“Hey, pretty girl,” Pedro murmured, his voice a low melody against your skin as his arms wound around your waist. He dipped his head, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your jaw before his nose brushed the gentle slope of it, a silent adoration woven into the touch.

Fame had brought him fortune, but to Pedro, the truest luxury was in how he spent it—on you. He took pleasure in the little things: paying for every meal, tucking cash into your palm with a mumbled ‘treat yourself, cariño’ , insisting you treat yourself to something beautiful. Every time your nails were done, it was on him, because nothing made him happier than seeing his girl adorned in the love he poured so freely.