Will you please get off your laptop and help?”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” he says, not taking his eyes from the screen. “If you three can’t do something on your own, hire someone to do it. That’s the whole point of being rich.”

Jenna snickers. “So you’re telling us to hire someone to help us choose the napkin patterns?”

“Sure. How much could that cost?”

“Just get over here!” I growl. “This thing is in two days, buster. And we still have to get everything to the park tomorrow.”

“All right,” he sighs. “I guess you’d rather not hear about Darryl Lawrence’s arrest.”

The three of us stop in mid page-flip and turn to gape at him.

“What?” we say in unison.

He flashes us his patented smug grin. His cable knit sweater makes him look like a fisherman who just reeled in the catch of the day, if that fisherman had just stepped off the pages of a catalog, of course.

“So you’re saying you want me to tell you?” he asks, feigning confusion. “Or to come pick napkin patterns?”

I pitch a plastic spoon at him and it bounces off his shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “Sheesh, you ask for a little clarity and what do you get?”

“Justin!” Candice barks.

“Right!” he says. “So you remember when we were talking about the FBI investigation into the data breach? Well, it appears our man Lawrence is now a prime suspect. Sources tell the Wall Street Journal that the scope is expanding to include multiple fraud cases that were similar to what happened to PinkBook.”

The girls and I stare at each other in awe. “And they arrested him?”

“That’s the best part,” says Justin. “It says he was trying to board a flight to Hon Kong with a fake passport when they picked him up.”

“Oh, well, that doesn’t look guilty in the slightest,” Jenna says dismissively.

The rest of us have a giggle over that as Justin continues to peer at the screen.

“I can’t believe this,” says Candice. “It’s like karma itself is giving you two a wedding present.”

Justin finally looks at us. “That’s a reminder of what we said to you guys, right?”

“Yes,” Jenna sighs. “No gifts, we remember.”

I lean in close to her ear. “You damn well better have gotten me a gift, woman.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” she whispers back. “We’ve known you for a decade. Of course we got you a gift.”

We burst into giggles again until Justin interrupts us.

“Whoa,” he says. “Some interesting stuff on Twitter about this. Seems like a lot of lawyers have been waiting to collect on a lot of money owed by the Lawrence family. Apparently, they’re big on borrowing, not so big on paying back.”

I wander over to him and drape an arm over his shoulder.

“I guess sometimes people do get what they deserve,” I say, looking at a photo of an indignant Darryl blocking his face from the camera.

“Not always,” says Justin.

“What do you mean?”

He looks up at me. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Awww…” the girls sigh.

I give him a big, wet smack on his lips and flash a wide grin.

“As my father would say, you’re so full of horse manure, your eyes are brown.”

“Maybe he’ll say that when he gets here tomorrow,” says Justin.

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” I groan. “And he’ll probably say it right in front of Diane Preston.”

* * *

I don’t care how much of a power broker you are, every woman is nervous on her wedding day.

That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. I do not want to be the only female CEO bride who ever felt like this.

I take one final look in the long oval mirror that our wedding planner had placed in my dressing tent, about twenty yards from where everyone is gathered for the ceremony. It’s modelled after Meghan Markle’s Stella McCartney gown, for two reasons: first, I thought it was magical and it made me cry when I saw her wearing it last spring, and second, it looks deceptively plain, which means my family shouldn’t be offended by it.

Jenna’s smiling reflection appears at my side. She’s equally stunning in her matron of honor dress, which is done in fall tones to match the season.

“Everything’s perfect out there,” she says. “Everybody’s in their seats, the string quartet is waiting, your dad’s ready to walk you down the aisle. How you managed to choose the exact day that the willow Justin proposed to you under was changing colors is beyond me. And the weather is perfect: 63 degrees and not a breath of wind.”

“I’ve got connections,” I say. “It’s all in who you know.”

“One last thing: your mom is outside asking if she can come in.”

My heart skips a beat. “Of course she can! I just assumed she wouldn’t want to.”

“I’ll send her in,” she says. “Then I’ll meet you next to your new husband.” Her smile is giddy. “Can you believe it? Your husband!”

We clutch each other and do one last ridiculous, girlish jig of excitement before composing ourselves.

“Thanks, Jenna. For everything.”

“Stop it or I’ll cry, and then I’ll have to beat you. I’ll send your mom in.”

She leaves through the flap, and a second later my mother walks in. She’s wearing a plain blue dress and snow white kerchief, as she always does. But that’s what I expected. What I didn’t expect were the tears in her eyes. I place a hand on her shoulder and ask her what’s wrong.

