PART ONE
You are cordially invited to the union of Noah Malley and Connor Murphy…
Noah’s been sat here for an hour stuffing these things into envelopes. Over two hundred of them in total. He’s got a papercut, and he’s got a bit of a headache, and there’s a chance he’s a little bit grumpy.
He’s only recognised about eight names on these invitations.
It had been a bit of a shock, when he presented Connor with his little list before they went to the printers, and then Connor countered with his own list that filled four pages of A4.
“Do you actually know every single person on that list?” Noah asked him, incredulous, to which Connor had replied, quite simply, “Yes.”
And then Noah’s idea of a small, intimate wedding had suddenly been smothered, and now it’s become the social event of the season.
Because Connor knows people. Connor is known by people. He’s a name; he has a reputation. It comes with being rich, with being powerful, with having your money date back generations but not being defined by it, because he’s made his mark on his own standing.
Connor’s bastard of a cousin, a wiry dick by the name of Cormack, had taken Noah aside one evening not so long ago, when he and Connor had first decided to get married. Taken Noah aside and into a bathroom, drunk out of his mind and voice slurring. Leaned into his space and breathed whiskey-scented words onto his face.
“There’s no way you’re good enough for him, kid.”
Noah had rightly told him where to go, and they’d had a bit of a scuffle which—embarrassingly—Connor’s aunt had to break up, but Cormack’s words filter into his brain often, too often for him to ignore.
He’s just a council estate scally, and he’s yet to figure out why Connor’s chosen him.
It’s been the very definition of a whirlwind romance, so much so that Noah’s barely had chance to get his feet back on the ground. He met Connor six months ago in a gay bar, an upmarket gay bar he usually avoided through fear of standing out, but to which Ron had taken him for a treat. Noah had been at the bar, and this man had crowded in close, all tall and blond and charismatic. Bought Noah a drink, took him onto the dance floor. Said he was there for his friend’s leaving party, that the friend had just left and now he was looking for something else to do.
There was no doubt in Noah’s mind that he was that something else .
Connor had taken Noah back to his place, a swanky penthouse apartment the likes of which Noah had only ever seen on TV, and they’d fucked wildly and with abandon three times before dawn. Noah’s plan was to leave the next morning, but Connor insisted on taking him out for breakfast, then for dinner, and two weeks later Noah realised he was in a relationship with the man.
Connor didn’t seem to mind that Noah lived in a scummy little flat, or that he worked as a maintenance man in a local warehouse, or that he had nothing to his name but a loud mouth and impressive bedroom skills. He took Noah as he was, and he showed him his world, full of bright lights and money and expensive champagne, business deals that often felt a little shady. Connor works in entertainment, something to do with models, but Noah’s never really figured out how he has so much money, because as far as he knows, Connor doesn’t touch his family’s fortune. Says he’s always wanted to stand on his own two feet, whatever methods necessary, and to Noah’s mind those methods are none of his concern.
Four months later Connor proposed, and the next day he gave Noah the keys to an empty shop he’d bought in the village, and a blank cheque for the refurb to make it into a coffee house. Then days later he took Noah into a glitzy apartment in the same street and told him he’d bought it for them, and now not only does Noah have a wealthy, gorgeous fiancé, he also has his own business and a beautiful home, when just over two months ago all he had was a flat he
You are cordially invited to the union of Noah Malley and Connor Murphy…
Noah’s been sat here for an hour stuffing these things into envelopes. Over two hundred of them in total. He’s got a papercut, and he’s got a bit of a headache, and there’s a chance he’s a little bit grumpy.
He’s only recognised about eight names on these invitations.
It had been a bit of a shock, when he presented Connor with his little list before they went to the printers, and then Connor countered with his own list that filled four pages of A4.
“Do you actually know every single person on that list?” Noah asked him, incredulous, to which Connor had replied, quite simply, “Yes.”
And then Noah’s idea of a small, intimate wedding had suddenly been smothered, and now it’s become the social event of the season.
Because Connor knows people. Connor is known by people. He’s a name; he has a reputation. It comes with being rich, with being powerful, with having your money date back generations but not being defined by it, because he’s made his mark on his own standing.
Connor’s bastard of a cousin, a wiry dick by the name of Cormack, had taken Noah aside one evening not so long ago, when he and Connor had first decided to get married. Taken Noah aside and into a bathroom, drunk out of his mind and voice slurring. Leaned into his space and breathed whiskey-scented words onto his face.
“There’s no way you’re good enough for him, kid.”
Noah had rightly told him where to go, and they’d had a bit of a scuffle which—embarrassingly—Connor’s aunt had to break up, but Cormack’s words filter into his brain often, too often for him to ignore.
He’s just a council estate scally, and he’s yet to figure out why Connor’s chosen him.
It’s been the very definition of a whirlwind romance, so much so that Noah’s barely had chance to get his feet back on the ground. He met Connor six months ago in a gay bar, an upmarket gay bar he usually avoided through fear of standing out, but to which Ron had taken him for a treat. Noah had been at the bar, and this man had crowded in close, all tall and blond and charismatic. Bought Noah a drink, took him onto the dance floor. Said he was there for his friend’s leaving party, that the friend had just left and now he was looking for something else to do.
There was no doubt in Noah’s mind that he was that something else .
Connor had taken Noah back to his place, a swanky penthouse apartment the likes of which Noah had only ever seen on TV, and they’d fucked wildly and with abandon three times before dawn. Noah’s plan was to leave the next morning, but Connor insisted on taking him out for breakfast, then for dinner, and two weeks later Noah realised he was in a relationship with the man.
Connor didn’t seem to mind that Noah lived in a scummy little flat, or that he worked as a maintenance man in a local warehouse, or that he had nothing to his name but a loud mouth and impressive bedroom skills. He took Noah as he was, and he showed him his world, full of bright lights and money and expensive champagne, business deals that often felt a little shady. Connor works in entertainment, something to do with models, but Noah’s never really figured out how he has so much money, because as far as he knows, Connor doesn’t touch his family’s fortune. Says he’s always wanted to stand on his own two feet, whatever methods necessary, and to Noah’s mind those methods are none of his concern.
Four months later Connor proposed, and the next day he gave Noah the keys to an empty shop he’d bought in the village, and a blank cheque for the refurb to make it into a coffee house. Then days later he took Noah into a glitzy apartment in the same street and told him he’d bought it for them, and now not only does Noah have a wealthy, gorgeous fiancé, he also has his own business and a beautiful home, when just over two months ago all he had was a flat he
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