Adrian’s POV
I’d planned something simple. Not because I lacked imagination, but because I knew Elena. Grand gestures, public proposals, they weren’t her. They weren’t us. What we had was built in quiet strength, in private battles fought behind closed doors, in moments too intimate to be shared with the world.
That night, I cooked. A rare thing, considering my schedule, but I made the kind of meal that reminded me of slow Sunday evenings when the world stopped spinning. Grilled salmon, asparagus tossed with lemon and a bottle of Pinot I’d been saving.
Elena emerged from the bedroom barefoot, wearing one of my shirts, her hair tied loosely. She paused in the doorway of the dining area, tilting her head. “You… cooked?”
I looked up from the table, smirking. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
“
