Fiona ghosted her lips over mine. “Your fiancée could use some worshiping.”
FIONA
I was wearing my cupcake wedding dress, about to marry Max the day after my thirtieth birthday.
We were standing on the sidewalk outside The Red Room, which had been magically transformed by our friends and family members in the past twenty-four hours. Roxy had dragged me back to that boutique store this morning, and I’d walked out with a princess-style wedding dress with a giant skirt and a long train and tiny flowers sewed into the fabric. I’d let her do my makeup, even my eyeliner, and tucked my hair back into a classic bun. A couple of diamonds and some heels, and I was ready to be a fucking bride.
“Are you ready, Fi?” My mom asked. She and my dad stood at the door, holding it open with twin smiles that radiated love. Onlookers kept whistling and cheering when they passed us. I’d told my parents to come as they were, which meant leather vests and ripped jeans and hair dyed pink.
I loved it.
“I was born ready.” I winked.
“Yes, you certainly were,” Dad said, holding his arm out. “And let us just say, before you go inside, that your mother and I love you more than anything on this planet. You make us so proud every day.”
I hugged them both, blinking back tears. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Now let’s get you wed to that cute Max Devlin,” Mom said. “We’ve got a fucking party to get to.”
With both of my parents on my arm, we walked through The Red Room. On stage, Electric Roses began playing “Just My Imagination.”
We turned a corner.
The crowd parted.
Max looked up at my entrance. I stopped mid-step, stunned by that hurricane of happiness. I watched a storm of emotions move across his face. His jaw dropped. He closed it.
Then he cocked that wicked grin my way.
My knees went weak. I’d never seen Max Devlin in an honest-to-god suit before. He wasn’t entirely clean-shaven, per my request, and you could just see the tattoos on his hands peeking out.
My anti-Prince Charming winked at me.
Such a fucking flirt even at our wedding.
My parents and I kept walking as the music built. Mateo stood in the center, ready to be our officiant. Next to Max stood Pop, also in a suit. He was red-cheeked with tears silently tracking down his face. Angela held his hand, smiling brightly. Rafael held his and Mateo’s son, Felix, in his arms.
We hadn’t seen Max’s mom since the week of the benefit show, which was to be expected. He’d called to tell her about the wedding, of course. She was surprised but sounded happy. With the short timeline, she wasn’t able to make it in time from her new place in Las Vegas.
I was secretly happy Max wouldn’t have to hope she’d show.
Roxy and Edward stood to the left, looking hopelessly in love and beyond excited for me. She mouthed I love you, and I mouthed it back. The crowd around us was filled with family and friends, all the people who cared about us, who lifted us up when we needed it and caught us when we stumbled. Who believed in music and dancing and chasing their joy.
The moment I reached Max felt still, breathless, powerful. We entwined our hands eagerly, Max’s dark eyes studying mine. He was just slightly teary, but mostly all big, happy grins.
I was too.
My parents stepped behind me. Mateo cleared his throat as the song ended and the audience quieted.
“Thank you, everyone, for being here at this last-minute wedding.” The audience laughed. Max squeezed my fingers and tugged me closer. “Given the tight timeline, this ceremony isn’t exactly official or legally binding, but Max and Fiona have assured me they will marry at the courthouse as well. But given their love and excitement, they couldn’t wait a moment longer to declare their love, commitment, and partnership in front of their community.”
It was true, what Max had said last night during his proposal. Our life together was so beautiful, I didn’t find myself yearning to check relationship goals off of some list. We were just blissfully delighted. That was all that mattered.
But, deep down, the little girl that dreamed of white dresses and romantic ceremonies still wanted the symbolism of marrying your soul mate in front of those you loved the most. Proclaiming to the world that Max Devlin was the love of my life, now and forever.
“It is an honor for me to officiate this wedding for my two closest friends,” Mateo continued. “I know many of us in the room took bets on these two when they planned that benefit show.”
More laughter. Pop grinned, shaking his head.
