Too late Mr Sheffield

When her ex-fiancé Danny Imperiali shows up with a ring and promises of a fresh start, Fran says yes — even though her heart still belongs to Maxwell.

Now Fran is planning a wedding in Queens, Maxwell is trying (and failing) to hide his jealousy, and the Sheffield household will never be the same. Is this Fran’s happily-ever-after, or the biggest mistake of her life?

Spoiler: Sometimes you have to say yes to the wrong man before you can end up with the right one. 💍❤️

Chapter Text

-1-

Fran Fine was pacing her bedroom in Queens, heels clicking against the floor.

"Honestly," she muttered to Val, who was lying across the bed flipping through a magazine. "I can't take it anymore, Val. One minute he’s lookin’ at me like I’m the only woman in the world, the next he’s talkin’ about ‘professional boundaries.’ Professional boundaries, can you believe it? I’ve been professional about this for over a year!"

Val looked up, chewing gum thoughtfully. "Maybe he’s just shy?"

"Shy? Val, this man runs Broadway shows, tells actors what to do for a livin’, but he can’t tell me he likes me?" Fran threw her hands up dramatically. "I feel like I’m waitin’ around for Prince Charming when all I’m gettin’ is Prince Commitment Issues."

There was a knock on the door. Fran, still fuming, yanked it open—only to freeze.
"Danny?"

Her ex-fiancé stood there, looking surprisingly put-together. New suit, new haircut, same smug grin.
"Hey, Frannie."

Val’s eyes widened. "Ooh, drama," she whispered, sliding off the bed and making a not-so-subtle exit.

Fran crossed her arms. "What do you want, Danny? You already broke my heart once—twice if you count that time you left me for Heather Biblow."

Danny took a deep breath. "Listen, Fran… I screwed up, okay? Big time. But I’ve been thinking—about us, about what we had. And I realized, I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life wonderin’ why I let you go."

Fran blinked. This was new. Usually Danny just wanted to borrow her car.

Before she could reply, he dropped to one knee and pulled out a small velvet box.
"Frannie Fine," he said, looking up at her with a seriousness she wasn’t used to, "will you marry me—for real this time?"

Fran’s breath caught in her throat. For a split second, Maxwell Sheffield’s face flashed through her mind: the way he smiled when she made him laugh, the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. And then she remembered him saying, just last night, that they were “just employer and employee” and that nothing more could ever happen.

Her chest ached.

Maybe she was wasting her time waiting for him.
"Yes," she heard herself say, surprising even her own ears. "Yes, Danny, I’ll marry you."

Danny jumped up, grinning from ear to ear. "You won’t regret this, Frannie. We’re gonna have the life we always wanted!"

Before Fran could respond, Danny wrapped his arms around her and kissed her — a deep, triumphant kiss that left her slightly breathless.

Fran smiled weakly when he finally pulled back, but her heart wasn’t racing the way it should have been.

Because as Danny held her close, all she could picture was Maxwell Sheffield’s face — and the look he’d give her when he found out.

-2-

Fran was still a little dazed when she arrived back at the Sheffield townhouse later that evening. Her engagement ring — big, shiny, and just a little too flashy — caught the light with every step she took.

She paused in front of the mirror in the foyer, taking a deep breath. "Okay, Fine," she whispered to herself. "Just rip off the Band-Aid. You’re a grown woman. You made a choice. And you are not gonna cry when he looks at you with those big brown eyes."

"Miss Fine?"

Fran spun around to see Niles, who was holding a silver tray and giving her his best butler smile — which usually meant trouble. "Well, don’t you look… sparkly tonight," he said, eyeing the ring.

Fran tried to laugh casually. "Oh this? Yeah, just a little somethin’ somethin’. Where’s Mr. Sheffield?"

"In the living room with the children and Miss Babcock," Niles said, raising an eyebrow. "Shall I announce you, or would you prefer to make a grand entrance and send Miss Babcock into cardiac arrest?"

Fran rolled her eyes. "Oh, just let me in."

Niles smirked knowingly and stepped aside.

Inside, Maxwell was sitting with Grace on his lap, helping her with a puzzle, while Maggie and Brighton were arguing over the TV remote. C.C. was perched on the sofa, sipping wine like she owned the place.

"Hi everyone!" Fran said, a little too brightly.

All heads turned toward her.

"Miss Fine," Maxwell said warmly, standing up. "You look… lovely. Did you have a nice evening?"

Fran hesitated, then lifted her left hand, letting the ring catch the light.

"Actually… it was kind of a big night. Danny proposed."

The room went dead silent.

"Proposed?" Maggie’s eyes went wide.

"Like, marriage?" Brighton asked, horrified.

"Yes, Brighton," Fran said, forcing a smile. "Like marriage."

Grace’s little mouth trembled. "But… but who will tuck me in if you don’t live here anymore?"

Fran crouched down quickly, hugging her. "Oh sweetie, I’m still gonna be around for a while. We’re just… gonna plan a wedding first."

Maxwell had gone very still. His polite smile looked frozen in place, but his eyes told another story entirely. "I see," he said quietly. "Well. Congratulations, Miss Fine. I’m sure you and Mr. Imperiali will be very… happy."

C.C. nearly spit out her wine from trying not to laugh. "Well, isn’t this wonderful news! Oh, Nanny Fine, I wish you all the happiness in the world."

"Gee, thanks," Fran muttered.

Niles, standing in the doorway, looked from Maxwell to Fran with a glint of mischief. "Well, well. And here I thought tonight was going to be boring."

Fran felt her cheeks burn. Maxwell wouldn’t even look at her now — he was fussing with the puzzle pieces, as if they were suddenly the most important thing in the world.

And for some reason… that hurt more than she had expected.

-3-

The townhouse was quiet. The children had gone to bed, and C.C. had finally taken her gloating elsewhere. Fran sat alone at the kitchen table in her robe, staring at the engagement ring glinting under the soft light.

She was supposed to feel happy. Excited. Like a bride-to-be. Instead, she just felt… restless.

"Can’t sleep either?"

Fran jumped at the sound of Maxwell’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, looking far too handsome for someone who had just shattered her peace of mind.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Sheffield," Fran said, trying to sound casual. "Yeah, just… you know. Big decisions, big thoughts. And a pint of Chunky Monkey with my name on it."

Maxwell gave a faint smile and came to sit across from her. For a moment, they just looked at each other.

"Fran," he said quietly. "I hope you know that I truly wish you happiness."

Her heart gave a painful twist. "Thank you."

He hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair. "It just… surprised me, that’s all. I didn’t realize you and Danny were still… involved."

Fran let out a bitter laugh. "We weren’t. Until tonight. And then he showed up with a ring and a whole lotta promises, and I thought… maybe it’s time to stop waitin’ for somethin’ that’s never gonna happen."

Maxwell looked as though she had slapped him.

"I never meant to hurt you," he said, his voice low. "If I’ve given you the impression that I don’t— that I…"

He trailed off, visibly struggling with himself.

Fran leaned forward, her heart pounding. "That you what?"

For a long moment, he just stared at her. His eyes were dark, conflicted, full of things unsaid. And then, as if he’d made some monumental decision, he shook his head and looked away.

"Nothing," he said stiffly. "It doesn’t matter now."

Fran sat back, stung.

"Right. Well. Good talk."

Maxwell stood abruptly. "Goodnight, Miss Fine."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Fran alone with her ice cream, her engagement ring, and a growing feeling that she had made the biggest mistake of her life.

-4-

The next evening, Fran was in the living room with Grace, reading a bedtime story, when the doorbell rang.

"I’ll get it!" Niles called, already halfway to the door. A moment later, his voice carried through the hall. "Ah, Mr. Imperiali. Do come in. Watch your step, the floor was just polished."

Fran’s stomach did a nervous little flip. She hadn’t exactly told Danny about the… complicated atmosphere at work.

Danny strolled in, grinning from ear to ear, carrying a bouquet of roses. "Hey, Frannie!"

Grace sat up. "Who’s that?"

Fran stood quickly, smoothing her skirt. "Grace, honey, that’s… uh… Danny. My fiancé."

Grace’s eyes went wide, but before she could say anything, Danny pulled Fran into his arms and kissed her. Right there. In the middle of the Sheffield living room.

Fran froze for a split second, her mind screaming oh no oh no oh no, but she forced a smile when he let go. "Hi, Danny. Wow. Surprise!"

It was then she noticed Maxwell standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

"Mr. Sheffield!" she said quickly, stepping back from Danny.

Maxwell’s jaw was tight, his hands clasped behind his back in that way he did when he was trying very hard not to lose his temper. "Mr. Imperiali," he said coolly. "How… nice of you to stop by."

"Yeah, I thought I’d take my girl out to dinner," Danny said, slipping an arm around Fran’s waist.

Maxwell’s eyes flickered briefly to where Danny’s hand rested — and Fran could swear she saw something flash there. Something dark.

"How charming," Maxwell said, his tone polite but icy. "Niles, show Mr. Imperiali to the door when they’re ready."

"With pleasure," Niles murmured, clearly enjoying the tension.

C.C., who had been lounging nearby, perked up. "Oh, this is delicious," she whispered under her breath.

Fran felt her cheeks burn. "We should go," she said quickly, grabbing her purse.

Danny kissed her on the cheek again before they left, and this time she dared to glance back.

Maxwell was still standing there, perfectly still, watching them go — and the look in his eyes made Fran’s heart race for all the wrong reasons.

-5-

It was well past midnight when Fran returned to the townhouse. She slipped off her heels in the foyer, hoping to sneak upstairs without waking anyone — only to find Maxwell sitting in the darkened living room, a glass of brandy in his hand.

Fran froze. "Oh! Mr. Sheffield, you’re still up."

He didn’t look at her right away. "I couldn’t sleep," he said evenly. "The house felt… quiet."

Fran walked slowly into the room, clutching her purse. "Well, Danny and I went to dinner at this little place in Queens. You woulda loved it — great wine list, live music, no screaming critics."

Maxwell finally turned his gaze to her, and she felt her stomach drop. His expression wasn’t cold this time. It was… raw.
"You seem very happy," he said softly.

Fran hesitated. "I… guess I am?"

He set his glass down with a soft clink. "Forgive me, Miss Fine, but I find it rather hard to watch you throw yourself back into the arms of a man who has hurt you so many times before."

Her mouth fell open. "Excuse me?"
"You deserve someone who treats you properly. Not someone who left you for someone else" His voice was calm, but his jaw was tight.

Fran crossed her arms. "Oh, and who exactly is gonna treat me ‘properly’? Some mysterious Prince Charming who can’t even decide if he wants me in his life?"

Maxwell’s eyes darkened. "That’s not fair."

"Isn’t it?" she shot back, stepping closer. "You’ve been pushin’ and pullin’ me around for over a year, Mr. Sheffield! And I finally get tired of waiting, I say yes to someone who actually wants me, and suddenly you care?"

He stood, closing the distance between them. "Of course I care," he said, his voice low, intense.

Fran’s heart skipped. "Then why didn’t you say somethin’ before?"

For a long moment, they just stared at each other — inches apart, breathing hard, neither willing to back down.

