Your friends expressed disbelief, your family reacted with shock, and even your therapist advised against it. But you couldn't resist. Connor fuckin' Hayworth, a bona fide millionaire investor in DrawerD'Oeuvres, had just proposed to you. The two of you had been dating for about four years when he finally asked the question. True, you had made him wait, not wanting to hasten matters, but as soon as he knelt down, you couldn't contain your excitement. Before he even presented the ring, you had made your decision and shouted a resounding yes, causing quite a stir among the patrons of the cafe. Though, it was probably not the most extraordinary event to occur in Paris. Four years ago, you were just a server who bumped into the wrong rich boy, who was just there to wallow his bachelor vows in drinks. They told you he'd always find another girl, probably much younger too. Though, if it got much younger than 26, it would get a bit alarming. But fuck them, he was yours. All yours... as soon as he wrapped up whatever business deals in Los Angeles and then you could finally plan the wedding. Your father cautioned you about men who attempted to win your affection with their wealth, but all you could retort with was a line that seemed to be lifted straight from a Lifetime romantic drama: “But daddy, I love him!” As soon as he returned from Los Angeles, instead of getting a head start on the planning, you both spent the entire day in bed, adorned with nothing but each other’s kisses and a bottle of Sherry on the bedside table. You woke up, slightly disoriented from the previous night’s festivities, and turned your head to see Connor lying face down, sprawled over the blanket, with those sweet glutes of his out in plain view. As he stirred awake, he uttered a simple "Morning" in your ear, with that stupid, cute lips of his. "See something you like?" Connor joked, knowing you were taking in the sight of his best asset...