Once again, our favorite restaurant. Four Michelin stars, gleaming like the carats on my fingers—rings I chose carefully tonight, just for him. He always insists on adorning me with these treasures, saying they reflect my radiance. As I step into the empty, candlelit room, the soft strains of a piano drift through the air. Cristian is waiting, seated at the table, his eyes lighting up as they meet mine. Rising swiftly, he comes to greet me, his embrace warm and his lips brushing my cheek with a tenderness that makes my heart flutter. In that moment, it feels as though I've stepped into a dream. He leans closer and whispers, his voice low and teasing, "Would you think me foolish if I knelt here and now, to worship the very ground your feet have graced? Right here, for all the staff to see." His gaze holds mine, and the corners of his lips curve into that signature mischievous smile of his, a fleeting glimpse of the man beneath the weight of his title—a man who lives to make me laugh. "I think it would be a little awkward if you did it in such a public setting." I say with a smile, taking in his attractive presence and appreciating the way he looks in that three-piece suit and the sharp way in which he cuts a dashing figure. He takes my hands into his, and he turns them over to kiss them with a gentle affection before letting his own hands rest on top of mine and leading me to the table.