I pull her close, kissing her on the forehead. “Anything for you, my love.”
She sighs and rests her head on my chest. Light music plays through the house’s sound system, and we start to sway together.
“We did it,” she says, and her voice is small.
“Yes, we did,” I agree.
“You know who else did it?” she asks. “Conor and Misha.”
“What?”
She giggles. “Oh yeah. There was a lot of eye-fucking at the party, and then I saw them sneak out during the dancing.”
“That doesn’t mean they?—”
“Come on,” she interrupts. “That’s been on the verge of happening for months.”
“Yebuchiy mudak,”I grumble in Russian.
“She’s an adult,” Leanna says. “She can make her own choices.”
“FuckingConorthough?”
We both go quiet, still swaying. It’s probably four in the morning now.
“Are you tired? That was quite a party.”
“Italians know how to do weddings,” she says.
“Indeed.”
“Did you like it?” she asks.
I pull back and look at her. “Are you serious?”
“I don’t know,” she says. “It was a lot.”
I move to put my hands on her cheeks, making her look at me. “Ana. I liked it because it meant I was marrying you. That you’re truly mine now, you know that. Right?”
She flushes. “I know. And…no.”
“No?”
“No, I’m not tired.”
Ah.
I step back to take her in. The sweetheart neckline frames the soft swell of her breasts, the smooth fabric hugging her waist before spilling into a full skirt that sweeps the floor. Simple. Elegant. Perfect for her.
She’s stunning—fire and softness woven together—but I know she’s just as perfect without it, and I ache to see all of her.
I reach out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. My fingers linger against the warmth of her skin. She meets my gaze, hazel eyes dark and wide, and the air between us all but sizzles.
“I’ve wanted to kiss you like this for a long time,” I murmur.
“Like what?” she asks.
“Like you belong to me.”
