by Max Monroe
“Yes, please.” She makes quick work of getting one of the cups out of my hands and takes a sip. “Thank you.”
I sit down in the chair beside hers, and once she’s had enough coffee to suit her caffeine needs, she moves over to sit on my lap.
“That’s much better,” I say and slide my hands around her waist.
She giggles. “So, what are we going to do today?”
“Get married.”
Birdie’s stunned eyes meet mine. “I’m sorry, but did you just say get married?”
I nod. “That’s exactly what I said.”
She stares at me like I’ve sprouted two heads, but I don’t let that reaction deter me from my actual plans. Gently, I lift her off my lap and to her feet.
And then I pull a small box from the pocket of my linen pants and get down on one knee in front of her.
A shocked hand goes to her mouth.
“Birdie Bernadette Harris, I love you,” I say, smiling up at my whole fucking world. “And I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. I want to spend the rest of my life taking care of you and supporting you and being your number one fucking fan. I want to laugh with you and play with you and fight with you and have wild make-up sex with you. I want it all, firecracker.” I open the box, and a pretty diamond ring sits inside.
“Oh my God, Andrew,” she gasps, and tears start to sparkle in her eyes.
“Birdie, will you make me the luckiest man in the whole world and marry me?”
She nods. Laughs. Nods again. And then, to add icing to our perfect cake, she shouts, “Yes!”
Thank fuck.
My heart soars, and I take the ring out of the box to slide it onto her finger.
And then I don’t hesitate to stand up and pull her into my arms and kiss my future wife.
“Fuck, I’m glad you said yes, because otherwise, the next surprise I have planned would’ve been really awkward,” I whisper against her mouth, and she leans back to stare deep into my eyes.
“What surprise?”
I glance over my shoulder and shout, “Come on out onto the deck, guys!”
Birdie looks at me, confused, but when she spots her sister holding Daisy, and Luca and my family start to appear through the doors, she slaps me hard on the chest.
“Oh my God!” she exclaims. “What is going on right now?”
“Well, sweetheart,” I say through a chuckle. “When I said we should get married today, I wasn’t joking. And since I knew you’d want our family here, I made it happen.”
“How?” she questions, and happy tears fill her eyes. “How in the hell did you manage this?”
“This plan was already in action before you guys left,” Billie says and gently hands Daisy off to Luca, so she can wrap Birdie up into a big hug. “Congratulations, sis. I’m so happy for you.”
“You’ve been planning this since before we came to Fiji?” Birdie questions, her gaze meeting mine.
I nod. “Sweetheart, I’ve been planning this since the day outside the hospital.”
“The day you two finally got your shit together,” Billie teases.
The rest of our family steps up to give us congratulatory hugs.
Luca, my mom and dad, Kelly and Lance, even Uncle Tim.
“Feel free to get married twice a year,” my uncle says through a chuckle. “I’m all for free trips to tropical locations.”
Jesus Christ.
“Tim, I swear to God, if you don’t behave, you’re going to be flying home in cargo.”
He just grins and proceeds to walk back inside our bungalow to fix himself a drink.
“All right, sweetheart,” I say to Birdie and pull her into my arms for one last hug. “Now is the time for you to go with the girls to get ready.”
“Get ready?” she questions. “I don’t have a dress or shoes or any-freaking-thing, Andrew! I can’t get married in a bikini!”
I chuckle. “Don’t you worry, firecracker. Billie is on top of it.”
Her sister chimes in to the conversation. “I have acquired a whole team of people. Dresses for you to pick from. It’s all set, sis. All you need to do is enjoy your wedding day.”
Birdie looks at me, a beautiful smile consuming her face. “This is really happening?”
“This is really happening.”
“Best day ever,” she whispers and presses a soft kiss to my lips.
I couldn’t agree more.
Birdie
Today, I married the love of my life.
It was an intimate affair with just Andrew and me and our family.
I wore a simple white silk dress Billie had picked out for me and walked down the sandy aisle in bare feet.
Andrew’s eyes filled with tears the instant he spotted me, and they stayed just like that through the entire ceremony on the beach.
I cried when he said, “I do.”
And giggled when he sealed our marriage with a hot, sexy kiss.
It was the most perfect wedding a girl could ask for.
All thanks to my amazing husband.
Once the ceremony ended, the two of us headed back to our bungalow for a little alone time before meeting our family for our reception inside the resort’s bar and restaurant that Andrew managed to rent out for the night.
I’ve been told there will be lots of food, lots of booze, delicious cake, and most likely, a drunk Uncle Tim.
The instant we step inside our home away from home for the past three weeks, Andrew pulls me into his arms and kisses me deeply.
“You’re officially my wife,” he whispers against my lips.
I giggle. “And you’re my husband.”
“Damn straight,” he mutters and kisses me again. His lips are persistent and delicious and dangerously addictive. “You’re officially Birdie Watson now.”
