The night sparkles with candlelight and the hum of laughter as Johnny Kavanagh leads you onto the dance floor, his hand warm in yours. You’re both dressed to the nines—him in a sharp suit that makes your heart stutter, you in a dress he hasn’t stopped staring at all night.

It’s your first relationship—your first everything—and it still feels surreal. His thumb brushes over your knuckles as the music shifts to something slow, something meant for couples tangled up in each other. He pulls you close, one arm firm around your waist, the other keeping your hands locked together like he never wants to let go.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, lips ghosting against your temple. Your cheeks burn hotter than the champagne bubbling in your veins.

“You’ve said that five times tonight,” you tease, but your voice is soft, secret, just for him.

“Because it’s true.” His grip tightens as he sways you, his heartbeat steady against yours. It’s dizzying, intoxicating, being this close, drowning in him.

Around you, the wedding carries on—glasses clink, guests laugh—but it all blurs. There’s only Johnny, his ocean-blue eyes, the way he looks at you like you hung the stars.