“Nothin,’” she says quietly. “Everythin.’ A mother shouldn’t only see her daughter every five years, Sarah. It’s not what God intended.”

“You’re right. I promise to do better.”

“I know we’re not yer fav’rite folks,” she says. “But we’re yer kin, and we love you with all our hearts. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t have bothered to ask the Bishop for special permission to travel here. We just—well, we just don’t understand you.”

I wrap an arm around her and pull her close so that we can both see ourselves in the mirror.

“We have the same eyes,” I say, “even though we don’t always see things the same way. That’s something, isn’t it?”

“Course it is, love.” She sniffles back tears. “And it’s somethin’ to know yer marryin’ a man who loves you, and who’ll take care of you the way your father does me. Justin is a good man.”

“I know he is,” I smile. “I’m glad you and father approve.”

“We’d have preferred a nice local man, a’course, but if we can’t have that, then he’ll do. He’s strapping, that Justin. Built for barn-raising.”

I cover my smile with my hand and give her a powerful hug.

“Your father’s happy for you, love,” she whispers in my ear. “He won’t say it out loud, but he is. He only wants what’s best for you.”

“I know. Justin is what’s best for me, Mother.”

“It’s in God’s hands,” she says. “And I believe He doesn’t make mistakes, so take that for what it’s worth.”

“I will.”

The opening strains of the wedding march waft through the fall air from the little gazebo bandstand, and Mother adjusts her dress. She takes my hand and leads me out of the tent, where Father is standing stoically in a dark shirt with a black, flat-brimmed hat. For the first time, I see the small group of guests gathered under the willow, and it makes my heart swell.

On the left is my clan: brothers and sisters, in-laws, nieces and nephews, all dressed in virtually the same outfit. All the girls in kerchiefs, all the men in hats. You can tell the married men from the single ones by their beards, or lack thereof.

On the other side of the aisle are the Prestons of East Hampton and their group. Tuxedos for the men, of course, and gorgeous fall gowns for the women. I’m guessing the cost of the clothes alone on that side was more than my family farm brought in last year. And that’s okay.

I catch Craig winking at me, so I smile and raise a hand in return. The glare my father gives me would freeze a waterfall solid.

“He’s just a friend, Papa,” I soothe. “We do that here.”

“Ah,” he says quietly, lifting his head. “Well, it’s passin’ strange, but I suppose I have to expect that from the English.”

We begin the slow, steady march up the aisle, and I see Candice bawling her eyes out on the front row next to my sister Hannah, who’s doing the same. Jenna is in lace on the raised dais, with Nathan taking the opposite spot on the other side.

Next to him, Justin stands in his charcoal suit—he’d wanted a Brioni tux but made the concession to please my family—and he’s looking more nervous than I’ve ever seen him. It makes my heart smile to know that the man who built an empire through sheer will power is humbled by the power of love. And that he respects my family enough to include them in all this—he insisted on paying for everyone’s train ticket from Indiana, after they turned down the offer of a private 737. All my relatives are staying at the Warwick Hotel, but we didn’t tell them how much it costs. I don’t want my father to have a stroke.

As I reach the dais, he stops and turns me to face him. I swear there’s a tear in his eye as he leans in to whisper in my ear.

“Tell him to take care of you,” he says. “You’re more precious than all the riches in the world, Sarah. You tell him he’s the keeper of your heart now, and that God is watching him.”

For some, that might seem strange. To me, it’s the greatest declaration of love I could have hoped for from him. I wipe away a tear and kiss his bearded cheek before he lets go of my hand and I walk the three steps to the top of the stage. Before he turns, Father looks at Justin and nods. He nods back reverently as I take his hand in mine.

“You look like a princess,” he breathes.

“And you look like my knight in shining armor.”

We say our vows along with the justice of the peace—simple, nothing fancy. Two people who swim with sharks don’t have time for flowery words and promises. At least not under the watchful eye of my family.

* * *

The reception at the Preston mansion on the Upper East Side goes as you might expect, with half the room talking about high finance and the Metropolitan Opera, and the other side talking about how the hosts made their money from the devil by selling cosmetics. Fortunately for all of us, it’s over by eight o’clock and Justin are in our limo, headed back to my place soon after.

Back to our place, I mean.

“You’re sure?” I ask him.

“Absolutely. My apartment is like a football stadium. Your place is a real home. We don’t have to live there forever, but for now, I’m very comfortable there.”