And then, as if realizing what he was about to say, Maxwell stepped back, running a hand over his face. "This is inappropriate," he murmured. "You’re engaged, Miss Fine. I have no right to—"

"No, you don’t," Fran said sharply, though her voice trembled.

Maxwell looked at her one last time, his eyes full of things he couldn’t say, then turned and walked upstairs without another word.

Fran stood there alone, clutching her purse, her chest heaving.

So why did she suddenly feel like crying?

-6-

The morning after felt strangely heavy. Fran went through the motions — making breakfast, joking with the kids — but her usual sparkle was missing. Even Maggie noticed.

"Are you okay, Fran?" she asked gently as Fran poured orange juice.

"Of course, sweetie," Fran said with a forced smile. "I’m fine."

But she wasn’t. Every time she looked at her ring, all she could hear was Maxwell’s voice from last night: Of course I care.

Later that night, Maxwell sat alone in his study, staring blankly at a stack of scripts. He hadn’t read a single line.
"Brooding again, sir?"

Niles stepped into the room, holding a tray with two glasses of sherry.

Maxwell sighed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to those with eyes," Niles replied dryly, setting the tray down. "Would you like to tell me why you’ve been sulking since dinner last night? Or shall I take a wild guess that it involves a certain nanny and a certain ex-fiancé?"

Maxwell shot him a warning look, but Niles merely raised an eyebrow.

"You know, sir, if I may — bottling up one’s feelings never did anyone any good. It only leads to ulcers and questionable decisions. Like hiring Miss Babcock."

Despite himself, Maxwell gave a short laugh. Then he ran a hand over his face and said quietly: "She’s marrying him, Niles."

"Yes, so I gathered. But I also gathered that you’re taking it rather… personally."

Maxwell hesitated. "She deserves better than him. Better than being left at the altar again."

Niles tilted his head. "And better than spending her life with a man too afraid to admit he’s in love with her?"

Maxwell froze, meeting Niles’ gaze.

There was a long pause.

Finally, Maxwell said it — so softly he almost didn’t hear himself: "I am in love with her."

Niles’s face broke into the kind of grin one usually reserves for Christmas morning. "Well. That only took a year and a half."

Maxwell ignored the jab, standing to pace the room. "But she’s engaged now. She’s happy. What right do I have to interfere?"

"None whatsoever," Niles said cheerfully. "But since when has love ever played by the rules?"

Meanwhile, back in her room, Fran was sitting on the edge of her bed, staring at the ring on her finger.

She should have been planning flower arrangements and seating charts. Instead, all she could think about was the look in Maxwell’s eyes when he said those words.
And for the first time since saying yes to Danny… she wondered if she’d made a terrible mistake.

-7-

Fran had been dreading this all week. Maxwell had insisted she bring Danny to family dinner — for the children’s sake, he’d said. And now here she was, sitting at the Sheffield dining table, feeling like she was about to referee a prize fight.

Danny, of course, was in his element. "Nice place you got here, Sheffield," he said, looking around. "Bet the mortgage is murder, huh?"

Fran winced. "Danny…"

Maxwell’s smile was polite, but his tone was cuttingly smooth. "Yes, well, when one produces successful Broadway shows, one can afford the occasional indulgence."

Niles, standing by with the wine, nearly choked from holding back a laugh.

Dinner was painfully awkward. Brighton kept kicking Maggie under the table. Grace just stared at Danny like he was a math problem she couldn’t solve.

Finally, Danny reached over and took Fran’s hand. "So, we set a date — June 12th. Gonna be the event of the season. Everyone’s invited, of course."

Maxwell’s fork froze mid-air. "How… wonderful," he said, though his voice was tight.

Fran shot him a pleading look, but it was too late. The mask had cracked.

"You know," Maxwell said, setting down his fork, "it’s quite something, Mr. Imperiali. To leave a woman for another person and still expect her to trust you with her future."

The table went silent.

Danny’s smile faltered. "Hey, that was almost years ago. People change."

"Do they?" Maxwell asked quietly. "Because from where I’m standing, you seem just as reckless as ever."

Fran’s heart was pounding. "Mr. Sheffield!" she hissed.

But Maxwell wasn’t done. "Fran deserves someone steady. Someone who will be there for her and for the children — not someone who runs when things get complicated."

Danny bristled. "You got a problem, Sheffield?"

Maxwell stood, his chair scraping back. "As a matter of fact, yes."

Fran shot up too, stepping between them. "Okay, okay! Let’s all take a breath before we start throwin’ mashed potatoes."

Grace whimpered. Maggie and Brighton were wide-eyed. Niles looked like he was watching the best episode of his favorite soap opera.

Fran glared at both men. "This is supposed to be dinner, not Monday Night Raw! Danny, why don’t you go warm up the car. I’ll be right out."

Danny gave Maxwell one last glare before storming out.

When he was gone, Fran rounded on Maxwell. "What the heck was that?!"

Maxwell didn’t flinch. "That was me telling the truth, Fran. You deserve better."

Her breath caught. "Better than Danny… or better than you?"

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, very softly, he said: "Both."

And before Fran could reply, he turned and left the room, leaving her trembling in the silence.

-8-

Fran was back in her old bedroom in Queens, sprawled across the bed in her fuzzy pink robe, eating cold lo mein straight from the container.

Val was sitting cross-legged on the floor, painting her nails.

"So," Val said casually, blowing on her thumb, "I heard Mr. Sheffield went full Liam Neeson on Danny at dinner."

Fran groaned, covering her face with one hand. "Don’t remind me. I thought Grace was gonna cry, Maggie looked like she was watchin’ a car crash, and Brighton was takin’ bets under the table."

Val grinned. "Honestly? Kinda hot."

"Val!" Fran sat up. "It was a disaster! Danny’s still mad, Mr. Sheffield’s probably practicin’ apology speeches in the mirror, and me? I’m startin’ to think maybe I’m not ready to get married at all."

Val froze mid-nail stroke. "Wait — what? Frannie, you’ve been dreamin’ about gettin’ married since junior high."

"Yeah, but I also dreamed about marryin’ a guy who actually made me feel like a princess — not one who gives me a panic attack every time he mentions floral arrangements!"

She tossed her fork down dramatically.

Val tilted her head. "So… what’s really goin’ on here? Is this about Danny… or about Mr. Sheffield?"

Fran’s heart skipped. "What? No! This has nothin’ to do with him."

Val just gave her a look.

Fran sighed, sinking back against the pillows. "Okay, fine, maybe a little to do with him. Last night he said I deserve better. And I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. Like, does he mean he thinks I deserve better than Danny? Or better than him? Or… does he secretly mean himself?"

Val grinned knowingly. "Oh, he definitely meant himself."

Fran buried her face in a pillow with a muffled scream. "Ugh, why is my life suddenly a soap opera?"

"Sweetie, your life’s always been a soap opera," Val said, patting her knee. "You just finally got to the good part."

Fran peeked out from the pillow, heart pounding.

If she was really honest with herself… she wasn’t sure she could walk down the aisle. Not when every time she closed her eyes, she saw Maxwell Sheffield standing there, telling her she deserved better — and meaning it.

-9-

Danny was already waiting for Fran outside her mother’s house when she got home from work the next evening. He was leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking impatient.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said as she approached.

Fran smiled nervously. "Hi, Danny. Listen, we gotta talk—"

"Yeah, we do," he cut her off. "What the hell was that at dinner the other night? Your boss talkin’ to me like I’m some kinda bum? I shoulda knocked his teeth out."

Fran’s eyes widened. "Danny! You can’t just go around threatenin’ people! Especially my boss!"

Danny shrugged. "He started it."

Fran crossed her arms. "No, he didn’t. He was just worried about me."

Danny frowned. "What, you need him to worry about you now? You got me."

Fran hesitated. This was exactly the problem — every time Danny talked about their future, she felt… trapped.

"Danny, this is exactly what I wanted to talk to you about," she said, taking a deep breath. "I just… I don’t think I’m ready to get married."

Danny stared at her. "You’re kiddin’ me."

"I wish I was," Fran said softly. "But every time we talk about weddin’ plans, I feel like I can’t breathe. And I don’t think that’s how a bride’s supposed to feel."

Danny’s face hardened. "So this is about Sheffield, huh?"

Fran blinked. "What? No! This is about me—"

"Yeah right," Danny snapped. "You’ve been moonin’ over that guy since the day you met him. You think I don’t see it?"

Fran felt her stomach twist. "Danny—"

"Forget it," he said bitterly, throwing his hands up. "If you wanna keep waitin’ around for some rich guy who’s never gonna marry you, be my guest. But I’m not stickin’ around to watch."

And with that, he got in his car and drove off, leaving Fran standing there in the driveway, shaking.

Sylvia appeared in the doorway just in time to see the taillights disappear. "Oy vey," she muttered. "Do I smell Chinese food or a breakup?"

Fran laughed shakily, wiping at her eyes. "Both."

She looked down at her engagement ring — and slowly, carefully, slid it off her finger.

Her heart ached… but at the same time, she felt like she could finally breathe.

-10-

It was late when Fran returned to the townhouse. She walked quietly through the front door, holding the engagement ring in her hand like it might burn her.
Niles was in the hallway, dusting for the third time that day — which usually meant he was eavesdropping on something. He turned, eyes immediately catching the empty ring finger.

"Oh my," he said, dropping the feather duster in mock shock. "What happened to the rock? Did you pawn it for a spa day?"

Fran managed a weak laugh. "No, Niles. I gave it back."

Niles’ eyebrows shot up. "You… what?"

"Yeah," Fran said softly. "Me and Danny… we’re done."

Before Niles could reply, Maxwell appeared at the top of the stairs, still in his suit from work, tie loosened. "Niles, what’s going on down there?"

"Nothing at all, sir," Niles said innocently — but his grin was downright wicked. "Except that Miss Fine is single again."

Fran shot him a glare. "Thank you, Niles, for the subtlety."

Maxwell froze for a moment, then descended the stairs slowly, his expression unreadable.

"You and Danny…"

"Over," Fran finished for him. "Turns out we weren’t exactly the match made in heaven I thought we were."

Maxwell stepped closer, his voice softer now. "Fran, I’m… I’m sorry it ended badly."

"It didn’t," she admitted. "It ended the way it needed to. For once, I stopped doin’ what everyone else thought was right and did what I wanted."

Maxwell smiled faintly. "And what do you want, Miss Fine?"

Fran’s breath caught. They were standing so close now, she could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

For a long moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt electric.

Then Grace’s voice floated down the stairs. "Fran? Can you tuck me in?"

Fran stepped back as if waking from a spell. "Be right there, sweetie!" she called, forcing a bright smile.

Maxwell’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. "Goodnight, Miss Fine."

Fran turned to go, heart pounding like a drum. If Grace hadn’t called out just then… she wasn’t sure what might have happened.

And for the first time, the thought of what could happen made her smile.

-11-

The townhouse was unusually quiet that night. C.C. had gone home, the kids were at a sleepover, and even Niles had retired early (though Fran suspected he was lurking somewhere just out of sight with popcorn).

Fran stood in the living room, flipping through a magazine she wasn’t actually reading. Her heart was still racing from the other night — that almost-kiss that had left her breathless for hours afterward.

