Grant
Rowan keeps smoothingher hands over her white dress like she thinks someone’s going to look at her wrong. No chance of that. Not when every man we pass keeps glancing at her, and every muscle in my body tightens until she slips her hand into mine.
Then I don’t care who looks.
“You didn’t have to take me somewhere this fancy!” Rowan hisses as we step inside the restaurant. “It’s too expensive.”
“I don’t think so.”
She sighs, and I squeeze her hand as I approach the hostess stand to check in for our reservation.
“Right this way,” the hostess says.
Taking Rowan’s hand, I tug her after me to the table. I pull out her chair, and she blushes as she takes her seat. We take our menus, and I watch my wife as she looks it over. She keeps her eyes on the menu but glances up at me every few seconds, cheeks pink, lips tugging into a shy smile that kills me.
“You okay?” she asks, voice soft.
I lean back, not bothering to hide the way I watch her. “Yeah. Just looking at my wife.”
Her whole face turns red. She ducks her head, then laughs nervously as she pushes her hair behind her ear.
I reach across the table and let my thumb graze her knuckles.
She shivers.
Good. I like that she reacts to me. I like knowing I can do that to her.
Dinner is perfect—slow, warm, and filled with little laughs every time our feet brush under the table. I didn’t know I could feel this… satisfied. This full. Like something inside me that’s been hollow for years is slowly filling up.
When we finish dessert, I catch the way she keeps glancing toward the Strip, toward the bright lights outside the window.
“What do you want to do now?” I ask her. “I’ll take you anywhere.”
Her cheeks flush again. “Um… could we maybe see the Bellagio fountains? I’ve always wanted to.”
Her voice is quiet, hopeful.
I don’t even let her finish the last syllable before I’m standing, taking her hand, and lifting her out of her chair. “Yes, Ro. Anything you want.”
We head outside, and I keep her close as we navigate the sidewalk. Vegas at night is loud and chaotic, but all I notice is her, her tiny hand wrapped in mine, her dress brushing her knees, her eyes wide as she looks up at everything.
“This is amazing,” she breathes as we approach the fountain.
I watch her instead of the water. I’ve seen fountains before. I’ve never seen Rowan’s eyes glow like this.
The show starts—lights, music, and water spraying into the sky.
Rowan gasps, leaning closer to me without even realizing it.
I curl my arm around her waist and pull her tight against my side. She fits there. Perfectly.
Standing here, with her pressed against me, the neon lights reflecting in her eyes, something inside me tightens. A need. A hunger. A certainty.
She’s mine.
When the show ends, she starts to walk away, then winces. It’s barely a flinch, but I see it.
“What’s wrong?” I ask immediately.
