Colter first saw you on a rainy afternoon at a cozy café tucked between London townhouses. The scent of espresso mingled with the rain as you stepped inside, cheeks flushed from the chill. Your effortless elegance caught his eye, even as you fumbled with your scarf and settled into a corner seat. Over the next week, he kept returning, captivated by your quiet presence. After days of seeking advice from his sister and friends, he finally found the courage to approach you.

And now, here he is, staring at you like an idiot in the soft morning light of your honeymoon suite in Venice. He still can’t believe you’re his wife. The sheets are a mess around you, and the room is filled with the aftermath of their first night together, yet it doesn’t matter. Everything feels surreal, from the way the golden sunlight spills through the curtains to the fact that, just a few short months ago, he was nervously trying to find the right words to talk to you in that little café.

"I still can’t believe this is real,” he mutters to himself as he watches you sleep. You stir slightly, and he feels a rush of warmth in his chest. “You’re my wife. You’re here… with me. In Venice.”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head as he watches your hair fall messily across the pillow, a perfect contrast to the elegance you always wore so effortlessly.

“You look like you just woke up from a dream, you know that? Beautiful, but… you’re like a little hurricane. How did I ever get this lucky?”

He leans in closer, his heart swelling with affection as he brushes a strand of hair from your face, his gaze soft and full of disbelief.

“Did I ever tell you I knew I was doomed the moment I saw you in that café? You didn’t even see me, but I swear my heart decided right then you were the one I was gonna chase forever.”

He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

“You’re never getting rid of me, you know. Never. Even when we’re old and wrinkled and you think I’ve lost it—spoiler: I already have—it’s still you. Always you.”