"Miss Fine?"

She looked up. Maxwell was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking… nervous.

"Hi, Mr. Sheffield," she said softly.

He took a step closer. "I was hoping we could talk. Privately."

Fran swallowed hard and nodded. "Sure."

He came to stand right in front of her, so close she could smell his cologne — warm and expensive and very him.

"I just wanted to make sure you’re… all right."

Fran smiled faintly. "Yeah, I’m okay. Better than okay, actually. Turns out not bein’ engaged to the wrong guy is a pretty good feeling."

Maxwell chuckled softly, but his expression turned serious again.

"Fran, there’s something I need to tell you. Something I should have said a long time ago."

Her heart stopped. "Okay…"

He took a deep breath. "I was wrong to keep you at arm’s length. Wrong to pretend that what I feel for you could just be… ignored. The truth is, I’ve been falling in love with you since the day you walked through that door."

Fran blinked, her throat suddenly tight.

"You… what?"

Maxwell gave a small, almost nervous smile. "I love you, Miss Fine."

For a moment, Fran couldn’t speak. Her heart felt like it was about to burst.

"You know," she said finally, her voice trembling, "for a guy who took a year and a half to say it, you sure picked the perfect moment."

And then, before either of them could think twice, Fran closed the distance between them and kissed him.

It wasn’t tentative or shy. It was the kiss of someone who had been waiting far too long — and someone who had been afraid they’d never get the chance.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless.

Maxwell smiled — a real, boyish smile she’d never seen before. "So," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, "where do we go from here?"

Fran grinned, her heart pounding in the best possible way. "Well, I was thinkin’ maybe… we start with another one of those kisses."

Maxwell laughed, pulling her close again. "Best idea I’ve heard all year."

-12-

Fran woke up the next morning in her own bed, her cheeks hurting from smiling all night. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt his kiss again.
She sat up, hugging her pillow. "Oh my God, I kissed Mr. Sheffield," she whispered, then grinned. "And it was good."

Downstairs, Maxwell was already in the kitchen, trying to read the paper while sipping coffee. Niles was watching him like a hawk.

"You’re in a good mood this morning," Niles said with a sly smile.

Maxwell cleared his throat. "I don’t know what you mean."

"Mm-hmm," Niles said, picking up the coffee pot. "Shall I bring Miss Fine her coffee in bed, or will you be delivering it personally?"

Maxwell gave him a warning look, but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips.

Before he could reply, Fran breezed into the kitchen, looking radiant in her robe. "Good morning!" she sang.

Niles’ grin widened. "Ah, speak of the angel."

Fran shot him a look but couldn’t stop smiling. "Oh, hush. Some of us just woke up in a really good mood."
Maxwell stood, pulling out a chair for her. "Coffee?"

"Please," Fran said, taking the cup. Their fingers brushed, and Fran felt her stomach flip.

It was then that Maggie, Brighton, and Grace came rushing in.

"Good morning!" Grace chirped — then stopped, looking suspiciously between Fran and Maxwell. "Why are you both smiling like that?"

Fran and Maxwell exchanged a look.

"No reason," Maxwell said quickly.

Brighton narrowed his eyes. "Wait a minute. Did something happen last night?"

Fran gasped. "Brighton!"

Maggie grinned knowingly. "I knew it! Oh my God, did you finally kiss?"

Fran turned bright red. "Who told you that?!"

"Your face," Maggie said simply.

Niles was practically beaming now. "Ah, young love. Warms the heart."

It was then that C.C. walked in, heels clicking, perfectly put together as always. "Morning," she said briskly — then stopped, looking from Fran to Maxwell.
"What’s going on here?"

Before anyone could stop him, Niles said cheerfully: "Miss Fine and Mr. Sheffield are finally an item."

C.C. froze. "You’re joking."

"Nope," Fran said with a shy smile, taking Maxwell’s hand.

C.C. let out a strangled sound that might have been a scream, grabbed the coffee pot straight from the counter, and downed it like a shot. "This day is ruined," she muttered before storming out.

Fran and Maxwell exchanged a glance — and both burst out laughing.

-13-

It had been three days since “the big reveal,” and somehow the world hadn’t exploded — though C.C. was still walking around the office like she was in mourning.
Fran was sitting at her vanity, touching up her lipstick, when Maxwell knocked gently on her door.

"Come in!"

He stepped inside, smiling in that way that still made her knees a little weak. "You look… stunning," he said, his voice warm.

Fran grinned. "Thanks. So where are we goin’ tonight? You never said."

Maxwell offered his arm. "I thought we might try that little French bistro near the park. Somewhere quiet. Just you and me."

Fran’s heart melted a little. "Ooh, quiet. Fancy."

The restaurant was cozy and intimate, with candlelight flickering on the tables. Fran couldn’t stop smiling as Maxwell held her chair out for her, like a proper gentleman.

"This is nice," she said as they looked over the menus.

Maxwell nodded. "It’s long overdue. I wanted us to have one evening without interruptions. Just… us."

Fran reached across the table, taking his hand. "I like the sound of that."

They talked through dinner — about the kids, about Maggie’s college plans, about Brighton’s latest science project that had nearly blown up the kitchen.
But eventually, the conversation grew quieter, more serious.

"Fran," Maxwell said softly, squeezing her hand. "I know I’ve taken far too long to say this, but I want you to know… I see a future with you. Not just as the children’s nanny, but as my partner. My equal."

Fran’s heart flipped. "Wow. You know, a girl waits her whole life to hear that — and usually it comes right before the dessert menu."

Maxwell chuckled, but his eyes were serious. "I mean it. I don’t want to waste any more time. I want you in my life — in every way. And when you’re ready, I want to marry you, Fran."

Fran’s breath caught. For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

"Maxwell Sheffield," she said finally, her voice thick with emotion, "are you actually proposin’ to me in a restaurant with no ring?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Consider it a… pre-proposal. A promise."

Fran laughed, wiping at the corner of her eye. "Well, lucky for you, I accept pre-proposals."

When the waiter brought dessert, Maxwell leaned across the table and kissed her softly, and Fran thought she might actually float off her chair.

-14-

Fran was humming happily as she came down to breakfast the next morning — until she saw the newspaper spread across the table.
And there it was.

Right on the society page: a photo of her and Maxwell at the bistro last night, holding hands across the table, smiling like a pair of honeymooners.

The headline read: "Maxwell Sheffield’s New Leading Lady – Is the Nanny Here to Stay?"

Fran nearly dropped her coffee. "Oh. My. God."

Brighton snatched the paper and read aloud dramatically: "‘Sheffield, 42, was spotted in a romantic dinner setting with longtime employee Francesca Fine. Sources close to the producer say this could be the real thing.’"

"Give me that!" Fran grabbed the paper back, her face flaming. "Romantic dinner setting?! They make it sound like we were in Paris makin’ out under the Eiffel Tower!"

Maxwell walked in just in time to hear her outburst. "Ah," he said, glancing at the paper. "So they ran the story."

Fran spun around. "You knew about this?!"

He had the nerve to look slightly sheepish. "Well… yes. The restaurant is a favorite for theatre reporters. I suspected we might be seen."

"You suspected?! Maxwell, I am literally on the front page of the society section! What is my mother gonna say?!"

As if on cue, the phone rang.

Niles picked it up, then smirked. "Miss Fine, it’s your mother. She says, and I quote, ‘Mazel tov, but next time get better lighting.’"

Fran groaned. "I can’t believe this is my life now."

Maxwell crossed the room, gently taking her hand. "Fran. Look at me."

She did — and immediately felt her heart slow down.

"I don’t care what the papers say," he told her softly. "Let them write whatever they want. All that matters is what we know — that we’re together, and that I love you."

Fran’s eyes softened. "You know, you really gotta stop sayin’ stuff like that when I’m tryin’ to stay mad at you."

Maxwell smiled. "Is it working?"

Fran melted against him, smiling despite herself. "Yeah, it’s workin’."

From the doorway, Niles cleared his throat. "Would the two of you like me to call the press back and schedule engagement photos, or should I give them five minutes before you end up in the next edition?"

"Out!" Fran and Maxwell said in unison, and Niles grinned before slipping away.

-15-

Fran had never been so nervous getting dressed. Val was sitting on the bed, eating popcorn, while Fran stood in front of the mirror in a slinky, floor-length gown that sparkled with every move.

"Val, be honest — do I look like I belong on Maxwell Sheffield’s arm, or like I snuck into the Oscars by accident?"

Val’s mouth dropped open. "Frannie, you look like a million bucks. Like, a Broadway-opening-night million bucks."

Fran smiled, but her stomach still flipped. "This is the first time everyone’s gonna see us together officially. The press, the theatre crowd, all the Upper East Side.

What if I trip on the carpet? What if I get spinach in my teeth?"

Val shrugged. "Then he’ll still love you, just with spinach."

When Fran descended the Sheffield townhouse stairs that evening, Maxwell actually forgot to breathe for a second.

"Fran," he said softly, "you look… absolutely breathtaking."

She grinned, suddenly feeling a little braver. "And you clean up pretty nice yourself, Mr. Sheffield."

He offered his arm, and together they stepped out into the waiting car.

The gala was buzzing with reporters, photographers, and Broadway’s elite. Flashbulbs went off the second Fran and Maxwell stepped onto the red carpet.
"Mr. Sheffield! Over here!" "Fran, is it true you’re engaged?" "When’s the wedding?"

Fran clung to Maxwell’s arm, smiling nervously as he guided her gracefully through the chaos.

Inside, the event was even grander — crystal chandeliers, champagne fountains, elegant music.

"You okay?" Maxwell asked softly.

Fran nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I was gonna faint, but now that I’m here, I think I can hold out at least until dessert."

He chuckled, brushing his thumb against her hand. "You’re doing beautifully."

Of course, it wouldn’t have been a Sheffield evening without C.C. appearing like a vulture.

"Well, well," C.C. purred, eyeing Fran’s gown. "Look who’s traded in her nanny outfit for couture. I give it a week before the novelty wears off."

Fran smiled sweetly. "Oh C.C., you’re right — it must be so exhausting watchin’ someone else live your dream every night."

Niles, who had materialized behind them with champagne, nearly spit out his drink trying not to laugh.

Maxwell placed a steady hand on Fran’s back, leaning down to whisper, "You were perfect."

Fran beamed — and for the first time all evening, she truly felt like she belonged by his side.

Later, as they stood on the balcony overlooking the city, Maxwell slipped an arm around her waist.

"How are you feeling now?"

Fran rested her head against his shoulder. "Like I could get used to this."

Maxwell smiled. "Good. Because I plan on giving you many more nights like this."

And with the city lights glittering around them, he kissed her softly — a kiss that made Fran forget every camera, every headline, every ounce of doubt she’d ever had.

-16-

The morning after the gala, Fran was still glowing — until she opened the newspaper.

Right there on the front page, under a photo of her laughing with a reporter, was the headline:

“Fran Fine: ‘Broadway People Are All Nuts!’”

Fran nearly choked on her coffee. "I didn’t say that!" she wailed, shoving the paper at Niles.

"Technically," Niles said, scanning the article, "you said, and I quote, ‘You Upper East Side types are all nuts.’ Which, frankly, is much more accurate."

