I told the chef I wanted the atmosphere to be soft, not showy. Candles, a little music, maybe some rose petals by the table, just enough to make the night feel like a celebration of love rather than formality.
Because that’s what this was. This baby moon wasn’t just about getting away. It was about relaxing and enjoying ourselves as a childless triad before everything changed. It was about joy, and balance, and gratitude for what we had built.
Amiyah turned in my arms and looked up at me, her expression tender. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
I smiled. “You deserve everything, baby.”
She leaned in and kissed my cheek, her lips soft and lingering. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”
“I’ve been told,” I teased, and she laughed.
James looked between us before lowering her belly and turning around to kiss her slowly, before making his way to kiss me the same way. He slid his hands around my waist, his deep voice calm and content. “I say we unpack, nap, and then let Chef work his magic tonight.”
“Deal,” Amiyah said, already rolling her bag toward the bedroom.
Watching them move, the laughter filling the suite, I felt something settle in my chest. Life felt easy, no boardrooms, no stress, no ghosts of the past, only the sound of waves, and the promise of a night filled with peace, and if all went well, a little mischief too.
By the time the sun melted into the sea, Curaçao felt like a dream we had all stepped into together. The sky was streaked with shades of honey and coral, and the sound of the ocean drifted through the open doors of our suite like music written just for us.
Dinner had been perfect, everything I hoped it would be.
Our private chef had woven magic into every course. Sweet, savory, spicy, tender. Each dish told a story, a celebration of the island and of us. Watching James laugh, his deep voice low and steady, and Amiyah smile, glowing in the candlelight, filled me with something that felt like peace.
When the last plate was cleared and the chef said goodnight, the suite shifted.
The music softened, the candles I had arranged earlier burned lower, and the lights dimmed until the room was bathed in a golden glow that seemedto pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat.
Amiyah turned to me first, her eyes curious. “Calla, what’s going on?”
James glanced between us, his expression somewhere between amused and cautious. “Yeah, what did you do?”
I smiled, feeling the warmth of the moment bloom in my chest.
I had been planning this for months, waiting for the right time and place. And here, in this quiet paradise where the world had slowed down enough for us to be, everything felt aligned.
“Tonight,” I said softly, “is our collaring ceremony.”
Amiyah blinked. “Our what?”
James leaned forward, his brow furrowing slightly. “You’re serious?”
“Completely,” I said, stepping closer to them. “This isn’t about control or ownership. It’s about devotion, choice, and trust. About what we mean to one another.”
Amiyah’s lips parted as emotion flickered across her face. “Calla…”
The air in the suite felt charged, the kind of stillness that only exists before something sacred begins. When I told them what the night was, their reactions nearly undid me. Amiyah’s lips parted, her breath catching. James froze, his eyes locked on mine. For a heartbeat, none of us spoke. Then, without a word, they both lowered themselves to the floor, kneeling before me.
Not out of command, out of choice.
The sight of them there, heads bowed, bathed in the soft amber lighting, sent emotion rippling through me. There was power in it, but more than that, there was trust. They weren’t submitting to control; they were surrendering to love, to faith, to us.
My voice trembled as I said, “Look at me.”
When they lifted their heads, I saw everything I had ever wanted reflected back at me. Amiyah’s eyes were wet, her lips trembling with emotion. James' gaze was steady, full of quiet reverence. The world outside faded until all I could see were the two of them, grounded and waiting, hearts open.
I turned to the table beside me and picked up the two gold necklaces resting on the black silk cloth. They shimmered softly, delicate yet strong. When worn, they appeared as jewelry, elegant and understated, but with the right pull, they transformed into collars—symbols not of ownership but of devotion and connection.
They loved me, respected me, but most of all, they trusted me, and tonight was a symbol of love that let them know I would never take that love for granted. I finally made it to them, my pulse echoing in my ears. “This is not about power,” I said softly. “It’s about love, about the promises we’ve made to each other without ever needing to speak them aloud.”
