, exchange warm hugs and find our respected seats. “Talk about being close to the stage,” I say. “It doesn’t get better than front row seats,” Blythe says. She’s sitting to my right. Beckett’s dad is seated a little further down the row flanked by Jagger and Rhys. I open my mouth to respond, but my mother precedes me. “Not unless you’re sitting on stage,” she says. She’s sitting to Blythe’s right. “Blimey.” Mom clamps her hands over her mouth and her eyes widen as her face turns a bright shade of red.
“Mom, are you okay?” “She is.” Dad, who’s sitting next to her, responds on her behalf. Mom averts her gaze. Her coloring is still a concern. “Dad, she doesn’t look okay.” “She needs to ke ep quiet. That’s all,” he says. “What do you mean?” “Honey, it’s impolite to have a conversation over people like that,” Dad says. “Your mother and I raised you better than that.” What’s gotten into him? “The concert is upfront... not down here.” He points to the stage. “Okay,” I say, nodding, but still not getting it. He tears his gaze away from mine and fixes it on the empty stage to drive his point. Mom gives me a tentative side gaze. My parents have officially lost their marbles. “Don’t be so hard on them. We’re all excited,” Blythe says when I’m still staring at my father’s determined profile, perplexed. I acc ept her explanation with sk epticism. My parents have worked hard their whole lives and I understand concerts are a novelty, but something about them is off. They’ve been having these hush-hush conversations since they arrived in LA two days ago. Their strange behavior started when I called them to let them know about tonight. Mom worships Cello2 Cello. I flew them in so we could spend time together and attend the concert. Imagine my surprise, when they insisted on staying at a hotel instead of staying with us. Mom blurted something about not wanting to cram our space. No matter how many times I insisted, she turned me down flat. Dad wouldn’t budge either. I turn to my best friend who’s sitting to my left. “The Buchanans are acting strangely,” I tell Phoebe in a pronounced Scottish accent. “Och, leave ’em be,” she says in a farcical Scottish brogue. “If ya say so, lassie.” We laugh. “I can feel it in the air,” Phoebe says. “Tonight is magical. Your boyfriend is making history in so many ways.” She’s right. “That’s the only reason I’m willing to give my parents some leeway about their bizarre behavior—” “Miss Buchanan.” A man approaching, calls my name. “Yes,” I say. The camera hanging from his neck is of concern. “My name is Mark Sutton from the LA Buzz—” I lift a hand up. “My publicist already made a statement. I have no comments.” “Come on, Miss Buchanan.” Mark ignores my protest. “Two trials resolve in one week weighing heavily in your favor and you haven’t made an official statement—” “I have no comments.” Mark opens his mouth to ask another question, but Oscar stands up. “Leave her alone,” he says. “She’s asked you twice. If I have to ask you a second time to get out of her face, I won’t be as polite.” “Are you ke eping quiet because you’re planning on making an announcement, Miss Buchanan?” Mark ignores Oscar. Jackass. I glare at him. He lifts his camera and points it at me. Crap. I hide my face with my clutch. Tonight, I’m hanging out with my favorite people while my man and his friends rock the stage. Even though this overzealous r eporter is being annoying, I’m not going to let him ruin my mood or dampen my excitement, although it’s getting pretty damn close.
Beckett suggested hiring security guards to shadow me. I laughed it off and refused. Maybe I should’ve listened. I peek from over my small bag. “You don’t understand English, is that it?” Oscar closes in on the annoying r eporter. “Get away from my daughter.” Bless Dad for coming to my rescue. “I’m here to cover the concert, but if Miss Buchanan wants to give LA Buzz a scoop—” “You have two seconds to get out of her face before I call the police.” Rhys’s voice slices through the brouhaha. Great. My presence is causing a scene. I lower my clutch. Rhys is holding up his i Phone, recording the mess. His blue eyes are dark and menacing. “All right,” Mark says with a slow nod. “I apologize, Miss Buchanan.” His lips pull up into a smirk. “Can I give you my card—” “Don’t make me r epeat myself,” Rhys says. Mark scurries off. Finally. “You okay, honey?” “I am, Dad. Thanks to you three. Thank you,” I say to my unofficial bodyguards. Dad smiles. “Anytime,” Oscar says. “Phoebe, why don’t you swap seats with your boyfriend,” Rhys says. “I’ll swap seats with Beckett’s mom. That way we can ke ep a close eye on Arianne—” “What about your—” “My girl will understand.” I lean to the side, and a pair of worried hazel-green eyes meets mine. I smile to let her know I’m okay. She smiles back. I return my attention to Rhys. “I feel so badly.” “Who knows how many Marks are here tonight?” He makes a good point. “I don’t want your boyfriend to break my balls because I’m not watching over his girl while he pretends to be a rock star for the night.” Everyone laughs. A few shuffles later and I’m flanked between two white knights. Mark was itching to get my side of the story because I’ve been tightlipped. Yesterday, the California court awarded me nine point seven million dollars, in the biggest judgment ever in a revenge porn case. Earlier this week, another jury awarded me sixty-three point eight million dollars in expectation damages as retribution for the promises Chance broke. Cases like those take longer to settle, but thanks to Mariah’s little visit and her de ep-seated vendetta against me, my lawyers had gold in the palms of their hands. It took a while to get a trial date, but the verdict was swift. Chance had promised me a quarter of a million dollars for my contribution to the massive growth of his company—I have copious notes of our discussions. I was more than happy with that number. Since he wasn’t man enough to ke ep his word, he ended up paying through the nose for his sneakiness and dishonesty. He was dumbfounded by both verdicts. So was I. Since the scandal broke, he was removed from his position of CEO. The press smeared Mariah’s name and shamed her out of the country. I consider it vindication. The last I heard, the cantankerous bitch latched onto another rich, older man.
