"You really did." I lean up to kiss him again. "Happy Valentine's Day, husband."
"Happy Valentine's Day, wife." His arms tighten around me. "Thank you for the best surprise I've ever had."
We fall silent again, but it's a comfortable silence. The silence of two people who have just shared something extraordinary and don't need words to acknowledge it.
The night isn't over yet—there's still so much we haven't explored—but for now, this is enough.
For now, we just hold each other and breathe.
CHAPTER 12
LUKE
Dawn light filters through the cellar's small windows, painting everything in shades of gold.
I'm not sure when we moved from the chaise to the nest of blankets and pillows Seraphina had stashed in the corner—another part of her elaborate counter-plan that I never saw coming. But at some point in the night, we migrated here, curling around each other like we couldn't bear to be apart even in sleep.
She's still sleeping now, her head pillowed on my chest, her dark hair fanned out across my skin. The masks are gone. We took them off sometime in the small hours, when the games finally ended and we were just ourselves again. Her face is peaceful, soft with sleep, the wine stains faded from her lips.
I could watch her forever.
The candles have all burned out, leaving pools of hardened wax on every surface. The black heart balloons have drifted to the floor, their helium slowly depleting. The cellar looks like the aftermath of something wild and beautiful—which, I suppose, it is.
I think about everything that happened last night. The chase through the vineyard, the capture, the hours of pleasure I wrungfrom her body. And then the twist—her drugging me, tying me up, turning my own game against me in ways I never could have predicted.
I've never been outmaneuvered like that. Not once in my entire life.
I should probably be embarrassed. My carefully orchestrated plan, months in the making, completely hijacked by my wife of seven weeks. I didn't suspect a thing.
But I'm not embarrassed. I'm awed.
I married a woman who can match me scheme for scheme, who won't just accept my surprises but will build her own on top of them. A woman who saw my elaborate fantasy and raised me a counter-fantasy so perfect it took my breath away.
How the fuck did I get so lucky?
Seraphina stirs against my chest, making a small sound of protest at the intrusion of daylight. I press a kiss to the top of her head.
"Morning, love."
"Mmph." She burrows deeper into me, hiding her face from the light. "What time is it?"
"No idea." I haven't looked at my phone since before dinner last night. It's probably dead by now, wherever I left it. "Does it matter?"
She considers this for a moment, then shakes her head. "No. I guess it doesn't."
We lie there in comfortable silence, wrapped in blankets and each other. The cellar is cool but not cold, the stone walls insulating us from the February chill outside. I trace idle patterns on her bare shoulder, content to exist in this moment for as long as she'll let me.
"So," she says eventually, propping her chin on my chest to look at me. "Last night was something."
I laugh. "That's one way to put it."
"I'm serious." Her eyes are bright, despite the early hour. "I've been thinking about it all wrong, you know. Our games. I always thought they were about you being in control, me surrendering. But that's not really what they're about, is it?"
I raise an eyebrow, curious where she's going with this. "What do you think they're about?"
"Trust." She says it simply, like it's obvious. "You create these elaborate scenarios because you trust me to play along, to tell you if something's too much, to surrender knowing you'll take care of me. And last night, I..." She trails off, searching for words.
"You gave me the chance to do the same thing," I finish for her.