Fran groaned. "Maxwell is gonna kill me. The entire theatre district probably thinks I insulted them!"

As if on cue, Maxwell entered the kitchen. "Ah, I see you’ve seen the paper."

Fran winced. "Listen, Mr. Sheffield — I mean, Maxwell — I didn’t mean it like that! I was jokin’! But now everyone’s gonna think I’m some loudmouth from Queens who doesn’t know how to behave!"

Maxwell set the paper down and crossed the room to her. "Fran. Look at me."

She reluctantly lifted her eyes.

"You were charming last night. You were yourself. That’s why everyone loves you — including me."

Fran blinked. "Even if the press thinks I’m a disaster?"

He smiled softly. "Especially then. Fran, you don’t have to change a thing to fit into my world. You’re the best part of it."

Her heart gave a painful little squeeze. "You know, you really know how to make a girl stop panicking."

Maxwell chuckled, pulling her into his arms. "That’s the goal."

From the hallway, Niles sighed dramatically. "Well, if the scandal is over, I suppose I’ll cancel the PR firm’s number I had on speed dial."

Fran laughed, leaning against Maxwell’s chest. "Guess I better get used to makin’ headlines, huh?"

Maxwell kissed the top of her head. "As long as we make them together."

-17-

It was Maxwell’s idea — a weekend away from the townhouse, away from the kids, away from Broadway. He had booked a secluded country inn, complete with a suite that looked like something out of a romance novel — soft golden light, a roaring fire, and a bed that looked far too inviting.

Fran twirled once in the center of the room, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. "Maxwell Sheffield," she breathed, "this place is gorgeous. I feel like I’m in one of those magazines where everybody whispers and drinks champagne with their pinky out."

Maxwell smiled, loosening his tie. "I thought you deserved something… special."

Fran’s heart skipped. "Oh honey, you keep talkin’ like that, we won’t even make it to dinner.“

They did make it to dinner — barely — but by the time they returned to the suite, the tension between them was electric.

Maxwell hadn’t taken his eyes off her since they walked into the suite. The firelight bathed the room in gold, flickering across Fran’s hair, and he thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.

Fran smiled shyly, kicking off her heels. "So… what happens now, Mr. Sheffield?"

Maxwell closed the distance between them until he was only inches away, his voice low and rough. "Now," he said, brushing his thumb across her cheek, "I stop pretending I don’t dream about this every night."

Fran’s breath caught, and then he kissed her.

It wasn’t careful or hesitant this time — it was deep and hungry, months of unspoken longing bursting free. Fran clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them.

His hands slid to her waist, then lower, cupping her hips as he pressed her back against the wall. She gasped softly into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound like a man starved.

When they finally broke apart for air, Fran’s lipstick was smudged, her curls a little wild. "Maxwell Sheffield," she whispered breathlessly, "if you stop now, I’m suing you for emotional cruelty."

He laughed softly, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed.

Clothes disappeared between kisses — her dress sliding off her shoulders, his shirt landing somewhere near the fireplace. Fran lay back against the pillows, watching him through half-lidded eyes, her chest rising and falling fast.

"God, you’re beautiful," he murmured, his gaze roaming over her like a caress.

She grinned, tugging him down to her. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

His mouth trailed down her neck, over her collarbone, lower still, until Fran let out a soft gasp and arched toward him. Her hands threaded through his hair, nails scraping lightly against his scalp as he took his time exploring every inch of her.

By the time he finally slid into bed beside her, she was trembling with need.

"Fran," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers, "tell me you want this."

"I want this," she said, her voice breathless. "I want you."

And then there were no more words — just the sound of her sharp intake of breath as he sank into her, slow and deliberate.

The rhythm built gradually, achingly slow at first, until Fran met him halfway, urging him faster, harder. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her lips at his ear, whispering his name like a prayer.

When release finally came, it left them both breathless, shaking, clinging to each other as if the world might disappear.

Maxwell collapsed beside her, pulling her against his chest.

"I love you," he said hoarsely, kissing the crown of her head.

Fran smiled, utterly blissed out, tracing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertip. "Mm. Love you too," she murmured. "Now don’t you dare fall asleep before round two."

Maxwell laughed, kissing her again — slower this time, but with the promise that the night was far from over.

-18-

Fran woke to the soft glow of sunlight streaming through the curtains and the delicious weight of Maxwell’s arm draped over her waist. For a moment, she just lay there, smiling at the memory of the night before — his hands, his kisses, the way he whispered her name like it was something precious.

When she turned, Maxwell was already awake, watching her with a lazy smile.

"Good morning," he murmured, his voice still husky.

Fran grinned. "Well, good morning yourself. Someone’s up early."

Maxwell chuckled, brushing a stray curl from her face. "Couldn’t sleep. Didn’t want to miss this."

Fran’s heart melted. "You’re so sappy," she teased, but she cuddled closer anyway, pressing a kiss to his bare shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped up in each other, until Fran tilted her head up with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"So… about last night," she said, tracing a lazy circle on his chest.

Maxwell smirked. "Mmm. What about last night?"

Fran grinned wickedly. "I think we should, you know… do a little quality control. Make sure it wasn’t a fluke."

Maxwell laughed softly, rolling them so that she was beneath him, her curls fanned out on the pillow. "I admire your dedication to accuracy," he murmured before kissing her, slow and deep.

The kiss turned into another, and another, until Fran was giggling breathlessly.

"You know," she said between kisses, "we are never leavin’ this room."

"Fine by me," Maxwell replied, trailing kisses down her throat.

Eventually, they did make it out of bed — barely — and Fran wrapped herself in the plush hotel robe while Maxwell ordered breakfast.

When the tray arrived, it was all silver domes and fresh flowers. Fran climbed back into bed, stealing strawberries off Maxwell’s plate as he read the paper.

"Look at us," she said, laughing. "Breakfast in bed, no kids bangin’ on the door, no C.C. barging in complainin’ about her love life — this is heaven."

Maxwell smiled, watching her pop a strawberry into her mouth. "If I’d known this is what it would take to get you to slow down, I’d have whisked you away months ago."

Fran leaned over, kissing him softly, her voice warm. "Maxwell Sheffield, if this is what bein’ in love looks like, I am never goin’ back."

Maxwell cupped her face, looking at her with such tenderness it made her heart ache. "Good," he whispered, kissing her again — slow, lingering, full of promises.

And for once, there was no rush, no drama — just the quiet certainty that this was exactly where they were meant to be.

-19-

When Fran and Maxwell returned to the townhouse Sunday evening, the first thing they heard was Brighton’s voice from upstairs:
"Finally! They’re back! Who had ‘48 hours’ in the betting pool?"

Fran groaned, covering her face. "We were gone for two days, not two weeks!"

Grace came running down the stairs, throwing her arms around Fran. "I missed you!"

Fran hugged her back, heart melting. "I missed you too, sweetie."

Brighton appeared in the hallway, smirking. "So… you guys look pretty relaxed. Have a nice vacation?"

Fran shot him a look. "Brighton, go play your video games before I tell your father you used the good guest towels for a science experiment again."

Maxwell hid a smile behind his hand as Brighton scowled and disappeared.

Later that evening, as Fran was helping Grace with her homework, Niles appeared in the doorway with a tray of tea.

"Welcome back, Miss Fine. I trust your… trip was productive?"

Fran narrowed her eyes at him. "Don’t you start."

Niles smirked. "Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it. Though I will say the house seemed strangely… cheerful in your absence. I wonder why."

Fran threw a pillow at him, which he dodged expertly.

When everyone had gone to bed, Maxwell retreated to his study and opened the top drawer of his desk. Inside, hidden beneath some papers, was a small velvet box.

He opened it, revealing a ring — simple, elegant, but undeniably perfect.

Maxwell exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. "All right, Sheffield," he murmured to himself. "You can do this. Just… wait for the right moment."

Upstairs, Fran was lying in bed, smiling at the memory of the weekend.

She didn’t know what the future held — but for the first time in a long time, she couldn’t wait to find out.

-20-

Maxwell sat at his desk the next morning, staring at the velvet ring box like it was a loaded weapon.

"This shouldn’t be this difficult," he muttered.

"Talking to yourself, sir?"

Maxwell nearly jumped out of his chair. Niles was standing in the doorway, smirking, as if he’d been waiting for just this moment.

"Good lord, Niles, must you sneak up on me like that?"

"Old habits die hard," Niles said cheerfully, stepping inside. His eyes flickered to the open drawer. "Ah. So the rumors are true."

Maxwell scowled. "There are no rumors."

"Perhaps not in the house," Niles replied, "but the way you’ve been staring at Miss Fine lately… well, even Miss Babcock has noticed, and she’s usually too busy plotting your downfall to care."

Maxwell sighed, closing the drawer. "I want this to be perfect, Niles. Fran deserves… everything."

Niles’ smirk softened into a rare genuine smile. "Then give her you, sir. The rest will take care of itself."

Meanwhile, upstairs, Fran was rummaging through her closet when Maggie walked in.

"You seem awfully chipper," Maggie said with a knowing grin.

Fran giggled. "What? A girl can’t be in a good mood?"

Maggie crossed her arms. "You’ve been humming Love is in the Air since breakfast. Something’s going on."

Fran blushed. "Okay, maybe I have a feeling something big is coming. Maxwell’s been all… mysterious lately. And you know how bad he is at mysterious — it’s kinda adorable."

Maggie squealed. "Oh my God. Is he going to propose?!"

Fran’s eyes went wide. "Maggie! Shh! Don’t say that! You’ll jinx it!"

But secretly, Fran’s heart did a little flip.

Downstairs, Niles was pouring champagne into two glasses for himself and C.C., who had just stopped by unannounced.

"What are we celebrating?" C.C. asked suspiciously.

"Love, Miss Babcock," Niles said, handing her a glass. "And the fact that by this time next month, you may have to start addressing Miss Fine as Mrs. Sheffield."

C.C. nearly choked. "You’re joking."

Niles smirked. "Oh no. This is happening. And I, for one, plan to enjoy every second of your slow emotional demise."

C.C. threw back the champagne in one gulp. "I hate this house."

To be continued....💕

Chapter 2 Chapter Text

-21-

Fran had just finished reading Grace a bedtime story when she heard Maxwell’s voice from the hallway.

"Fran? Could I speak to you for a moment?"

Something about his tone made her heart skip.

She kissed Grace’s forehead. "Sweet dreams, sweetheart."

Then she followed Maxwell downstairs — into the living room, which looked… different.

The lights were dimmed, candles flickered softly on the mantelpiece, and a bouquet of her favorite flowers sat on the coffee table.

Fran gasped. "Oh my God. Did Martha Stewart break in here while we were upstairs?"

Maxwell chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. "No, this was… me."

Fran turned to look at him — really look — and her breath caught. He was standing there in his suit, no tie, looking more handsome than she had ever seen him.
"Maxwell, what is all this?"

He stepped closer, his brown eyes warm but serious. "This is me doing what I should have done a long time ago."

