"I'm Her Husband."

Arianna nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I noticed you kept looking at it, so I picked it up for you."

Maxwell froze. For a split second, his face went completely blank.

Arianna, misreading the silence, hesitated. "Do you not like it? If you don't, I can just—"

She reached to put it back, but Maxwell cut her off, his voice raspy. "I love it."

He clamped a hand over her slender wrist, his expression instantly melting into relief. A slow, charmed smirk spread across his face. "I love this cake. I was actually just about to grab one myself."

His eyes crinkled with amusement as he leaned in, lowering his voice. "Mrs. King, does this count as being in sync?"

Arianna blinked. "I... I suppose it does."

The air between them felt thick with sweetness. Arianna felt dizzy, nodding along like a puppet. "Yeah, definitely."

Maxwell’s smile deepened. "I think so too."

He picked up the bakery tongs and dropped an identical slice onto their tray. The gesture was possessive, almost overwhelming, but his tone remained devastatingly gentle. "This looks pretty good. You should have one too. I have a feeling you’ll love it."

Arianna’s smile widened. It wasn't just a feeling; she already did. The cake was smothered in rich chocolate ganache and crowned with vibrant, glistening cherries. At first glance, she knew she couldn't say no.

***

Not far away, Miles Young watched the whole scene unfold.

He hadn't intended to stare, but his eyes seemed to have a mind of their own. The clingy, affectionate tension between them was impossible to ignore—Arianna’s bashful shyness, the undisguised adoration in Maxwell’s eyes.

They weren't just dating; they were clearly in the thick of the honeymoon phase. In all the time he’d known her, Miles had never seen Arianna look so genuinely happy.

They finished up their shopping, and a store clerk hurried over to help with the heavy trays. As they made their way to the register, walking behind the rest of the group, they rounded a corner of the dessert display. Maxwell reached out, pulling Arianna into his side to keep her from bumping into the metal shelving.

Miles glanced toward Cameron Hughes.

Cameron was hunched over his phone, locked in a game with Noah Carter. Miles looked away, unbothered, and unlocked his own phone to scroll through some clips. He had no intention of telling Cameron what he’d just seen.

However, Alexis Morgan happened to be seated facing the bakery’s glass doors. She glanced up just in time to see Arianna settling the bill, then walking out the door, trailing after a man.

She nudged Cameron’s shoulder. "Hey, you see that?"

Cameron was deep in a losing streak, his screen flashing with death timers as the opposing team steamrolled him. He groaned, eyes fixed on the screen, voice sharp with irritation. "Don't bug me. I'm in a game."

"I just saw Arianna."

Cameron froze, his head snapping up. "Where?"

Alexis gestured toward the glass door. "Just walked out." She studied his reaction, letting the words hang in the air with deliberate slowness. "She was with a guy. Looked like Maxwell."

Before the last word even left her lips, Cameron had thrown his phone onto the table and bolted.

The other patrons stared as the man who had been lounging calmly on the sofa suddenly launched himself to his feet, weaving through the store and shoving the glass door open. He sprinted toward the parking lot, his handsome frame looking uncharacteristically desperate and disheveled.

He reached the edge of the lot just in time to see a black Bentley pulling away, merging into the stream of traffic on the main road.

Cameron knew that license plate.

Between the fundraiser gala and this moment, the coincidences were piling up until they were impossible to deny. He stood there, frozen, watching the Bentley shrink into the distance. With every passing second, he watched Arianna drift further away from his reach.

***

They arrived at Rosemary’s apartment right at noon.

Arianna had called her grandmother the night before, mentioning she was bringing a "friend" for lunch. Rosemary had grilled her, asking if the guest was a man or a woman. Arianna had played it coy: "You'll see when we get there."

Regardless of who it was, her granddaughter was coming home, and that was enough. "Just get here early," Rosemary had laughed. "I'm cooking up a storm."

Sure enough, as they reached the landing, the scent of a home-cooked feast wafted out to meet them. Arianna pulled her keys from her purse, but hesitated, glancing at Maxwell, who was juggling a dozen shopping bags. "Are you nervous?"

Maxwell wasn't nervous. He had fantasized about this exact moment a thousand times—a future that actually included her. Now that it was real, he felt nothing but a surge of adrenaline.

But he saw the worry in Arianna’s eyes, so he nodded, playing the part. "A little. It's my first time meeting the family."

"It's fine," Arianna soothed, reaching out to pat his arm. "My grandmother is wonderful."

The lock clicked open. Arianna’s voice was soft and steady. "She’s going to love you. Trust me."

Rosemary was just stepping out of the kitchen with a platter of food when they entered. Her face lit up at the sight of her granddaughter. "Arianna! You're back."

"Grandma!"

Then, Rosemary noticed the man standing behind her.

He was tall, his broad shoulders making the entryway feel suddenly cramped. His features were sharp and elegant, his eyes carrying a warmth that made him seem approachable despite his stature. She had assumed Arianna was pulling her leg, but here stood a man.

"Arianna, who is this?"

"Grandma, this is Maxwell. I—"

Arianna choked on her words. The title felt so heavy, so foreign on her tongue. She struggled to find a natural way to say it, but Maxwell stepped forward, taking the lead.

"Nice to meet you, ma'am. I’m Maxwell. I’m Arianna’s husband. We got our marriage license a few days ago, and I wanted to come by to pay my respects."

Rosemary started to chuckle, thinking it was a joke, but as the gravity of his words set in, the smile died on her lips.

Arianna saw the shock wash over her grandmother’s face and squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm so sorry, Grandma. I should have told you first..."

"It’s my fault," Maxwell interrupted, his gaze fixed on Rosemary, his tone sincere. "I was the one who pushed for us to file the paperwork. If you’re going to be angry at anyone, let it be me. I should have come to see you sooner."

Arianna stared at him, stunned. He was taking the blame for everything, even though she was the one who had made the call.

Rosemary, a woman who had weathered enough life to know the truth when she heard it, stood in silence for a few seconds. She looked past Maxwell to her granddaughter. "Arianna," she asked gently, "did he force you into this?"

"No," Arianna replied, her voice firm. "Grandma, it was my choice."

Rosemary’s face softened. She set the platter on the table. "Well, if it’s a mutual choice, then what’s the point in being angry? Don't just stand there in the doorway. Come inside, wash your hands, and eat!"

She turned her attention to Maxwell. "Maxwell, right? What are you just standing there for? Come over here and see if you like my cooking."

Surprised and overwhelmed, Arianna sprinted over and buried her face in her grandmother's apron. "Grandma."

"Oh, you," Rosemary laughed, patting her back. "It’s a good day, no tears allowed. Now let go, you’re squeezing the life out of me!"

Arianna released her, wiping away a few stray tears of relief. Rosemary’s calloused fingers brushed gently against her cheek. "Don't cry. You're finally home, be happy."

Even Maxwell was stunned. He hadn't expected the news to be so easily accepted. He realized then what it must have been like for Arianna—sitting on that college track field years ago, crying because she missed her grandmother so much.

While Arianna was in the kitchen washing up, Rosemary turned to Maxwell, her voice calm and measured.

"Maxwell, I trust my granddaughter’s judgment. The person she chooses to spend her life with... he can't be a bad man."