Page 41 of Conall's Reign

Maxim: Married?

Ilias: You got married, you dick? Without us? Wow. You are an asshole.

Me: Two hours.

Me: Stop talking about my dick. That’d be extra large.

Ilias: You know you need to work on your communication. We don’t know what two hours means. Two hours until it’s time to bring you your extra small condoms? I’m not sure I can find ones that small that soon. Two hours until … what …

Me: Shut up. Be here in two hours so we can meet and go over protective detail.

Ilias: See. You just need to use your words, big guy.

Me: Just fucking be here in two hours, you eejit.

Ilias: Roger

I clenchedmy teeth and practiced my breathing, holding for four counts and then releasing for three. Sometimes, they were infuriating.

As I finished my work downstairs, I tried not to dwell on the implications of Francesca and Theo shopping. I battled the unease curling in my gut at the thought of changes being made to my space. I organized my world to function exactly as I needed it to—streamlined, controlled, and immaculate.

And now, I was on the verge of walking into the unknown.

Finn stood at his post by the door, arms crossed and his expression unreadable. “Boss.”

I squinted. “How serious is it?”

Finn tilted his head, considering. “Depends on your definition.”

I clenched my jaw. “Define it for me, then.”

Finn’s mouth twitched. “Let’s just say that Francesca has a vision, and Ms. Anthakos is encouraging it.”

I exhaled through my nose. “And?”

Finn shrugged. “And it’s… different. I’m not sure you’ll like it very much.” His shoulders hunched in discomfort.

A headache throbbed at my temple as I gazed at the closed door, steeling myself. “Tell me there aren’t flowers.”

Finn hesitated.

I muttered under my breath as I stepped inside. With two hours until my meeting, I hoped to find some peace and quiet before heading back to the conference room.

My world tilted on its axis the moment I stepped into the penthouse.

Gone was the crisp, minimalistic haven I had crafted. Instead, I was assaulted by texture, color, and clutter. The pristine lines of my furniture had been softened—violated—by throw pillows in velvet and embroidery, their patterns chaotic and mismatched. The cool, sleek surfaces of the living room were now littered with candles, some already burning, their scents clashing with one another. Photos were scattered across the surfaces and the walls. My black-and-white landscapes were gone, replaced by candids in random formations.

Plants—God help me, plants—were everywhere. Real ones, with actual dirt. They were potted on tables, lined along the windows, and worst of all, hanging. Their unruly tendrils spilled down in wild, undisciplined tangles. My fingers twitched with the urge to tidy them, to bring them under control.

My gaze flicked to the coffee table, where a jumbled pile of books rested, some stacked and others leaning precariously. I gritted my teeth, every instinct urging me to straighten them, to impose order where there was none.

Then I heard them.

Francesca and Theo were laughing in the kitchen. Their laughter should have softened my irritation, but when I stepped further inside, I saw the grocery bags.

So. Many. Grocery. Bags.

My brothers, Paddy and Brody, were there too, helping with the unloading, although ‘helping’ felt like a generous term. Paddy grinned as he rummaged through one of the bags, already unwrapping something that looked suspiciously like imported chocolate and marshmallows. Meanwhile, Brody seemed somewhat overwhelmed by the sheer amount of food being unpacked.

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