Rian's POV
I watch Luca work—brush moving across canvas, completely absorbed in his art.
He's breathtaking. Silver-streaked hair catching sunlight, face focused, absolutely perfect.
"You're staring," he says without looking up.
"Can't help it. You're beautiful."
"You see me every day."
"And I'm grateful every day." I approach, wrapping my arms around him from behind. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For staying. For loving me. For giving us a chance." I kiss his neck. "For being mine."
He sets down his brush, turning in my arms. "You make it sound like a gift."
"It is. You're the best thing that ever happened to me." I cup his face. "I don't say it enough. How grateful I am."
"You show me. Every day." His eyes are soft. "The way you look at me, touch me, love me. I feel it constantly."
"Good. Because I plan to keep showing you. Forever."
He kisses me deeply, and I pour everything through the bond—love, gratitude, devotion.
"I'm grateful too," he murmurs against my lips. "You changed my life. Made me happier than I ever imagined."
"Even with the kidnapping?"
"Even with that. Led us here." He pulls back slightly. "Want to know a secret?"
"Always."
"I'm glad you claimed me. Glad you were too desperate and possessive to let me go." His smile is soft. "Because I never would've chosen this. Would've been too scared. But you forced me to see what we could be."
My throat tightens. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He kisses me again. "Best terrible decision we both made."
I lift him onto the table, settling between his legs. "Love you. So fucking much."
"Show me."
I do. Right there in his studio, surrounded by his art, I worship him thoroughly.
Later, both satisfied and paint-smeared, he laughs against my shoulder.
"We christened my studio."
"We christened everything. The gallery, the training room, the—"
"I get it. You're insatiable."
"Only for you." I kiss his temple. "Want to christen somewhere else?"
"Rian!" But he's laughing, happy, perfect.
That evening, I plan something special. Rose petals leading to our bedroom, candles everywhere, soft music playing.
When Luca sees it, tears shine in his eyes.
"What's this for?"
"Appreciation. Romance. Showing you what you mean to me." I take his hand. "Dance with me?"
We sway slowly, his head on my chest, perfect fit.
"You're ridiculous," he murmurs.
"You love me anyway."
"So much." He tilts his head up. "Thank you for this. For romancing me."
"Always." I kiss him softly. "You deserve grand gestures and poetry and worship."
"I just need you."
"You have me. Completely." I guide him toward the bed. "Now let me show you exactly how much I love you."
What follows is slow, tender, overwhelming. Every touch reverent, every kiss meaningful.
"Mine," I breathe against his skin.
"Yours," he gasps. "Always yours."
Hours later, wrapped together in candlelight, he traces my chest.
"Best husband ever," he murmurs sleepily.
"Best mate ever," I respond.
"We're perfect together."
"Yeah. We really are."