The lights turn low in the theater. Rhys nudges my arm. “The concert is starting.” I lean forward to look at my mom. She’s like a kid on Christmas Day. When I look to my left, Phoebe isn’t faring much better. “Good evening, LA,” Tomas says as he and Anders walk on stage, electric cellos in hand. Stasia, Beckett, Jace, Rod, and Holt, follow close behind, holding their instruments. Cello2 Cello’s drummer is the last one on stage. The crowd goes mental. I jump to my feet and clap like a crazed fan girl. “Beckett, we love you.” I shout my declaration at the top of my lungs, waving my hands in the air. I’ve watched Random Misconc eption’s music videos a thousand times. I know the lyrics by heart and I always drool all over my boyfriend. He’s a hotter-than-hell rock star with an insane swoon-worthy stage presence. Nothing compares to hearing the rawness of his de ep voice or watching him in all of his elements than when he sings live. Beckett looks freaking delicious. He traded his bespoke suits in favor of an edgy look that honors his beginnings to a T—leather pants, motorcycle boots, and the form fitting tshirt that showcases his muscles and ink. I also dressed for the part of the rock star’s girlfriend. I matched his all black look, exc ept I’m wearing killer bright pink strappy high-heels. I’ve been his girlfriend for a year and a half now, but there are times like these it hits me how Beckett Christensen is so ridiculously out of my playing field. Still, he chose me. A nerd like me with a bad boy stud like him. Two opposites in so many ways yet, we fit so perfectly together. It’s good to be me.
Epilogue Beckett Anders and Tomas are done warming up the crowd. Anders nods at me. I nod back. “We’re going to deviate from the program tonight.” He announces the change of plan to the crowd. A low rumbling runs through the theater. Anders turns to his creative partner. “If you’re going to make history, you do it in a big way or not at all, right?” “I couldn’t agree more,” Tomas says. That gets the crowd fired up even more. I look to my brother for support. He smiles. Stasia, Jace, and Rod also offer sympathetic smiles. That does little to untie the knot lodged in my stomach. I’m nervous as hell. I’ve played to sold out arenas around the world. Up to now, I’ve never been gripped with stage fright. Singing to twenty thousand adoring fans is vastly different from this moment, though. Thank God Anders and Tomas are behind me one hundred percent—in fact, they insisted I usurp their stage. All of our friends and family gathered here tonight have been helping me for months to make this special night happen. “In true Cello2 Cello fashion,” Anders says, “we would normally kick things off with an edgy rock song, especially when we’re performing with some of the best rock artists and one of the most powerful rock voices on the planet.” The crowd approves. “Speaking of powerful voices”—Tomas takes the lead—“in my humble opinion, no one comes close to Beckett Christensen. His distinct voice is like no other.” Another round of enthusiastic applause ensues. “Who wants to hear Beckett sing?” Tomas points his mic at the crowd. People cheer, stomp, holler, and clap. The cacophony is fucking deafening. It’s de eply humbling. “Should we start with the badass singer?” Anders fans the crowd by waving his hands in the air. The cheers in the theater reach earsplitting decibels. Anders turns to face me. “Beckett, my man, the public has spoken. The stage is yours.” I nod in gratitude and st ep forward, guitar in hand. I swallow to find my voice. “Hello, LA!” The crowd offers a booming response. It takes me a heart-pounding second to search the front row. To my satisfaction, I spot two empty seats. Rhys has already set the wheels in motion. This is it. Muriel has been a ball of nerves, tripping all over herself and her words, since I flew to Philadelphia to let Arianne’s parents in on my little secret. We agreed Mom would be the one helping my girl up on stage. After the unwelcome interruption from that idiot r eporter, Rhys texted me to warn me there’s been a change of plan. “We’re making history in so many ways tonight,” I say into the microphone. “It’s more than a performance tonight. On that note, I want to thank Tomas and Anders for allowing us to share the stage with them. It’s pretty wicked. It’s also always an honor to rock with the beautiful and talented Stasia van Gameren.” The crowd shows her some love.
