Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122382 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 612(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Not me,” he scoffs. “They were only ever interested in the posh two.”
“Like you haven’t been stopped in the street for a selfie!” she says as she moves toward the doors.
“Did that really happen?” I ask, delighted by the exchange—and the reveal. Because our love language also might include a little teasing. Aside from the teasing that goes on in the bedroom. Though technically, that might be edging.
“That happened once,” he mutters, his brows pulling down. And the blades of his cheekbones turning a tiny bit pink. I love it!
“Yeah, yeah,” Letty retorts. “I’ll see you downstairs?” she adds, sliding me a look over her shoulder.
I nod, and she presses a quick kiss to her brother’s cheek. Then she’s gone.
“Who knew I was marrying a celebrity?” I purr, absolutely ready to get some mileage out of this.
“I think you’ll find it’s the other way around,” Matt says as he comes closer, unfolding a copy of The Financial Times, unmistakable due to its pink pages.
“Where did you get that?” And more to the point, what’s this about?
“Oliver. He and Evie thought you might like to read it.” They both flew in this morning.
“I’m not sure today is the day for . . .” That’s as far as I get as he widens the pages to a picture—of me. My corporate headshot. “Did you know about this?” But Matt is already shaking his head. And smiling, so I guess it must be good news. “New Kid on the Block,” I say, reading the headline aloud. “Might’ve been worse. They might’ve said girl.”
“Try powerhouse,” he says, a playful smile tugging at his lips.
“I’m not sure about that.” But the compliment still feels like a warm hug. I quickly scan the rest of the article and read out the good parts. “Socially responsible private equity fund has bumper start.”
“And so it has. Thanks to you.”
“To us,” I whisper.
Because in the cutthroat world of investing, Maven Inc. is diversifying. While the fund recently began to channel some of its energies into investments with social causes (thanks to Evie and Mila’s good influence), they now have a new division to do that for them. Headed up by yours truly.
It’s been a learning curve, but it turns out that my instincts are transferrable. Instead of looking to investment purely on potential profit margin, I now examine what good that investment will also bring to the world. We have a new era of investors too. Those whose motives are impact-driven wealth, individuals looking to aid substantial social and environmental change. While also getting rich off the back of those changes.
“Did you read the quote from the director of investment solutions?” Matt asks, his next smile huge and proud. “In case you’ve forgotten, that would be you.”
“I’m never gonna forget that.” Because my role is perfect. It feels like it was made for me. I guess it was. It fits me like a glove.
“And you know what they say, behind every great woman . . .”
“Is a man reminding her she’s left her phone on the breakfast table?” Because I have been affected by the dreaded baby brain. It’s been a small price to pay as, between us, we strive to support each other, striking a near-perfect work-life balance.
Matt and I work together. We live together. We take care of our child together. And we thrive together. I can’t wait to see what the next fifty years have in store for us. Together.
“Inky fingers!” I give a little squeal as I slap Matt’s hands away. He drops the paper and moves toward me. “You’ll ruin my dress before we even make it to the altar.”
“Not if you take it off,” he purrs oh so suggestively.
“Do you know how long it took Letty to fasten me into this thing? See these,” I say, turning around to flash the row of tiny silk-covered buttons at him. I give a sharp intake of breath as his lips find my shoulder and his hands my breasts. My dress is light and flowing and fit for a princess, though fitted at the bodice a little like a serving wench’s dress. So I can’t really blame him . . .
“I won’t have the patience to unfasten them all tonight.” His voice is low and velvety, his mouth at my ear. “I might just need to rip the fabric.”
“The silk,” I whisper as his mouth lays claim to my neck. “Maybe I won’t have the patience to wait until tonight.”
“Fuck it,” he says, bending me forward over the ornate railing.
“We can’t,” I say—laugh—as I twist my head over my shoulder. “Not when everyone is waiting for us.”
“Let them wait.” His gaze flicks to the garden, and his expression changes from simmering lust to love.
I glance around myself, my heart warm as I see our friends and family assembling on either side of an aisle bordered with flowers. Matt’s brothers and sisters move to take their seats; Catherine, my wonderful mother-in-law-to-be, already in hers. Maeve sits on her lap as Antonio, her lelo (Clo said she’s happy to share him), makes our darling giggle by hiding and peeking from behind his hands. It’s so wild how much Matt looks like him.