I sigh. “I guess I’ll have to find you a drawer in my dresser, then. Or we could always move into the Jetsons house in East Hampton.”

“I think I’m going to put that on the market,” he grins. “Although I guess I better ask you what you think, seeing as how you own half of it now.”

“I’ll never get used to that. I was thinking earlier today that, with my net worth right now, I could have five billion dollars in my purse, lose it, and still have five billion dollars left in the bank.”

“I find it helps not to think about the numbers. It can mess with your head. That said, maybe don’t carry five billion around with you too often.”

“That’s strictly for special occasions,” I say solemnly.

He wraps his arm around my shoulders as we pull onto Grand Street and kisses my cheek.

“We should visit your family more often,” he says. “After all, they’re my family, now, too.”

“You’re right. But be prepared—they’ll put you to work the minute we get there. And you’re not going to be able to hire someone to pick your napkin patterns there, buster.”

“Nevah bin ‘fraid a hahd work,” he says in a passable Pennsylvania Dutch accent.

I slide my hand up his thigh, feeling the steely muscle below the fabric of his pants until I reach the spot that makes him twitch and suck in a ragged breath.

“You better not be,” I purr in his ear. “Because your work hasn’t even started yet.”

He has to walk hunched over just a tiny bit when Danny opens our door. But he has no problem lifting me and carrying me up the stairs and over the threshold of our new home. In fact, he moves so fast I’m worried he might fall over.

* * *

My princess dress is in a puddle on the floor, next to the pile Justin’s suit made as he all but tore it off himself. We’re naked, standing face to face, our fingers entwined, our eyes locked. Naked in front of each other for the first time as husband and wife.

“Equal partners,” I say.

“Equal partners.”

I flash a wicked grin and grab his shaft, already as hard and hot as iron from a forge.

“Does that mean every time I come, you come?”

“It’s in the contract,” he pants as I stroke him.

His mouth closes over my nipple and all thought of witty banter flies out of my head. His hands reach down to grip my ass as I bury my mouth in his throat, tasting the hot skin there. A few moments later, I pull him by his erection towards the bed and lie down on the coverlet. Instantly, he has my legs apart and is kissing me in the most secret of places, send wave after juicy wave through my body with each stroke of his tongue.

After what seems like an eternity, I sit up and pull him towards me. He obliges as I manipulate him into a position under me. I turn myself and climb on top of him, so that we’re facing between each other’s legs.

“Equal partners,” I moan before pulling him into my mouth.

Justin responds instantly, his hips lifting every so slightly, but he doesn’t forget his end of the deal. He adds his trademark moves, slipping his tongue around my most sensitive part and drawing it in, applying pressure that can’t be denied, and I shudder against him with my first orgasm. It carries me along as if I’m a leaf in a stream.

“That one’s a bonus,” he says, his voice muffled by my thighs.

I giggle in spite of myself. In return, I dip all the way down the length of him and he groans in appreciation. He works his fingers on me as I grab the base of his cock firmly and pull, up and down, in time with my mouth.

God, it’s amazing how good we are together. No competition, just the two of us working at making the other happy, knowing in our hearts that the other is doing the same for us. Then his mouth is on me again and I’m desperate to have him inside me.

“Justin,” I sigh. “I need you now.”

My legs lift and I roll onto my back on the mattress, but he quickly takes my hips and lifts me back up. I don’t know what he’s doing, but I trust him. A second later, I’m facing down at him, my legs straddling his.

“Equal partners,” he says with a wide grin.

I take him by the base of his cock and slide him into me, every inch bringing a new jolt of pleasure with it, until finally he’s engulfed by me. I press my palms against his chiseled chest and my head drops backwards. I just want to savor the moment, the feeling of being together, of being one.

The look on Justin’s face tells me he won’t last much longer. I know how he feels—there’s a new element to our lovemaking, it seems. It’s not just bodies moving in time with each other; it’s hearts beating as one, and it makes the physical sensations that much more intense.

“All right,” I moan as I brace myself against him. “Let’s finish this merger.”

Justin takes off like a race horse, grabbing my hips and thrusting into me. I respond by pushing back against him, matching him stroke for stroke, meeting him halfway each time, somehow doubling my pleasure by doing so. Finally I can’t take it anymore and I drop forward onto him, my breasts against his rising chest, and he lifts one last time, giving me everything, as our lips meet and my tongue wraps around his. Coming together for our climax, sharing everything.

Equal partners, in every possible way.