“You know…” I lean back and stare at him with playful eyes. “I’m thinking you should be Andrew Harris.”
Amusement consumes his lips. “You want me to change my name to Andrew Harris?”
“Is that a problem?” I question, a teasing challenge.
He tilts his head to the side, thinks about it for a few seconds, then shrugs. “Nope. Not a problem at all.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, right, Andy. Like you’d really change your last name to Harris.”
Frankly, I don’t really want that. I just wanted to tease him about it.
“Sweetheart, if that’s what you want, then that’s what I’ll fucking do,” he says and releases me from his embrace to pull his phone out of his pocket.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching in confusion as he begins to type something out on the screen of his phone.
“Nothing.”
“Andrew, what are you doing?”
“Just doing my husbandly duty of following my vows and making all your dreams come true.”
What the heck?
I stand there for a good two minutes, trying to peek over his shoulder, but he just keeps his phone hidden from my eyes.
Eventually, though, I’m too damn curious not to see for myself.
With quick, stealthy hands, I snag the phone out of his hold and look down at the screen to find a group chat with a bunch of names attached to it. All of which include his team and mine.
His first text message to them…
Greetings from Fiji. A few updates. Weather is nice. Water is warm. Birdie looks insanely hot in a bikini. And we got married today.
I look up at him with confusion. “You didn’t tell anyone from our teams we were getting married?”
He shakes his head on a smile and, surprisingly, makes no move to get the phone back from me. “Nope.”
Oh fuck, Samantha and Candy and Neil are going to lose their shit over this.
Whoops.
“My focus was on making sure nothing leaked about my plans,” he explains. “I didn’t want fucking paparazzi hiding out on the goddamn beach when I married you. I figured the more people who knew, the more likely the news would get out.
Hell, my family didn’t even tell Uncle Tim until they landed in Fiji.”
I guess that explains why Andrew was so adamant about security on this trip…
My eyes still on the group chat, I read the rest of the exchanges.
Damien: What the hell?
Blake: Are you fucking with me right now?
Samantha: I swear to God, you better be lying. If you’re not, tell Birdie she has a lot of explaining to do when you guys get back.
Candy: You two are a real pain in my ass, you know that?
Amy: Andrew Watson, I swear to God, you better be joking.
Liza: Oh, for fuck’s sake.
Neil: Seriously?????
And lastly, Andrew’s next two responses to the shocked messages.
Nope. And we’re going full-on progressive with this. I need you guys to start working on a few things ASAP. 1. Put the LA house up for sale and start searching for a nice place in Nashville. 2. Sell all my sports cars and buy us a minivan. 3. And start the paperwork to get my last name changed to Harris.
Oh, and don’t worry, I’ll get to work on getting Birdie knocked up with my babies so we have something to fill our new minivan with. ;)
A shocked laugh leaves my lips, and I lift my eyes to meet Andrew’s amused gaze.
“Minivans and living in Nashville and being the Harrises? Looks like you’ve got our whole future planned out, huh?” I ask, a teasing tone in my voice.
“Sweetheart, when it comes to you, our future is crystal-fucking-clear.”
“How about you nix the whole Andrew Harris thing, and you and I just stick with our current names?”
He lifts a playful brow. “And the rest?”
“Minivans are a hard no.” He frowns. “But babies sound pretty good,” I add softly. The warmth in his eyes is enough to confirm once again that Belinda Carlisle knew what she was talking about. Heaven really is a place on earth.
“Looks you better start getting naked, Andy. We have a lot of work to do.”
His responding expression is downright salacious and tells me all I need to know.
Yes, please.
My husband might be crazy.
But for today and tomorrow and the rest of forever, he is all mine.
Thank everything for that.
THE END
Do you love Andrew and Birdie and want more Hollywood rom-coms from Max Monroe?
Have no fear, girlfriend! There are two other hilarious stand-alone books in the series!
And, even better news, you can read them right now!
Taming Hollywood’s Baddest Boy (Luca and Billie’s book)
Winning Hollywood’s Goodest Girl (Harrison and Rocky’s book)
Do you need something else from Max Monroe RIGHT NOW?
Have you read our best-selling, billionaire romantic comedy My Brother’s Billionaire Best Friend?
NO?!
You must click here immediately, then!
Or, if you need more convincing, read on to see a short excerpt first. ;)
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My Brother’s Billionaire Best Friend Excerpt
Maybe
Here I rest, you guys.
R. I. Mother-flapjacking P. to me.
And now, I’m coming to you live from what I believe is the afterlife.
Just think of this as that morning show with Kelly Ripa and Ryan Seacrest, Live with Kelly and Ryan.
Only, change the name to DEAD with Maybe, take away the celebrity guests, and fill the audience with people who don’t mind witnessing a full-on embarrassment-fueled emotional breakdown.
