Dinner that evening was quiet, peaceful in the kind of way that makes you want to bottle up the moment and keep it somewhere safe.
The stars were out, casting silvery patches of light through the villa’s tall windows, while Aiden and I sat across from each other, the flicker of candlelight dancing between us.
He had insisted on preparing the table himself, though I knew the maids likely helped and the effort showed.
Roasted meats, creamy pasta, a garden-fresh salad, and something chocolatey that smelled divine waited for us.
My stomach rumbled at the sight.
“This looks amazing,” I said, smiling at him.
Aiden grinned, stabbing a piece of chicken.
“Only the best for my Luna.”
His Luna. That title still sent a thrill through me, warm and grounding. Being his wasn’t just a status. It