Fran’s heart pounded. "You’re not gonna fire me, are you? ‘Cause that would be a really weird way to set the mood—"

Maxwell smiled, taking her hands in his. "Fran. When you walked into my life, everything changed. You brought joy back into this house, into my children’s lives… into mine. And somewhere along the way, I realized I didn’t just need you as a nanny — I needed you. Period."

Fran’s throat tightened.

"You deserve to be loved without hesitation, without fear, without holding back," Maxwell continued. "And I want to be the man who gives you that."
Then he sank to one knee and pulled out the velvet box.

"Fran Fine… will you marry me?"

Fran gasped, tears springing to her eyes. "Maxwell Sheffield, if you think I’m gonna say no after all this—"

"Is that a yes?" he asked softly.

Fran laughed through her tears. "Of course it’s a yes!"

He slipped the ring onto her finger, and she threw her arms around him, kissing him hard enough to nearly knock him over.

Somewhere in the hallway, there was a loud squeal — Maggie, Brighton, and Grace were peeking around the corner, cheering.

"Finally!" Brighton shouted.

"Shh!" Maggie hissed, pulling him back.

Fran and Maxwell broke apart, laughing breathlessly.

"Well," Fran said, admiring the ring, "guess I gotta start callin’ you my fiancé now."

Maxwell grinned, cupping her face and kissing her again — slower this time, full of promise. "And soon," he murmured against her lips, "you’ll be calling me your husband."

Fran beamed, her heart so full she thought it might burst.

-22-

The next morning, the Sheffield townhouse was buzzing. Sylvia was already on the couch with a glass of wine at 10 AM, Val was squealing like a teenager, and Yetta was asleep in the armchair wearing sunglasses.

"Let me see the ring again!" Sylvia demanded for the fifth time.

Fran held out her hand, grinning. "Ma, you’ve already seen it!"

"Yeah, but I like to see it sparkle. Reminds me of my youth," Sylvia said, dramatically dabbing her eyes.

Val was next, grabbing Fran’s hand. "Frannie! This is it! You’re gonna be Mrs. Maxwell Sheffield! You’re like… British royalty now!"

Fran laughed. "Val, he’s not actually royalty."

"Close enough," Val said dreamily.

Meanwhile, Niles was serving champagne to everyone in sight, clearly in the mood to celebrate.

"Careful, Niles," C.C. said icily, sweeping into the room. "At this rate you’ll have the whole staff drunk before noon."

Niles smirked. "Good morning, Miss Babcock. Champagne?"

"I don’t drink before noon," C.C. snapped.

"Then I’ll just drink yours," Niles replied cheerfully, clinking glasses with himself.

When C.C. finally noticed Fran’s ring, her jaw dropped. "You’re engaged?!"

Fran beamed. "Yep!"

C.C. drained Niles’ champagne flute in one gulp. "I hate my life."

By the time the kids came running in — Maggie squealing, Grace hugging Fran so tight she nearly knocked her over, Brighton pretending not to care but secretly smiling — Fran felt like she was floating.

This was her family.
Her home.
Her future.

When Maxwell came downstairs, looking impossibly handsome in his suit, Fran met his eyes and couldn’t stop grinning.
"Morning, fiancé," she teased.

Maxwell smiled, crossing the room to kiss her softly in front of everyone — to a chorus of cheers, wolf-whistles, and one very dramatic groan from C.C.

-23-

The townhouse was quiet that night, everyone asleep — everyone except Fran. She stood in front of the mirror in her silky robe, absently tracing the engagement ring with her finger. Her heart was still racing from the chaos of the day.

A soft knock sounded.

"Come in," she called, her voice already warm.

Maxwell stepped inside, his tie gone, shirt unbuttoned just enough to make Fran’s stomach flutter.

"Couldn’t sleep either?" she asked with a teasing smile.

"Not without you," he murmured, his voice low as velvet.

Before Fran could answer, he crossed the room and kissed her — slow at first, then deeper, until she felt her knees go weak.

Maxwell’s hands slid into her robe, pushing it off her shoulders until it pooled on the floor.

"You are…" he breathed, taking her in, "beyond beautiful."

Fran grinned breathlessly. "Flattery is nice, but actions speak louder, honey."

He obliged, kissing down her neck, across her collarbone, his hands tracing the curves of her body with reverent slowness.

Fran moaned softly, threading her fingers through his hair.

"Bed," she gasped, tugging him toward it.

Clothes disappeared in a trail from the door to the mattress — his shirt first, then hers, then everything else until there was nothing left between them but heat and want.

Maxwell took his time, exploring her inch by inch, tasting her skin like he was memorizing every part of her. Fran arched against him, letting out a breathless laugh that turned into a moan when his lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear.

"Maxwell…"

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want," he whispered.

Fran cupped his face, her voice husky. "You. All of you."

He slid into her slowly, and Fran gasped, clutching at his shoulders as the world seemed to narrow down to just this — the press of his body, the sound of their breathing, the fire building between them.

The rhythm started slow, tender, then grew more urgent as they moved together, gasps and soft cries filling the room.

Fran clung to him, whispering his name like a prayer, and when she finally came undone, it was with a cry that made his breath catch.

He followed moments later, burying his face in her neck, holding her as though he never wanted to let go.

They lay tangled in the sheets, still catching their breath. Fran’s curls were a wild halo against the pillow, and Maxwell’s chest rose and fell rapidly beneath her cheek.

"You okay?" he asked softly, brushing a thumb over her flushed cheek.

Fran grinned lazily, completely blissed out. "If I was any better, I’d be illegal in three states."

Maxwell laughed, kissing her forehead.

Fran propped herself up on one elbow, eyes sparkling. "So… think we should give the ring a proper workout? Y’know, just to make sure it can handle a lifetime commitment?"

Maxwell smirked, rolling her gently onto her back again. "I think that’s an excellent idea."

And just like that, the night wasn’t over.

-24-

Sunlight spilled across the sheets, warm and soft. Fran stirred first, stretching like a cat before turning her head to see Maxwell lying beside her, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a small, satisfied smile.

"Good morning," he said, his voice deliciously rough.

Fran grinned, pulling the blanket a little higher. "Good morning, Mr. Sheffield. Or should I say, ‘my fiancé who just wore me out last night.’"

Maxwell chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Regrets?"

Fran’s grin turned wicked. "Oh, not one. Well… except maybe that I didn’t start seducin’ you sooner."

He laughed softly — then leaned down to kiss her, slow and lazy, until Fran sighed happily against his lips.

The kiss deepened, turning hungry fast, and before Fran knew it, Maxwell had rolled her onto her back.

"Again?" she teased breathlessly as his mouth moved to her neck.

"I intend to make the most of this morning," he murmured against her skin.

Fran giggled, then gasped when his hands slid lower, reacquainting themselves with every inch of her curves.

"Maxwell…" she whispered, arching toward him.

He kissed her hard, moving between her thighs and taking his time until Fran was squirming beneath him, begging.

When he finally slid into her, it was slower this time, more intimate, the morning sunlight turning the moment golden.

They moved together in a rhythm that was unhurried but intense, every touch saying what words couldn’t — that they were in this for good.

Fran’s nails dug into his back as pleasure overtook her, her cries muffled by his kiss.

He followed her over the edge moments later, holding her close as if he could anchor them both in the warmth of that perfect moment.

Afterward, they stayed wrapped in the sheets, tangled together, her head on his chest.

Fran traced lazy patterns on his skin, smiling dreamily. "You know, if this is what bein’ engaged is like, we might wanna stay engaged forever."

Maxwell laughed, kissing the top of her head. "Tempting… but I rather like the idea of calling you my wife."

Fran looked up at him, her eyes soft. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said simply, brushing his thumb over her lips before kissing her again.

Fran grinned, snuggling back against him. "In that case, let’s just stay in bed all day and… practice for the honeymoon."

Maxwell smiled, pulling her closer. "I can’t think of a better way to spend a Sunday."

And judging by the look in his eyes, round three wasn’t far away.

-25-

The Sheffield living room had been turned into what could only be described as mission control for the wedding of the year.

Sylvia sat on the couch with three wedding magazines, Val was on the floor with fabric swatches, and Yetta was asleep in the armchair — again — wearing a feathered hat she insisted was “good luck.”

Fran sat cross-legged on the rug, looking slightly shell-shocked as her mother rattled off ideas.

"Okay, Frannie, listen to me: white roses, pink peonies, ice sculpture in the shape of your face —"

"Ma!" Fran interrupted. "We’re not doin’ an ice sculpture of my face!"

Val chimed in helpfully. "What about Maxwell’s face?"

Fran groaned, dropping her head into her hands.

Maxwell entered the room, holding his coffee like a man walking into enemy territory.

"What’s going on in here?" he asked cautiously.

"Wedding planning, Mr. Sheffield!" Sylvia announced proudly.

Maxwell blinked. "I thought we agreed on something… intimate."

Sylvia waved a hand. "This is intimate. We’re only inviting 300 people."

Fran looked up at him, pleading. "Maxwell, help me."

He smiled faintly and offered her his hand. "Miss Fine, may I speak to you privately for a moment?"

Fran didn’t even hesitate — she let him pull her up and guide her into his study, closing the door behind them.

The moment the door clicked shut, Maxwell backed her gently against the wall, kissing her like he’d been waiting all day.

Fran melted against him, her fingers clutching at his shirt.

"Mm, you know," she whispered between kisses, "you’re gettin’ very good at rescuing me from my mother."

Maxwell chuckled, his hands sliding to her waist. "Anything to keep my sanity intact."

The kiss deepened, growing hotter until Fran was breathless.

"Maxwell," she gasped, "if we don’t get back out there soon, my mother’s gonna think we eloped."

"Tempting," he murmured against her neck, making her giggle.

Finally, they pulled apart, both a little flushed but grinning like teenagers.

"Okay," Fran said, taking a deep breath. "We’ll tell Ma it’s gonna be small and romantic. And if she cries, we’ll bribe her with cake samples."

Maxwell smiled. "A perfect plan."

Back in the living room, Sylvia was still talking, Val was holding up a bridesmaid dress sample, and Yetta was snoring.

Fran clapped her hands. "Okay, everybody — we’re keeping this wedding small. Intimate. Romantic."

Sylvia clutched her pearls dramatically. "Small?! What am I supposed to tell Aunt Midge?"

Fran smirked. "Tell her to crash somebody else’s wedding."

Maxwell caught Fran’s eye across the room and smiled — a private, conspiratorial smile that promised they’d continue where they left off later.

-26-

Fran had snuck downstairs barefoot, her silk nightgown swishing softly as she padded toward the kitchen.

But when she passed the library, she froze.

Maxwell was there, sitting in the leather chair by the fire, his shirt sleeves rolled up, tie discarded on the desk. He looked up at her, and the heat in his eyes nearly stopped her heart.

"Couldn’t sleep either?" she asked softly.

He smiled slowly, setting down his glass of scotch. "Not without you."

Her breath caught. "Careful, Mr. Sheffield — you keep talkin’ like that and I might have to make sure you really mean it."

He stood, crossing the room in a few quick strides. "Oh, I mean it."

And then he kissed her.

The kiss was hungry, hot — months of longing and two days of wedding-planning stress melting into something raw and electric.