“For those who had married within two years of meeting, you’ve won the big prize, so talk to me after,” Mateo added.
Max pressed a kiss to my hand, eyes dancing with mirth.
To us, Mateo said, “I love you, hermano. And Fiona, welcome to our family, hermanita.” He swept us into a big hug, whispering something in Max’s ear. Max nodded, clapped him on the shoulder. I heard him say, I love you. Behind Max’s shoulder, Pop gave me a watery smile.
He and Angela had gotten married at the courthouse about six months ago. Given both of their histories, they hadn’t wanted a fuss, merely to formalize their love. She’d worn a yellow dress and carried a bouquet of red roses, of course.
“Max and Fiona wanted a short ceremony, given their desire to…” Mateo paused, arched a brow. “… party all fucking night.”
A roar from the audience. The guitarist played a quick riff that had everyone laughing.
“So before we start, these two lovebirds would like to speak.”
Max squeezed my hands. “I’m a little nervous,” he whispered.
“Me too,” I said, biting my lip. We inhaled and exhaled together. I stepped even closer, held Max’s hands, and looked him directly in the eye. To Max, to the audience, I said, “I love you with my whole heart, Max Devlin. Before I met you, I’d spent my entire life waiting to fall in love. I’m so very grateful you were the one who caught me when I fell.”
Max kissed the center of my palm. I could feel his fingers shaking. “I love you,” he said. “Of everything I could say right now, I just want you to know that I spent years searching for a home. For my home.” He took a steadying breath. “It was you all along, princess.”
I kissed him. Even though it wasn’t technically time—but I was a Quinn, and we were rule-breakers at heart. Max grinned against my mouth. The audience clapped and cheered.
When we parted, my body was alight with sparks from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.
Apparently, I’d loved Max Devlin from the very moment we met.
MAX
It wasn’t considered a good night unless it ended at dawn with breakfast at the Westway Diner.
The Quinn-Devlin wedding party took over the diner, crashing into the vinyl seats as coffee was delivered. We had, as promised, danced all night long. The Electric Roses played one hell of a set, with The Hand Grenades stepping in to play for a few hours around midnight. Fiona had kicked off her heels and danced in that giant, gorgeous, fairy-tale dress all night. We had food delivered and endless rounds of drinks, and Roxy had made us a dress-shaped wedding cake made entirely of cupcakes. “Not one, but two cupcake dresses,” she’d said with a wink. Fiona hugged her so hard they tumbled to the ground, laughing.
Pop spun Angela around the room all night, dancing like I hadn’t seen him in years. Mateo and Rafael tried their hardest to get me properly drunk, even as Mrs. Rivera chided us with good humor.
Fiona glittered like an actual princess, and I had layers of lipstick smeared on my mouth from our constant kissing. My bad-ass spitfire of a wife even crowd-surfed with her sister—strongly encouraged, of course, by their parents.
But the sun was rising now, and our bags were packed on the back of my motorcycle. I’d booked us a cabin in the Catskills, and I was very much looking forward to long evenings in front of the fireplace.
Naked. Definitely naked.
While everyone ate and la
ughed and fell asleep at the tables, Fiona slipped out of the bathroom with her sister. Roxy held the cupcake dress in one hand.
Fiona was now wearing a short white blazer-dress that was part eighties-style, part lawyer-chic. It was short, showing off her long legs and high heels.
She sauntered over to me with mischief in that smile.
“Damn, princess,” I said. “You trying to kill your husband dead?”
She twirled for me. “You like it?”
I yanked her against my chest so I could whisper against her ear. “I love it as much as I’m going to love fucking you in it. Heels on, too.”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered.
I laughed, gave her a messy kiss. “You ready to ride off into the sunrise with me?”
She indicated her short skirt. “That’s why I changed wedding dresses. Much easier to ride a bike in.”
She was my dream woman.
As Fiona said long goodbyes to her family, I wrapped Pop in a big bear hug. His courthouse wedding to Angela had been the cutest damn thing in the world, and the grumpy bastard wasn’t even that grumpy anymore.