Good God, if I would’ve known I was going to kick the bucket right before I reached twenty-five, I sure as shit wouldn’t have spent the last six years of my life slaving away at Stanford for a bachelor’s and master’s degree in English Lit.
I would’ve partied in college rather than studying until my eyeballs bled.
I would’ve danced on bars. Flashed some nip for beads at Mardi Gras. Actually gone to Mardi Gras.
I would have indulged in unlimited pasta night at the Olive Garden instead of counting carbs, and I wouldn’t have stopped binge-watching Game of Thrones on season flipping six.
I would have tongue-kissed loads of guys and spread my legs like a contortionist for any of them who seemed reasonably adept.
You know, a little bam-bam in my ham-ham.
Some not-too-big, but not-too-small P in my V.
A good old-fashioned pants-off dance-off…
Sex, you guys. I’m talking about sex. And if you haven’t picked up what I’m putting down from my delirious ramble, I’ll lay it out for you.
I’ve yet to be sexed up by anyone.
That’s right. I have officially bought myself a one-way ticket to the afterlife as a virgin for-freaking-eternity.
And now, I guess I’ll never know how it feels to have an actual penis rub up against my G-spot because, you know, I’m dead. And I’m pretty certain God probably frowns upon people flashing their boobs at the angels and public displays of leg-spreading and definitely the unchaste actions of a desperate-to-bone but unwed woman. No way. Heaven’s strictly G-rated.
I put it all off. I figured I had time. I mean, I thought I’d at least get to see The Office do a reunion special before I went lights out for good.
Although, my parents’ flower shop feels more like purgatory than heaven, and I thought for sure I’d be wearing something other than jean shorts and Converse when I headed to meet the Big Guy upstairs.
Honestly, the afterlife feels eerily like real life, and I’m not one to be dramatic, but I have to be dead, you guys. Seriously. Because no one could live through what I did.
I’m talking a 10.0 on the Richter Scale of embarrassing and awkward.
A Category 5 hurricane of humiliation.
A twisting, catastrophic EF5 tornado of comedic disaster.
No freaking way I survived that…right?
Okay. Fine. So, I can be a little dramatic sometimes…
And maybe, just maybe, I’m exaggerating things a bit here, but I’m doing it in the name of self-preservation.
Because, trust me, if you did what I did, you’d let yourself mentally pretend to be dead for a little bit too.
Because if I’m not dead, I’m going to have to face the consequences of my awful, humiliating, cringeworthy actions.
I’m going to have to face him.
Milo Ives—a tall, handsome, unbelievably sexy drink of water.
A man I’ve known since I was a prepubescent girl.
A man I’ve basically been crushing on my whole damn life.
A billion-dollar-empire kind of successful man who just so happens to be my brother’s best friend.
I’ll say it again for the folks in the back.
Milo Ives is my brother’s billionaire best friend.
And I’m in way over my head.
Maybe
“Yoo-hoo, Betty! Where is Maybe? I thought she was going to man the front for a few hours?” my dad shouts, his voice filtering with ease into the back room of the floral shop.
Just the sound of it makes a deep, cavernous sigh escape my lungs.<
br />
And the fact that he’s asking about my whereabouts? Now that’s worthy of a tight chest.
“I think she just needed a minute to—” my mom starts to reply, but she’s cut off before she can convey any real information. Bruce the super-sniffing shark only needs a trace of blood in the water to attack.
“Needed a minute?” He guffaws. “I’ve needed a minute for the past thirty years, but you don’t see me dillydallying around.”
“Bruce,” my mom chastises. “Stop being such a grumpy bastard.”
My dad’s been on the warpath since he found out our shipment of Gerbera daisies is running behind schedule, but his behavior really isn’t the slow delivery’s fault. Today, when it comes to Bruce, isn’t any different from any other day.
He always has zany criticism for me and my mother—what we call Bruce-isms—and an overabundance of dad jokes locked and loaded and ready for use.
Deep breaths, I coach myself as I finish up an email to a potential publishing house. This is only temporary.
Too bad it doesn’t feel that way.
I’ve only been back in New York for two weeks, but it may as well have been an eternity.
I just completed graduate school on the West Coast and moved back here to find a career in publishing, and all in all, I felt like I was making the right moves. While I had friends in school, I never found the core group of people that would be mine for life, and in New York, I have an emergency support system.
Plus, New York has far more options for a career in publishing than California and over eight and a half million people who could be potential friends.
Honestly, before turning in my final thesis, it all sounded pretty simple.
Find a job—preferably as an editor at a prominent New York publishing house.
Get an apartment.
Find new friends.
Find a man etc, etc.
Alas, things in real life are never as easy as they are on paper, and as a result, I’m currently spending forty hours of my week working side by side with my parents and living out of my brother Evan’s old bachelor pad in Chelsea.
