And gently—very gently—I reached up and swept her hair over her shoulder.
She froze but she didn’t stop me.
Just let me touch the delicate clasp at the base of her neck. “This doesn’t suit you,” I murmured.
Then I unhooked it.
The necklace came free, falling into my palm and I dropped it on the table like it was worthless.
My hand didn’t leave her. And I stared into her eyes of the woman we’d been building an empire around for the last three years.
God, our wife was beautiful.
She just stared back, trying to remember how to breathe while I memorized every fucking detail of her face again. I loved that. I still had an effect on her.
And for five seconds I felt like the world might finally fucking stop spinning if I could just hold her here long enough.
If I could just keep her.
And then she shifted. Turned her body toward me—so fucking close now that if I leaned forward, just an inch or two, I could kiss her.
Fuck, maybe I should take the moment for what it was and break the world open. Remind her what her body did when it was underneath mine.
Her knee brushed mine under the table, accidental. Still, it was enough to flood me. The tension, need from waiting three years. My dick was hard just from proximity. From one fucking accidental touch.
“Why are you here?” she asked, her voice quieter now.
“Hungry.” I lied.
“You hate food with long names.”
I didn’t answer.
“You hate menus that don’t have at least one word in English,” she added. “Don’t pretend you came here for the amuse-bouche.”
Her tone wasn’t mocking. It was something colder. Like she was building a wall again and wanted me to see it happening in real time.
Her gaze swept the table, the space behind me, then landed back on me with a slightly raised brow.
“Are you here alone?” she asked.
The implication wasn’t subtle.
This place was known for its exclusivity. Private booths,curated wine pairings, views of the skyline so elite they made headlines. It was where heirs brought their dynasty girls. Of course she’d think I brought someone.
But I hadn’t.
I hadn’t touched another woman since her. I hadn’t even looked at another woman. Because no one fucking compared.
And I wasn’t built for substitutes.
Only her.
I told her once that our love was final. Luca and I already had sworn to her. The vow mightn’t be public or tattooed. But it was final, for us.
“No,” I said.
Her eyes flicked over my face like she was testing that answer, looking to see if I was lying.