“I’m real happy for ya, Maxy,” he said, clearing his throat. “You make me so proud. You and Fiona, you got something special, you hear me?”
“I hear you,” I said. “Thank you for believing in us this whole time. And for throwing the best fucking spontaneous wedding party ever.”
“For my son? Anything,” he said. “We’re a team.”
“Always.” I hugged him again, in the same diner where he’d sat here, eighteen months ago, and asked me to help him send a message to a woman online named Angela.
At the same diner where he’d worried, in his own Pop way, that I’d never find this kind of love in my life. My father didn’t hide his tears of joy during our ceremony.
I’d cried at his and Angela’s wedding too.
A few minutes and a few more hugs later, Fiona and I finally walked through the doors of the diner, onto the streets of New York City. Holding hands, we walked to my bike, which had a small sign on the back that said Just Fucking Married. All around us, the city was waking up, people rushing to the subway, their jobs, walking their dogs. The leaves on the trees were changing colors. Fiona shivered slightly in the November chill, so I pulled her against me, keeping her warm.
I tilted my wife’s chin up, gazed in her bright green eyes. “I wish we’d just gotten married the first night we met.”
She laughed. “I agree. This whole getting married thing is way too much fun. And I have to say, you cut a fine figure in a tailored suit.”
“Fancy, huh?”
She pressed a soft kiss to my lips. “I like you just the way you are.”
“And I really like this dress.”
“How else will we fulfill our motorcycle fantasy… again?”
I held her close, tucking my chin on top of her head. We stayed like that for a second, hugging and swaying together.
Two newlyweds, about to set off on their next adventure.
“You ready for a ride, princess?”
Her smirk was priceless. “I was born ready.”
And as Fiona and I roared down the road, towards our destiny, I knew I was the luckiest guy in the whole damn world.
Want more Max and Fiona?
Pre-Epilogue, Max and Fiona are about to embark on a twenty-day road trip on their motorcycles together, traveling from L.A. back to NYC. Click the link for the bonus epilogue and follow Fiona and her anti-Prince Charming as they swoon their way across the country on their epic road trip!
TAP HERE: To check out this bonus scene!
A Note from the Author
Dear reader,
Thank you for reading Fiona and Max’s swoony love story! Readers have been asking for a book about Fiona Quinn since they first met her as Roxy’s sister in Strictly Professional. When she first came to life on the page, I was instantly enamored with this delicate, graceful beauty in a pink pantsuit (who cursed like a sailor and danced like a punk). Sitting down to write Not the Marrying Kind, I wasn’t at all nervous to capture her voice. She’d been with me since the summer of 2018, when I was first drafting Strictly Professional. And like a typical Quinn, she came hurtling through my brain, kicking and singing. I think many of us can relate to Fiona’s journey, of charting a new path for ourselves while trying to reconcile the person we once had been. I loved watching her learn that her joy did not need to be linear or quantifiable – and that embracing her authentic self was the key to her own happiness.
Of course, I had to pair Fiona with Max Devlin – the cocky bad boy who never plans because life is too much damn fun. Writing Max was such a fucking treat. I didn’t mean to make him such a secretly romantic softie, but suddenly there he was, smelling Fiona’s hair and picking her flowers and worried about his love-sick symptoms. I loved his easy confidence, his earnest affection, and (of course) his dirty mouth. And who knew Pop (and Angela!!) would worm his way into my heart with his gruff (but secretly sweet) ways? The scene where Max and Fiona help Pop through his first date nerves at Central Park is, hands down, one of my favorite things I’ve ever written.
My other favorite scenes to write in this book: Max seeing Fiona dancing to The Clash, Edward and Roxy installing their sex swing, the Quinn sisters stage-diving, wedding dress shopping with Roxy, the hot-sex-simulation on the motorcycle, the spontaneous proposal/wedding and of course that first kiss. Every time I got to the part where Max goes “hey any of you guys know what to wear on a first date?” I got goosebumps.
