His lips curve into a smirk. “You’ll see.”
The chilly winter weather has eased up some tonight, though it wouldn’t matter either way. In a city like Manhattan, the streets are always glittering with life.
We pull up outside a Japanese establishment called Katsu-ya.
The exterior is elegant but modern, the inside giving the same vibe with its dark wood and mood lighting.
The hostess greets Ronan by name and leads us to a private table in the back, tucked away from prying eyes. The space is intimate and warm, the decor minimalist in a way that still feels luxurious. A single orchid sits in the center of our table, its white petals luminous against the dark wood.
We order omakase and a bottle of sake, and as the courses begin to arrive—expertly prepared slices of sashimi, impeccably seared wagyu, handrolls bursting with fresh crab and tuna—I find myself relaxing more than I have in weeks. Maybe months.
The sake helps. It’s smooth and slightly sweet, warming me from the inside out, loosening any leftover tension I didn’t realize I had.
“You’re smiling,” Ronan observes, his chopsticks pausing halfway to his mouth.
“Am I not allowed to smile?”
“You’re allowed to do whatever you want.” He pops the piece of yellowtail into his mouth and chews, watching me with his irreverent and intense green eyes. “I’m just not used to seeing it. I’m talking the real one. Aroundmeof all people.”
I swallow another sip of sake, more warmth spreading through me. “Maybe I haven’t had much to smile about lately.”
“And now?”
“Now... I don’t know. Things feel different,” I say, pausing to meet his gaze. “Wefeel different.”
“Then it’s a good kinda different if it makes you smile the way you are. But you’re right—things are different now. We’ve been through some shit.”
I laugh at his bluntness. “Shit like being held hostage by an Albanian crime lord?”
“Having my ass kicked by his men.”
“Throttled by a traitor cousin in our family.”
“Putting some bullets in the assholes.”
“Who can forget Dr. Hino’s visit?” I tease. “Let’s hope we won’t be seeing much more of him.”
“Oh, we—I—will be. He’s used to patching me up by now.”
“Maybe so, but I’d like my husband to live a long and fruitful life.” My brows quirk at him as I finish my sake and redirect my focus on the sashimi. “Don’t make me a young widow, Ronan. Behave yourself.”
“I’ll behave myself in public. For now. But you already know what comes later.” His knee nudges mine under the table and warmth involuntarily floods my cheeks.
We finish dinner and step back out into the cool night air, the city buzzing with energy around us. Ronan’s hand finds the small of my back as we walk, a casual possessive gesture that sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.
We’re passing by Lincoln Center when I spot the fountain.
Jets of water shoot up into the night sky from the massive stone structure, catching the light in a dazzling display. I’m three cups of sake deep by now, feeling pleasantly floaty, and before I can think better of it, I’m tugging Ronan toward the fountain’s edge.
“What are you doing?” he asks, slightly amused.
“Making a wish.” I dig into my clutch and produce a coin, holding it up triumphantly. “Don’t you know the rules? You throw a coin in a fountain and make a wish. It’s tradition.”
“Says who?”
I press the coin into his palm. “Come on. Humor me. It’s your job as my husband, Callahan.”
“Princess, I’m a gangster. We don’t make wishes in fountains.”
