The funny thing about peace is that it feels strange when it finally arrives.
For the first time in years, I wasn't boarding a plane to handle a deal or settle a feud. There were no men with me, no briefcases of weapons, no plans spinning in my head. Just one woman who was my wife sitting beside me in a first-class cabin, laughing softly at something on her phone.
And somehow, that felt like power too.
Mira had her hair pulled up in a loose bun, a few curls escaping and framing her face. She wore one of those flowy cream tops that made her skin glow even more under the cabin lights. She wasn't even trying, but she owned every space she walked into, mine included.
I should have been checking emails or reading the paper like a civilized man, but no. I just sat there, my eyes fixed on her, pretending I wasn't completely undone by how easily she existed next to me.
"You're staring again," she murmured, not even looking up.
"Maybe I like what I see."