This book ended up being my love letter to live music – which is my family’s actual number one thing to do together. Like the Quinn’s, my parents are true music lovers, and would bring my brother and I to concerts starting at a young age. I don’t usually write to music, but this book had a strong and influential soundtrack that I’m sure was obvious while reading! Every song mentioned in this book was a) a personal favorite and b) played on repeat while writing that scene. Click here to access the Spotify playlist (it’s called I Don’t Think We’re Just Friends)
Movie and music buffs will notice that this book is also a love letter to Empire Records. The plight of The Red Room was based almost exclusively on what happened to the real-life CBGB (the true heart of punk rock and new wave in NYC).
As the Quinn family would say: go chase some joy (and don’t give a shit).
Or as Max would say: go make some really good bad decisions.
Love,
Kathryn
Strictly Professional (Preview Chapter)
Roxy and Edward’s deliciously dirty love story is told in my romance novel STRICTLY PROFESSIONAL, which is free in KU. And if you need to be tempted, please enjoy this preview chapter:
ROXY
It was nearing midnight, and the slightly shabby tattoo parlor that I owned was dead yet again.
Outside, the new sign I’d installed six months ago flashed, cheerfully soldiering on even though half the bulbs were burned out. It was supposed to say ‘Roxy’s’, but the mismatched bulbs made the sign look like ancient runes instead of letters.
We were dead, and that was a problem. The second problem was the chart I was staring at.
“Tell me what these squiggles mean,” Mack said, sitting on a bar stool with a cup of chamomile tea. Mack, short for ‘Machete,’ was one of my oldest friends. He was huge, white, bald man. Tattoos covered every spare inch of his body, including his face. He gave off a terrifying first impression, until you got to know him and he started talking to you about the importance of yoga and meditation.
“Well,” I said with a sigh. “This squiggle is revenue. This one is profit. This one is expenses.”
Mack rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and pointed to the ‘profit’ line. “Then shouldn’t this squiggle be higher?”
I bit my lip. “Yes. Yes, it should.”
My laptop sat on a large stack of papers and books – research to finish a paper I had due in two days. I was six months away from finish
ing my MBA, but so far the fifteen hours a week I spent in classes didn’t seem to be helping the actual small business I owned.
“It’ll grow, Roxy. You’ll see. The only way out is through,” Mack said, sipping his tea. Mack was the only person in my life who could spout that nonsense at me.
“What way is that?” I asked, smiling grimly and shutting my laptop. I rubbed my eyes, feeling the exhaustion of three tattoo clients, class, and hours of studying settle over my body.
“Oh, sorry. I was just reading the quote on my tea bag,” Mack said, flipping it over so I could see.
I laughed, and Mack pulled me in for a hug. “Listen, I hate to run, but Rita expected me home hours ago. Is it okay if I…?”
I gave him a shove. “Go home to your beautiful wife and beautiful children. We’re basically cleaned up. It’ll take me an hour, tops.”
Mack slid his leather jacket on, grabbed his motorcycle helmet. “And you feel okay, locking up on your own?”
I arched an eyebrow. “Of course. It’s just me and the hipsters across the street.”
Mack opened the door, giving me a mock salute before leaving. I could see a long line of people waiting for the new artisanal ice cream parlor that had opened across the street. Next to it was a new brunch spot and next to that was a pet store that specialized in organic treats.
Five years ago, this block of Washington Heights, a historically Dominican neighborhood, was mostly older homes, families, and bodegas. But the neighborhood was growing more expensive by the day.
I let out another sigh. Before I’d purchased this parlor, it had been called ‘Skull and Bones’ and had been run by a real piece of shit named Arrow. It’d been around since the seventies, thriving during New York’s seediest years, specializing in vintage sailor tattoos. I’d always admired it, and after finishing my tattoo apprenticeship, I’d applied to be an artist there. I’d been thrilled when Arrow hired me.
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