My gaze shifts to the edge of the stage, behind the curtains, where the audience can’t see. Arianne’s hands cover her beautiful face. Rhys is comforting her. I wink at my girl. “On a personal level, tonight is more than rocking a crowd,” I say. “It’s about telling a woman I’m madly in love with how much she means to me.” The crowd doesn’t hold back. When our eyes meet again, I smile wide at the beautiful woman who’s my world. She shakes her head, her hands still hiding her face. “Come on stage, baby.” I wave her over. She approaches on trembling legs, Rhys trailing right by her side. Thank God because she looks like she’s about to faint. “My big brother already serenaded his girl with our smash hit love song, Until I found you.” I go back to the script. “As perfect as it is, no way was I going to recycle that song. My girl deserves her own song. I had to convince songwriter extraordinaire, and my cousin, Jagger Halsey to write me a new song.” The crowd laughs. I shift my gaze away from the crowd and focus my attention on the woman I love. She uncovers her face. “This song is for you, Arianne,” I say. “All Of You tells our story beautifully.” Her expression is full of disbelief. I strum the first cord to the song. Stasia, Jace, Rod, Tomas, and Anders follow suit. I belt out the first verse, the intense melody from the guitars and my brother’s bass mixing with my emotions. Cello2 Cello’s instruments emanate warm, low, almost crying, pitches that ratchet the heartfelt lyrics. Arianne loses it. With each verse, she cries a little harder. She’s shaking so hard, Rhys embraces her by the shoulders, holding her tight. I had a lot of input in the song. Jagger delivered more than I could’ve hoped for. The poignant lyrics express everything I needed to say to this gorgeous woman from the d epth of my soul, on this memorable night. When we hit the last verse, Arianne is nothing more than a pool of tears, but she finds it in her to clap, a huge smile stretching her lips. I wink. The crowd goes ballistic. I thank them with a bow. My friends do the same. Then, a solemn silence settles around the theater, as if people are waiting with bated breath for what comes next. I walk up to Rhys, remove my guitar and hand it to him. Holt hands me a small red box. I take it from him and place my arm behind my back. It’s still too early. I approach Arianne and interlace our fingers together. “This is more than a concert.” “You tricked me,” she says. “I didn’t tell you everything. That’s different. There’s still going to be a concert, but there’s no way I was going to be able to go through two hours holding back what I have to say to you.” I squeeze her hand. “Arianne, we’re total opposites in so many ways, but we fit as perfectly as a puzzle. Amazing, right?”
She nods. “I fell for the melodic timbre of your voice since our first encounter took place in the darkness of an elevator in the middle of a power outage. The second the lights turned back on, I fell for all of you.” I smile. “You swore up and down we’d never see each other again once we were rescued. For the record, it was apparent you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” She laughs. “Nearly two years later... here we are.” More tears roll down her face. “I kinda don’t want to live without you, baby.” “Neither do I,” she says in a shaky voice. “I love you so much, baby.” “I love you with all my heart, Beckett.” I flash her a coy smile. “You and I are going to make beautiful babies one day soon I hope.” She laughs in between tears. I drop to one knee. She gasps, but the sound is muffled by the crowd’s murmur of excitement. “Arianne Buchanan, you’re it for me. Will you marry me?” She waves her free hand in front of her face, hyperventilating. I try again. “Will you be my wife?” She shakes her head. The crowd gasps in horror. “No, no, no,” she says, waving a hand at the crowd. “No?” I’m dumbfounded. More petrified gasps from the crowd. “I’m so tongue-tied, I’m screwing things up,” she says. I exhale. “That was going to be the most awkward moment ever known to mankind,” I say. “‘BREAKING NEWS: MISS HOLY CHIC TURNS DOWN BECKETT CHRISTENSEN’S MARRIAGE PROPOSAL IN FRONT OF 2,000 PEOPLE’” She giggles. There’s a collective round of laughter. My girl takes a de ep breath and straightens her shoulders. With eyes boring into mine, she whispers. “Try again.” “Marry me, Arianne,” I say. “By the way, this time you’re supposed to say yes. You know... third time’s the charm and all.” She laughs. “Beckett Christensen, I can’t imagine a greater gift than being your wife. A thousand yeses, I’ll marry you, my love.” The crowd cheers so loud, I’m sure you can hear them all the way in Philadelphia. I drop her hand so I can open the box. I lift it up for her approval. Her eyes shine like stars. “Holy massive rock.” Her reaction gets the crowd going again. I pull out the ring and slip it on my girl’s finger. “It’s so beautiful,” she says. “You like it?” “It’s my dream ring,” she says. “How did you know?” “I got a little help.” “Phoebe?” “Yes, Phoebe.” Thanks to her best friend and one of Larkin’s contacts, I got my girl a dazzling five point two carat cushion cut round solitaire set in platinum with accent brilliant diamonds running along the sides. The ring is elegant and feminine... like Arianne. I stand up and wrap my arms around her. “Guess what?” She looks up at me. “What?” “We’re roommates forever now.” “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” she says. I turn with her in my arms so we’re facing the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to present to you, soon-to-be Mrs. Christensen.” Friends, family, and two thousand strangers are witness to one of the most amazing days of my life. From here on in, I suspect I’ll be accumulating a collection of unforgettable memories with the woman I love. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The audience chants. The first rule of show business is to give people what they want... so I kiss the hell out of my girl.