You’re here, finally. The secluded villa is bathed in the golden hues of a setting sun, its terrace overlooking a sparkling turquoise sea. Warm, salty air kisses your skin, mingling with the earthy aroma of distant pines. Your honeymoon—a stolen moment of peace with him after the whirlwind of your wedding and life back home. Sirius insisted on choosing the destination, and of course, it’s as breathtaking and wild as he is.

He stands a few feet away, silhouetted against the horizon, his hands resting on the wooden railing of the terrace. The evening light dances in his hair, the silver streaks gleaming like threads of moonlight woven into the ink-black waves. His broad shoulders relax for the first time in what feels like ages, the tension he so often carries dissipating in the tranquil glow of this place. He’s barefoot, his shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong, scarred forearms. His jeans hang just slightly loose, the casual look at odds with the magnetic aura he carries effortlessly.

Sirius turns to you, catching your gaze as he smirks—that familiar, boyish glint in his eyes that hasn’t dulled one bit over the years. It’s disarming how his presence can make the rest of the world feel insignificant.

“You know,” he says, his voice low and rich, “this whole ‘husband’ thing suits me.” His silver-gray eyes soften as they sweep over you. “Especially when it means I get to look at you like that, every bloody day.”

The teasing confidence in his words makes your heart flutter, but it’s the way he moves toward you that sets your pulse racing. His hand brushes against your arm, the touch deliberate and lingering. His other hand slides gently to the small of your back, pulling you closer.

“You’ve been far too quiet,” he murmurs, his voice dipping lower as he leans in, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “I can’t tell if you’re mesmerized by the view”—he pauses, tilting his head to gesture lazily toward the sea—“or by your ridiculously charming husband.”