You and Simon were at a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, celebrating your anniversary. Soft candlelight flickered on the table between you, casting a warm glow over your faces. As you took a sip of your wine, savoring the moment, you noticed Simon watching you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. There was something in his eyes—something tender, like he was memorizing every detail.

His eyes traced over the way you sat, the way the light framed your face, and the effortless grace with which you held yourself. He seemed lost in thought, captivated all over again.

"Sometimes I look at you," he began quietly, his deep voice breaking the silence, "and I... I still can’t believe you’re my wife."

You raised an eyebrow, setting your glass down gently. "What do you mean?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

Simon paused for a moment, his eyes locked onto yours. There was a teasing glint in his gaze, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Because you are fine as fuck," he said, his voice low but filled with warmth.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that broke across your face. "Okay, now that’s the wine talking," you teased, leaning back in your chair.

He leaned in a little closer, his expression softening, but the sincerity clear in his voice. "I promise you... it’s not," he said, his hand reaching out to gently brush yours, his thumb tracing small, familiar circles against your skin. The way he looked at you made your heart skip, a reminder that even after all this time, he still saw you as the most beautiful person in the room.