Before Fran knew it, her back was pressed against the bookshelves, Maxwell’s hands framing her face as his mouth moved over hers again and again.

When his lips left her mouth and trailed down her neck, she gasped softly, her hands tangling in his hair.
"Maxwell…"

He murmured against her skin, "Tell me to stop if you want me to."

Fran laughed breathlessly. "Stop? Are you crazy? Keep goin’, honey."

He obeyed — kissing lower, his hands sliding beneath the hem of her nightgown, fingers caressing her thighs until she was trembling.

"Please," she whispered, arching into his touch.

Maxwell lifted her easily, setting her on the edge of the desk. His hands traced up her legs slowly, teasing, until he reached the lace between her thighs.

Fran bit her lip, gasping when he slipped his fingers beneath the thin fabric, stroking her with slow, deliberate precision until she was moaning softly, clutching at his shoulders.

"Maxwell…" she begged.

He smiled against her throat. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice rough.

When he finally pushed the fabric aside and sank into her, Fran cried out softly, her legs wrapping around him.

This time there was no slow build — his thrusts were deep, urgent, the desk creaking beneath them as Fran matched his rhythm, her nails digging into his back.

Her cries grew louder, more desperate, until she shattered around him, gasping his name like a prayer.

Maxwell followed soon after, holding her tightly as though he never wanted to let go.

They stayed like that for a moment, breathing hard, still tangled together. Fran’s curls were wild, her lips kiss-swollen, her nightgown hanging off one shoulder.

"Well," she said finally, still breathless, "that was one way to make weddin’-planning stress disappear."

Maxwell chuckled, kissing her shoulder as he slowly helped her off the desk. "If that’s what it takes, we may have to make this a nightly tradition."

Fran giggled, tugging her nightgown back into place. "Just don’t let Niles find out. He’d never let us live it down."

Maxwell smirked, pulling her in for one last, lingering kiss. "Let him suspect. I have no intention of stopping."

Fran shivered at the promise in his voice — and suddenly hoped everyone in the house stayed asleep a little longer.

-27-

Fran came down the next morning in an outfit that was maybe a little too bright and a smile that was definitely too big.

"Good morning, Miss Fine," Niles said innocently from the kitchen doorway.

Fran froze. He was polishing a silver tray, looking far too smug for this early in the day. "Good morning, Niles," she said slowly, trying to sound casual.

"Sleep well?" he asked, his eyebrow arching.

Fran swallowed. "Yeah. You know, eight hours. Like a baby."

"Interesting," Niles said, polishing slower. "Because I was dusting the library early this morning and noticed… something unusual."

Fran blinked. "Unusual?"

He smirked. "A few books out of place. A chair tipped over. And the faintest sound of someone humming Can’t Help Falling in Love."

Fran turned bright red. "You wouldn’t dare—"

Niles grinned. "Oh, I dare."

Maxwell chose that moment to walk in, looking entirely too refreshed for someone who’d been up half the night.

"Morning," he said cheerfully, kissing Fran’s temple.

Niles’s grin widened. "My, my. Someone’s in a good mood."

Maxwell shot him a warning look, but it was too late. Fran groaned, covering her face with her hands.
"
That’s it," she muttered. "I’m never going in that library again."

Later, as Fran tried to focus on wedding magazines in the living room, Brighton wandered in with a suspicious look.

"You know, Fran, you were singing this morning," he said.

Fran blinked. "So?"

"You never sing before noon," he said, smirking. "What’s going on?"

"Nothing!" Fran squeaked a little too quickly.

Brighton grinned. "Right. ‘Nothing.’"

When Fran finally escaped to Maxwell’s study, she shut the door and leaned against it.

"This house is impossible," she groaned. "I feel like everyone knows what we did."

Maxwell chuckled, pulling her into his arms. "Let them suspect," he murmured, kissing her softly. "We have nothing to hide anymore."

Fran melted into the kiss, then grinned mischievously. "Yeah, well, maybe not nothing — but I’m still locking the library next time."

Maxwell laughed, holding her closer. "Noted. Though, for the record, I quite like that library now."

Fran blushed but smiled, secretly pleased — and maybe, just maybe, already planning a repeat performance.

-28-

The Sheffield living room looked like a war zone.

Sylvia was on the phone arguing with the caterer, Val was drowning in fabric swatches on the floor, and three florists were debating in front of the fireplace at full volume.

Fran sat in the middle of it all, hair slightly frizzy, clutching a clipboard like it was a weapon.

"Okay!" she finally shouted, standing up. "I need five minutes before I lose my mind or tie someone up with tulle!"

She spun around—and ran straight into Maxwell’s chest.

"Everything all right?" he asked with an amused smile.

Fran gave him a withering look. "Your house is a circus. And your future mother-in-law is the ringmaster."

Maxwell chuckled. "Come with me."

He guided her into his study and shut the door behind them, muting the chaos outside.
"Better?" he asked.

Fran let out a long breath. "Much better."

Maxwell’s hands found her waist, pulling her close. "Good. Because I’ve been wanting to do this all afternoon."

Before she could reply, he kissed her — slow, deep, and thorough enough to make Fran forget every florist and fabric sample outside that door.

"Maxwell," she murmured against his mouth, "if my mother catches us in here, she’s never gonna let us live it down."

"Then we’d better make it worth the scandal," he murmured back, guiding her toward the desk.

Fran laughed breathlessly, then gasped when his hands slid beneath the hem of her dress, tracing lazy circles on her thighs.

"Someone might come in," she whispered.

"Then we’ll just have to be very quiet," Maxwell said, his breath hot against her ear.

His fingers teased higher, slow and deliberate, until Fran had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.

"Maxwell," she panted, clutching at his shoulders, "if you stop now, I swear—"

He smiled against her throat. "What a lovely threat."

Voices sounded in the hallway — Sylvia calling her name.

Fran yelped softly, quickly smoothing down her dress while Maxwell tried to look composed.

"Okay," she whispered, "we go out there and act totally innocent."

Maxwell kissed her one last time, quick but heated. "We’ll finish this later," he promised.

Fran opened the door and stepped back into the chaos, cheeks flushed, her heart still racing — and if Val gave her a knowing look, Fran pretended not to notice.

-29-

The house was finally quiet. Sylvia had gone home, Val was passed out in the guest room surrounded by color swatches, and the florists had been chased off hours ago.

Fran stood outside Maxwell’s study door, biting her lip.

She could still feel the heat of his hands from earlier, still taste his kiss.
Enough was enough.

She pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Maxwell looked up from the papers on his desk, surprised. "Fran?"

"Don’t ‘Fran’ me," she said, shutting the door behind her and clicking the lock. "You said we’d finish this later. Well, it’s later."

Before he could answer, she crossed the room, grabbed his tie and pulled him into a kiss that made him forget his own name.

Maxwell groaned softly as Fran pushed him back against the desk, her hands already working at his shirt buttons.

"You’re taking charge tonight," he managed, breathless.

Fran grinned wickedly. "Damn right I am. You’ve been driving me crazy all day."

She slid his shirt off his shoulders, kissing down his chest as she went, leaving him shivering under her touch.

"Fran," he said, voice low, "if anyone catches us in here—"

"Then we’ll give Niles the scandal of his life," she purred, pushing him down into the chair and straddling his lap.

Her nightgown slid up as she moved, and Maxwell’s hands immediately found her thighs, gripping tightly as she rocked against him.

"God," he groaned, his head falling back. "You’re going to kill me."

Fran smirked. "What a way to go."

She kissed him again, hot and hungry, before reaching between them and guiding him into her in one smooth motion.

Maxwell gasped, clutching at her hips as Fran set the pace — slow at first, teasing, then faster as she felt him losing control beneath her.

"Fran," he groaned, his voice breaking.

"Say my name again," she whispered, riding him harder now, her curls falling into her face.

He did — again and again — until she cried out, clinging to him as pleasure crashed through her.

Maxwell followed moments later, holding her tight, his face buried against her neck.

They stayed tangled together in the chair, breathing hard, until Fran finally pulled back, her grin wicked and satisfied.

"Now that," she said, smoothing her hair, "is how you de-stress after wedding planning."

Maxwell laughed softly, pulling her back for another kiss. "If that’s what marriage to you will be like, I may never survive it."

Fran winked, hopping off his lap. "Oh honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet."

-30-

Fran woke up the next morning in Maxwell’s bed, curled against him like she’d always belonged there.

The early sunlight spilled across the sheets, and she smiled to herself, remembering last night — the way he’d let her take control, the way he’d said her name like it was the only word he knew.

Maxwell stirred beside her, blinking his eyes open.
"Good morning," he murmured, his voice deliciously rough.

Fran grinned. "Well, good morning to you, Mr. Fiancé. You sleep okay?"

He reached over, tucking a curl behind her ear. "Best sleep I’ve had in years. Though that might have something to do with what happened before sleep."

Fran giggled, hiding her face in his chest. "You’re terrible."

They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying the quiet, until Maxwell kissed the top of her head.

"You know," he said softly, "I can’t stop picturing it. You, walking down the aisle. The kids all dressed up. The moment I finally get to call you my wife."

Fran’s heart squeezed.

"Maxwell Sheffield," she said, her voice soft, "you keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna cry all over your nice sheets."

He chuckled, pulling her closer. "Then I’ll just have to hold you until you stop."

Later, over breakfast, Fran sat at the table in one of Maxwell’s shirts, sipping coffee and reading through wedding magazines.

"You know what I realized?" she said. "It doesn’t matter if the flowers are white or cream or puce — as long as I get to marry you, I’m good."

Maxwell smiled, leaning over to kiss her temple. "Then we’ll keep it simple. Elegant. And exactly what you want."

Fran grinned. "You’re good at this, you know. Husband material."

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "Just now realizing that?"

Fran laughed, leaning over to kiss him, her heart so full she thought it might burst.

-31-

The kids were out with Niles for the afternoon, Sylvia had been distracted by a sale at Loehmann’s, and for once the Sheffield townhouse was completely quiet.

Fran peeked into the master bathroom, where Maxwell was already running a bath. The room was filled with soft steam, the tub nearly overflowing with bubbles.

"Wow," Fran said, leaning against the doorframe. "When you said we were takin’ a break from wedding planning, you weren’t kidding."

Maxwell turned, smiling. "Thought we deserved a little peace and quiet."

Fran sauntered over, sliding her hands around his waist. "And here I thought you just wanted to see me naked in better lighting."

He laughed softly. "That too."

She slipped out of her robe slowly, letting it slide to the floor, and Maxwell swallowed hard.

"You first," she teased, nodding toward his shirt.

He obeyed, stripping down under her watchful eye until Fran was biting her lip and grinning like a cat who’d caught the canary.

"Mm," she murmured, stepping into the tub and sinking down into the bubbles. "Now this is what I call luxury."

Maxwell climbed in after her, settling behind her so she could lean back against his chest.

For a while, they just soaked in the warm water, Fran playing idly with the bubbles.

Then Maxwell reached for the sponge, running it slowly over her shoulder, down her arm, trailing lower until Fran sighed contentedly.

"You’re good at that," she murmured.

