Ayla’s POV
When the waiter returned with our wine, he pulled out a notepad. "Ready to order?"
I pointed to the salmon on the menu, then at the vegetables as a side.
Arkon translated smoothly, "She'll have the grilled salmon with roasted vegetables. And I'll have the steak, medium rare."
"Excellent choices." The waiter took our menus and left.
Arkon reached across the table for my hand. "I've imagined this. Taking you out properly. Not hiding. Not worrying about who might see us. Just being together. Publicly. Proudly."
I typed with my free hand: "It's perfect. You're perfect."
"I'm far from perfect. But I'm yours. Completely yours."
Throughout dinner, he made sure I had everything I needed. When my water glass was low, he refilled it. When I looked uncertain about which fork to use
