Updated Oct 4, 2025 • ~8 min read
“We should do something crazy,” Theo said one Friday evening, three months before the wedding. They were on the couch in their apartment, both exhausted from work weeks that had blurred into routine.
Ivy looked up from her laptop. “Define crazy.”
“Spontaneous. Reckless. The kind of thing we would have done before we became responsible adults planning weddings and worrying about 401ks.” His grin was boyish, mischievous. “When’s the last time we did something just for fun?”
Ivy thought about it and realized he was right. Since Richard’s trial ended, they’d been so focused on building stable, responsible lives that they’d forgotten to actually enjoy them.
“What did you have in mind?”
“No plan. That’s the point.” Theo closed her laptop and pulled her to her feet. “Get dressed. Something fun. We’re going out and we’re not coming back until we’ve had at least one adventure.”
An hour later, they were in Manhattan, dressed up but with no destination, just walking and seeing where the night took them. They ended up at a speakeasy in the East Village, hidden behind a phone booth entrance, all dim lighting and jazz music and prohibition-era cocktails.
“This is perfect,” Ivy said, sipping something called a Bee’s Knees that tasted like honey and gin and bad decisions. “When did you find this place?”
“I didn’t. I saw the phone booth and took a chance.” Theo’s smile was warm, relaxed in a way she hadn’t seen in months. “That’s the point of tonight. Taking chances.”
They drank cocktails with ridiculous names and danced to live jazz even though neither of them knew how to properly swing dance. They laughed when Theo stepped on her feet, when Ivy accidentally knocked over someone’s drink, when they both got tipsy enough that the world felt soft around the edges.
“I love you,” Theo said, spinning her inexpertly on the small dance floor. “Have I mentioned that recently?”
“Not in the last hour,” Ivy teased. “I was starting to worry.”
“Can’t have that.” He pulled her close, swaying more than dancing now. “I love you, Ivy Blake. I love your fierce determination and your terrible sense of direction and the way you steal my coffee every morning even though you have your own.”
“I don’t steal it. I borrow it. There’s a difference.”
“There really isn’t.” But Theo was grinning, happy in a way that made Ivy’s chest ache with affection. “Dance with me forever?”
“That’s what marriage means, yes.”
“Good. Just checking.”
They left the speakeasy around midnight, buzzed and giddy and not ready for the night to end. A night tasting the thrill of forbidden stepbrother romance had evolved into something simpler, purer—just two people in love, having fun, remembering why they’d fallen for each other in the first place.
“Rooftop,” Theo said suddenly, pointing at a building. “We should go up there.”
“That’s probably illegal.”
“Probably.” His grin was wicked. “You scared?”
Ivy had faced down a billionaire, corporate espionage charges, and public scandal. A little trespassing didn’t even register. “Lead the way.”
They found a service entrance with a conveniently broken lock and climbed six flights of stairs, giggling like teenagers doing something forbidden. The rooftop was exactly what Ivy had hoped—empty, overlooking the glittering chaos of Manhattan, the kind of view that made everything feel possible.
“This is crazy,” she said, breathless from climbing and from the sheer recklessness of it all.
“This is perfect.” Theo pulled her to the edge—safe behind the barrier but high enough to feel the thrill of it. “Look at that. We conquered that city.”
“We survived it,” Ivy corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Fine. We survived it spectacularly.” Theo turned her to face him, his expression softening from playful to serious. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this. For reminding me that we’re not just trauma survivors or scandal subjects or people rebuilding from disaster. We’re us. Two people who love each other enough to break into buildings and drink cocktails with stupid names and dance badly to jazz music.”
“We are pretty terrible dancers,” Ivy agreed, smiling.
“The worst.” Theo kissed her, soft and sweet and tasting like gin and honey. “Marry me right now.”
“We’re already engaged, genius.”
“No, I mean actually marry me. Tonight. Vegas-style elopement, terrible Elvis impersonator, the works.” His eyes were bright with cocktails and possibility. “Let’s do something completely insane and marry each other before we talk ourselves out of it.”