"Just trying to make sure my fiancée is thoroughly spoiled," he said, pressing a kiss to her wet shoulder.
His hand lingered on her thigh, stroking gently until Fran let out a soft gasp.

"Maxwell," she whispered, her head falling back against him. "Are we still just relaxin’ here?"

"Not anymore," he said, voice low.

The sponge was abandoned as his hands roamed, sliding over slick skin until Fran was squirming against him.

"Turn around," he murmured, and she did, straddling him in the tub, her wet curls sticking to her flushed cheeks.

Maxwell kissed her then, slow and deep, his hands gripping her hips under the water.

Fran moaned into his mouth as he guided her down onto him, the warm water sloshing around them.

The pace was slow at first, languid and teasing, until Fran’s nails dug into his shoulders and she started moving faster, chasing the heat building between them.

Maxwell groaned, his head falling back as she rode him, the water splashing over the edge of the tub.

"Fran," he gasped, his hands tightening on her waist, "you’re going to flood the bathroom."

"Good," she panted, leaning in to kiss him. "Let the plumber deal with it."

Moments later she came undone with a cry, and Maxwell followed, holding her close as they both sank back into the water, completely spent.

Fran giggled breathlessly, resting her head against his shoulder. "Well, if this is what engaged life looks like, married life’s gonna kill me."

Maxwell kissed her wet hair. "Then I’ll make sure you go happy."

Fran laughed, splashing him with a handful of bubbles — which earned her another kiss, slow and lazy, as the water swirled around them.

-32-

Fran and Maxwell were still toweling off when they heard the unmistakable sound of the front door slamming.

"Mr. Sheffield?" Niles’s voice floated up the stairs. "Are you home?"

Fran froze mid-step, clutching the towel around her. "Oh my God, he’s back already!"

Maxwell chuckled, tying his robe. "Relax. He doesn’t know where we are."

Fran glared. "He always knows where we are. He’s like the FBI, but sassier."

Sure enough, footsteps were heading toward the master bedroom.

"Maxwell!" Fran hissed, scrambling to grab her robe. "Hide the clothes! Hide the bubbles!"

Maxwell, laughing helplessly, shoved their discarded clothes into the hamper and quickly closed the bathroom door just as Niles knocked.

"Sir?"

"Yes, Niles?" Maxwell said, sounding far too composed for someone who had just been very naked.

"Just letting you know lunch is ready," Niles said sweetly — then after a beat, added, "And congratulations on finally putting that bathtub to good use."

Fran turned beet red. "He knows!" she whispered.

Maxwell just smiled. "Of course he knows."

When they finally made it downstairs, Niles was waiting in the dining room with that wicked grin of his.

"Nice glow, Miss Fine," he said cheerfully. "Did you two get some sun?"

Fran threw him a look. "Niles, one day, you’re gonna push me too far and I’m gonna change the locks."

"Promises, promises," Niles said with a wink.

Later that afternoon, when the house was quiet again, Fran cornered Maxwell in his study.

"You know," she said, leaning against his desk, "I think we should finish what we started upstairs."

Maxwell raised a brow, intrigued. "I thought we did finish."

Fran smirked, stepping closer until she was right in front of him. "Well, maybe I just like second rounds."

Maxwell laughed softly, pulling her into his lap. "Then who am I to argue?"

And if the library door had to be locked this time… well, some lessons were worth learning.

-33-

The wedding was just weeks away, and the house felt like it was in constant motion — florists coming and going, Sylvia yelling at caterers, Val shrieking about bridesmaid shoes.

But tonight, for once, it was quiet.

Fran found Maxwell in the library, sitting in front of the fire with a glass of wine, looking thoughtful.

"Hey," she said softly, stepping inside. "You okay? You look like someone just told you Cats is getting another revival."

Maxwell smiled faintly. "Just thinking."

Fran sat beside him, tucking her legs under herself. "About the wedding?"

He nodded. "About the vows, actually. I’ve been trying to write them all day, and I keep starting over."

Fran tilted her head. "You’re overthinkin’ it, honey. Just say what’s in your heart."

Maxwell took a breath, setting his glass aside. "What’s in my heart is… you. You turned this house back into a home. You made me laugh again. And somewhere along the way, you became the person I can’t imagine living without."

Fran’s throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes.

"Maxwell Sheffield," she whispered, "you keep talkin’ like that and I’m gonna be a mess before I even get to the altar."

He reached over, taking her hand. "You don’t have to have perfect vows, Fran. You just have to promise me that we’ll face whatever comes together."

Fran smiled through her tears. "That’s easy. I promise."

For a moment, they just sat there, looking at each other in the soft firelight. Then Maxwell leaned in and kissed her — slow, lingering, full of everything they couldn’t quite put into words.

Fran climbed onto his lap, curling against him, deepening the kiss until it wasn’t just emotional anymore.

Maxwell’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer as she kissed him with quiet urgency, her tears still drying on her cheeks.

"Let’s just stay like this a little longer," she murmured against his lips.

"Forever, if you like," he said softly, resting his forehead against hers.

-34-

The night before the wedding, the Sheffield townhouse was unusually still. Val had been sent home, Sylvia was under strict orders not to call after 10 PM, and the kids were already asleep.

Fran stood in front of the full-length mirror in her room, looking at her wedding dress hanging carefully nearby.

"Tomorrow," she whispered to herself, smiling softly. "Tomorrow I’m actually gonna be Mrs. Maxwell Sheffield."

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in," Fran called, her heart already skipping.

Maxwell stepped inside, looking casual but a little restless.

"Couldn’t sleep either?" Fran asked with a small smile.

He shook his head. "Not with tomorrow looming."

Fran giggled. "Looming? Oh, honey, you make it sound like a tax audit."

He smiled, stepping closer. "I meant that in the best possible way. It’s just… tomorrow everything changes."

Fran’s breath caught. "You havin’ second thoughts?"

Maxwell cupped her cheek gently. "Not for a single moment. I just… needed to see you. To tell you how much you mean to me before we stand in front of everyone else and say it."

Fran blinked back tears, her heart swelling. "Maxwell Sheffield, you’re gonna ruin my mascara before I even put it on."

He chuckled softly, pulling her into his arms.

They stood like that for a long moment, just holding each other, breathing each other in.

"I love you," Maxwell murmured against her hair.

"I love you too," Fran said, her voice thick with emotion.

When he kissed her, it was slow and tender, a promise more than anything else.

They sat on the edge of the bed, talking in hushed voices — about the kids, about their future, about where they might honeymoon.

Fran laughed softly through her tears. "You know, when I first walked into this house, I thought you were just some stuffy, handsome Brit who needed better curtains."

Maxwell smiled. "And now?"

"Now I know you’re the love of my life," she said simply.

He kissed her again, longer this time, before finally pulling back.

"Get some sleep," he whispered. "Tomorrow, we start the rest of our lives."

Fran watched him go, her heart full, then curled up in bed — smiling as she drifted off, dreaming of the moment she’d walk toward him down the aisle.

-35-

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear, sunlight streaming through the Sheffield townhouse windows like it had been personally ordered by Fran herself.

Upstairs, Fran stood in front of the mirror in her bridal suite, her heart thudding like a drum. Val was fussing with the veil, Sylvia was tearing up for the tenth time, and Yetta was asleep in the corner — wearing a hat with fake flowers that might have been older than Fran.

"Ma," Fran said nervously, smoothing her gown. "Do I look okay?"

Sylvia gasped. "Okay?! You look like a princess. Like a princess who’s finally marrying a man with money!"

"Thanks, Ma," Fran said dryly, though her heart softened at the sight of her mother dabbing her eyes.

Val squealed. "I can’t believe this is happening! You’re gonna be Mrs. Sheffield!"

Fran smiled. "Yeah. I guess I am."

Downstairs, Maxwell was pacing in the study, adjusting his cufflinks for the fifth time.

"You look fine, sir," Niles said, handing him a boutonniere. "Though if you keep wearing a hole in that carpet, you might have to pay for a new one."

Maxwell shot him a look, but Niles only smirked.

"Nervous?"

Maxwell took a breath. "Just… ready. More ready than I’ve ever been for anything."

Niles’s smirk softened into a rare genuine smile. "Then go get her, sir."

The ceremony was held in the garden, twinkling lights strung overhead, flowers lining the aisle.
When the music started, Maxwell turned — and there she was.

Fran walked toward him, radiant in her gown, veil glinting in the sunlight. His breath caught as their eyes met, and for a moment it felt like they were the only two people in the world.

When it was time for the vows, Maxwell spoke first.

"Fran," he said, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "from the moment you came into this house, you brought it back to life. You’ve made me laugh, you’ve challenged me, you’ve taught me how to love again. I promise to spend the rest of my life making you as happy as you’ve made me."

Fran sniffled, wiping her eyes before speaking.

"Maxwell Sheffield, you have no idea how many frogs I had to kiss to get here," she said, earning a laugh from the crowd. "But you were worth every single one. You make me feel like the luckiest girl in the world. And I promise to love you — even when you’re stuffy, even when you’re dramatic, and even when you forget to take out the garbage."

Maxwell laughed softly, his eyes shining.

"By the power vested in me," the officiant said, smiling, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

"You may now kiss the bride."

Maxwell didn’t hesitate — he kissed Fran like he’d been waiting years for this moment, to a chorus of cheers from the guests.

Grace jumped up and down, Maggie wiped a tear, and Brighton muttered, "Finally," loud enough for everyone in the front row to hear.

At the reception, Sylvia danced with the caterer, Val caught the bouquet and nearly fainted, and C.C. sulked at the bar — until Niles twirled her onto the dance floor with a wicked grin.

Fran and Maxwell sneaked away for a quiet moment, standing under the twinkling lights.

"We did it," Fran whispered, looking up at him with shining eyes.

Maxwell smiled, kissing her gently. "Yes, Mrs. Sheffield. We did."

Fran grinned. "You know, I think I like the sound of that."

He kissed her again, slower this time, and Fran thought, for the hundredth time that day, that she really was the luckiest girl in the world.

-36-

The reception had finally ended. Sylvia had been bundled into the limo before she could rearrange the seating chart for tomorrow, Val had caught three bouquets, and Niles had whisked C.C. onto the dance floor just long enough for her to storm out swearing vengeance.

Fran and Maxwell returned to the townhouse hand in hand, blissfully quiet.

As soon as the front door closed, Fran leaned back against it, laughing softly.

"Well, Mr. Sheffield," she teased, slipping off her heels, "we’re officially married. You know what that means."

Maxwell loosened his tie, his eyes dark with want. "Yes. It means I no longer have to pretend to be a gentleman."

He crossed the room and kissed her — slow, deep, a kiss that made Fran’s knees go weak.

He scooped her up in his arms before she could say another word, carrying her up the stairs like she weighed nothing.

"You are really playin’ the part tonight," Fran teased breathlessly against his neck.

"Tonight," he murmured, setting her gently on the bed, "I’m not letting you out of my sight."

Fran’s heart thudded as he slowly unzipped her dress, his fingers deliberately slow as the satin slid down her shoulders and pooled at her feet.

She stood before him in lace, suddenly shy — until Maxwell’s gaze softened, drinking her in.

"Fran," he said hoarsely, "you’re stunning."