Ivy laughed, assuming he was joking. But Theo’s expression stayed serious, hopeful.
“You’re actually suggesting we elope,” she said slowly.
“I am. Why wait three more months? Why plan some big ceremony when what we really want is just to be married? To be husband and wife and start our life together?” Theo cupped her face in his hands. “Marry me tonight, Ivy. Let’s be reckless.”
The proposal was absurd. They had a wedding planned, guests invited, deposits paid. Eloping would be complicated and impulsive and probably something they’d regret in the sober light of morning.
But looking at Theo—at the man who’d fought beside her, who’d chosen her over everything, who was suggesting they jump off a metaphorical cliff together just because it would be an adventure—Ivy felt something click into place.
“Yes,” she said. “Let’s do it.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Ivy kissed him, fierce and certain. “Let’s be reckless. Let’s elope. Let’s start our marriage right now, tonight, without waiting for permission or perfect timing.”
Theo’s whoop of joy probably woke half the building. He swept her into his arms, spinning on the rooftop, both of them laughing with the pure insanity of it.
“Vegas is a six-hour flight,” he said, already pulling out his phone. “If we catch the red-eye, we could be married by morning.”
“Let’s do it.”
They raced back to Brooklyn, threw essentials into overnight bags, and caught a 2 AM flight to Vegas. The plane was half-empty, mostly other couples with the same reckless idea and a few confused business travelers. Ivy and Theo sat in the back, holding hands and grinning like fools.
“Claire’s going to kill us,” Ivy said.
“Probably.” Theo kissed her knuckles. “Worth it though.”
“Completely worth it.”
They landed in Vegas at 5 AM Pacific time, took a cab to a chapel that advertised 24-hour weddings, and stood in line behind two other couples who’d had the same impulsive idea.
“Last chance to back out,” Theo said as they filled out paperwork.
“Not backing out.” Ivy signed her name with a flourish. “You?”
“Not a chance.”
The ceremony was exactly as cheesy as promised—an Elvis impersonator, plastic flowers, “Can’t Help Falling in Love” playing from tinny speakers. It was tacky and rushed and absolutely perfect.
“Do you, Theo Harrington, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”
“I do.” No hesitation, just certainty.
“And do you, Ivy Blake, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”
“I do.” The words felt right, real, more meaningful than any elaborate ceremony could be.
“Then by the power vested in me by the state of Nevada and the legacy of the King, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride.”
Theo kissed her like it was the first time and the last time and every time in between. When they finally broke apart, both crying and laughing, they were married.
“Mrs. Harrington,” Theo said, testing it out.
“Mrs. Blake-Harrington,” Ivy corrected. “We discussed this.”
“Mrs. Blake-Harrington,” he agreed, grinning. “My wife.”
“My husband.” The word felt foreign and perfect. “We actually did this.”
“We actually did this.”
They stumbled out of the chapel into the blazing Vegas morning, married and sleep-deprived and completely, recklessly happy. A night tasting the thrill of forbidden stepbrother romance had culminated in the most impulsive, perfect decision either of them had ever made.
“Should we tell people?” Ivy asked as they checked into a hotel for a proper wedding night.
“Eventually.” Theo pulled her close in the elevator. “But right now, let’s just enjoy being married. Just us, for a little while.”
They spent the weekend in Vegas, celebrating their elopement with room service and lazy mornings and the kind of intimacy that came from knowing they’d chosen each other completely. No more fiancé and fiancée—husband and wife.
When they flew back to New York on Sunday evening, rings on their fingers and marriage license in their bag, reality was waiting. They’d have to tell Claire, cancel the planned wedding, face everyone’s reactions to their impulsive decision.
But as the plane descended toward JFK, Ivy felt no regret. Just joy, pure and uncomplicated.
“Ready to face the world as a married couple?” Theo asked.
“Ready for anything as long as I’m with you.” Ivy kissed him, soft and sweet. “Husband.”
“Wife,” he replied, the word a promise and a celebration.
They’d been reckless. They’d been impulsive. They’d been absolutely, perfectly themselves.
And now they were married.
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