She smirked, her confidence returning. "Flattery’s nice, honey, but actions speak louder."

Maxwell stepped closer, his hands tracing over her bare arms, down to her waist. He kissed her shoulder, then lower, letting his lips linger against her skin until Fran shivered.

"Maxwell," she whispered, her hands sliding into his hair.

He knelt before her, kissing his way slowly down her stomach, his fingers hooking in the lace at her hips. Fran gasped softly as he took his time, teasing her until her legs were trembling and she had to clutch his shoulders just to stay upright.

"Please," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Maxwell looked up at her, his eyes dark with heat. "Say it again."

"Please," she begged, laughing breathlessly, "or I’m not making it to round one."

He rose to his feet and kissed her hard, guiding her back onto the bed. This time he was the one who took his time undressing, Fran’s hands wandering greedily over his chest as each button came undone.

When he finally joined her on the bed, he pressed slow kisses down her throat, across her collarbone, lingering at every place that made her gasp.

By the time he slid inside her, Fran was already trembling, her nails digging into his shoulders.

They moved together in a rhythm that was achingly slow, deliberate — a dance they had been building toward for years.

"Fran," Maxwell whispered, his forehead pressed to hers, "my wife."

She smiled through the tears in her eyes. "Say it again."

He did, over and over, until Fran cried out, shattering around him, pulling him with her until they both collapsed in the sheets, breathless and shaking.

Fran curled against his chest, still catching her breath, her curls wild around her face.

"You know," she said with a lazy grin, "if that’s what marriage is like, we’re gonna need a lotta late checkouts."

Maxwell laughed, kissing the top of her head. "Then I’ll book every one of them."

Fran giggled, rolling on top of him, her grin wicked. "Round two?"

Maxwell kissed her again — slower this time, but with a promise. "Round two," he agreed, pulling her back under the covers.

-37-

Fran woke up to the warm weight of Maxwell’s arm draped over her waist and the sunlight spilling across the room.

For a blissful moment, she just lay there, smiling at the memory of last night — the way he’d undressed her so slowly, the way he’d whispered “my wife” like it was the most sacred prayer.

Maxwell stirred beside her, his voice low and rough. "Good morning, Mrs. Sheffield."

Fran grinned, rolling over to face him. "Mmm, I could get used to wakin’ up like this."

Maxwell brushed a curl from her face, looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. "You were incredible last night."

Fran giggled, her cheeks warming. "You weren’t so bad yourself, Mr. Sheffield."

For a while, they stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, exchanging soft kisses and quiet laughter.

Then Maxwell’s hand began tracing lazy circles on her hip, slipping under the sheet.

"Maxwell…" she said softly, pretending to protest, "don’t tell me you’re ready for round two already."

He smiled, leaning in to kiss her neck. "Round two? I was thinking more like round three."

Fran laughed, but her breath hitched as his fingers traveled lower, teasing until she gasped.

"You really are gonna wear me out before the honeymoon," she whispered, her hands tangling in his hair.

The kisses turned deeper, slower, until Fran was arching toward him, pulling him closer.

"Maxwell," she murmured, her voice low, "lock the door."

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Moments later, he was above her again, kissing her as though the world outside their room didn’t exist.

This time was slower than the night before — lazy, unhurried, just the two of them moving together under the morning sun.

When they finally collapsed against the pillows, Fran was giggling breathlessly, her curls sticking to her flushed cheeks.

"Okay," she said, "if this is married life, I officially approve."

Maxwell kissed her softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. "I intend to make sure you never regret it."

Later, over breakfast in bed, Fran sat wearing nothing but Maxwell’s shirt, sipping coffee while flipping through a wedding album proof.

"You know," she said, looking up at him, "we should take a nice, long honeymoon. Like two weeks. Maybe three."

Maxwell smiled, taking her hand across the tray. "Whatever you want, my love."

Fran grinned. "Good. Because after last night, I think we deserve to celebrate properly."

-38-

The car ride from the airport had been scenic, but when Fran stepped into their honeymoon suite, she nearly dropped her purse.

"Maxwell Sheffield," she gasped, her eyes wide, "you brought me to a palace!"

Maxwell smiled, watching her twirl around the room. The suite was massive — a king-sized bed draped in crisp white linens, a balcony overlooking the ocean, and
a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver bucket.

"You deserve the very best," he said simply.

Fran turned to him, her heart melting. "You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet."

A bellhop brought up their luggage, and once they were finally alone, Fran kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed with a happy sigh.

"I could live here," she announced. "This bed is so big, we could invite the whole family and still have room. Not that we will — I want ‘em all as far away as possible right now."

Maxwell laughed, sitting beside her and loosening his tie.

Fran propped herself up on her elbows, her eyes gleaming. "So what’s first? A swim? Room service? Or…" She slid a little closer, her voice dropping suggestively. "Do we test out the bed?"

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "We just got here."

Fran grinned. "Exactly. Why waste time?"

He leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Patience, Mrs. Sheffield. There’s an entire week ahead of us."

Fran pouted playfully. "Fine. But we’re ordering champagne."

Maxwell smiled, popping the cork and pouring them each a glass.

They clinked glasses, toasting quietly.

"To us," Maxwell said.

Fran’s smile softened. "To forever."

They ended up sitting on the balcony, sipping champagne as the sun set over the ocean.

Maxwell rested a hand on her thigh, and Fran leaned against his shoulder, feeling warm and a little tipsy.

"This is perfect," she whispered.

"It’s only the beginning," he murmured, kissing the top of her head.

When they finally came back inside, Fran stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, slowly slipping out of her dress.

Maxwell swallowed hard, setting down his glass.

"Just getting comfortable," Fran teased, glancing over her shoulder.

Maxwell crossed the room, his hands finding her waist, his lips brushing her neck.

The air between them turned charged, slow and electric.

Fran turned in his arms, smiling softly. "Round one of the honeymoon?"

Maxwell kissed her, long and lingering. "Tomorrow," he whispered against her lips, "I intend to make sure we never leave this room."

-39-

The sun had barely set when Fran pulled Maxwell back into the suite, laughing as he shut the balcony doors.

"You know," she said, backing toward the bed, "I’ve been thinkin’ about this all through the flight."

Maxwell raised a brow. "Oh? And what exactly have you been thinking?"

Fran grinned wickedly. "That we’ve got this gorgeous room, a week with no interruptions… and I fully intend to take advantage of it."

She reached behind her, unzipping her dress in one slow motion, letting it fall to the floor as Maxwell’s eyes darkened.

"Fran…" he said, almost reverently.

She winked. "Like what you see, Mr. Sheffield?"

He crossed the room in two long strides, his hands on her waist as he kissed her, deep and hungry.

This time, there was no rush — Maxwell let his lips wander slowly down her neck, across her collarbone, lower still until Fran gasped and tangled her fingers in his hair.

"Maxwell," she whispered, breathless.

He knelt in front of her, sliding her panties down her legs with aching slowness, kissing the inside of her thigh before moving higher.

Fran let out a soft cry, clutching at the edge of the bed, her knees going weak as he teased her mercilessly until she was trembling.

"Please," she begged.

Maxwell looked up at her, his voice low. "I love hearing you say that."

When he finally rose to kiss her again, Fran made quick work of his shirt buttons, shoving the fabric off his shoulders and running her hands over his chest.

She pushed him back onto the bed and straddled him, grinning down at him.

"My turn," she said, kissing him deeply before trailing her mouth down his chest, taking her time until Maxwell was groaning, his hands gripping the sheets.

"Fran," he said hoarsely, "if you don’t stop teasing me—"

She smiled wickedly. "But that’s the fun part."

When she finally sank down onto him, both of them gasped, the world outside their room disappearing.

Fran set the pace at first — slow, deliberate, making him watch as she moved above him — until Maxwell rolled them over, pinning her beneath him with a kiss that stole her breath.

The rhythm turned frantic, water glasses rattling on the nightstand as they lost themselves in each other completely.

Fran cried out his name, clinging to him as she came undone, and Maxwell followed moments later, holding her tight.

They lay in a tangled heap, breathless, giggling between kisses.

"Okay," Fran said finally, her curls sticking to her damp skin, "we definitely gotta try that again on the balcony."

Maxwell laughed, kissing her forehead. "You are insatiable."

"Hey," Fran teased, "I didn’t marry you for your money — I married you for this."

Maxwell grinned, rolling her beneath him again. "Then let’s make sure you’re getting your money’s worth."

And round two began — this time against the balcony doors, the ocean waves crashing below them.

-40-

It had been three months since the wedding, and the Sheffield townhouse had never felt more like home.

Fran sat on the living room sofa, flipping through their wedding album while sipping tea. Maxwell walked in, loosening his tie from a long day at the theater, and leaned down to kiss the top of her head.

"Good evening, Mrs. Sheffield," he said warmly.

Fran beamed up at him. "You know, I still don’t get tired of hearin’ that."

Grace bounded into the room, holding a drawing of the family. "Look! I added Fran to the family portrait," she said proudly.

Fran’s heart melted. "Aw, sweetie! You made my hair perfect!"

Brighton wandered in behind her, smirking. "Yeah, she also gave you a tiara. Apparently, you’re royalty now."

"Finally!" Fran said, striking a pose. "About time someone noticed."

Maggie rolled her eyes fondly. "You two are ridiculous."

Maxwell smiled, pulling Fran closer on the sofa. "Maybe. But we’re happy."

From the kitchen, Niles called out, "Happier and louder than ever, if last night was any indication!"

Fran’s face went crimson as the kids groaned.

"Niles!" Maxwell warned, but Fran was laughing too hard to be embarrassed.

Later that night, after the kids were in bed, Fran curled up against Maxwell in their room, her voice soft.

"You know," she said, playing with the buttons on his shirt, "I’ve been thinkin’… maybe this house could use one more little Sheffield runnin’ around."

Maxwell blinked, then smiled slowly. "You mean—?"

Fran grinned, kissing him softly. "I mean I’m ready when you are."

Maxwell kissed her back, pulling her into his arms. "Then let’s start working on it tonight."

Fran giggled. "Oh, honey, if we work as hard as we did on the honeymoon, we’re gonna have twins!"

Maxwell laughed, kissing her again — slow and deep — as the lights of the townhouse glowed softly in the night, a perfect ending to their story and the beginning of everything still to come.

The End...❤️

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ActingDenver, Dark_shadow0615, ava5225, observeroftheuniverse, Suga_lil_Meow, benex, soulgyrl, QueenofKlonnie_20, Andrea_W, and gabi6210 as well as 5 guests left kudos on this work!

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Andrea_W on Chapter 1 Fri 26 Sep 2025 04:52AM UTC

Ohh i loved this story. So sweet.
I’ve got to say this is one of the best you’ve written.

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1. OhMyFranadora on Chapter 1 Fri 26 Sep 2025 05:03AM UTC
  
  Thank you very much...that means a lot to me 💕
  
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2. OhMyFranadora on Chapter 1 Thu 02 Oct 2025 11:02PM UTC
  
  🥰thank you so much
  
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soulgyrl on Chapter 1 Sat 27 Sep 2025 08:09PM UTC

I love this! And C.C.- "I hate this house." LOL!!

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