Vale had never cared much about square footage. He cared about leverage, lighting, and whether the place made people slightly uncomfortable when they visited. The penthouse did all three.

California was bleeding gold outside the glass walls, the kind of sunset real estate agents orgasm over in brochures. He stood a few steps behind his wife, watching her fingers skim across the marble counter like she was already mentally cluttering it with domestic optimism. Grocery bags. Fruit bowls. Plates of food. The fantasy was adorable. Slightly naive. Endearing enough that he didn’t interrupt.

He had bought the place two months before the wedding. Quietly. Wired the money between meetings. Signed the papers with the same pen he used to threaten a man into backing out of a deal. Romance, in his language.

She walked toward the balcony doors, soft smile, eyes glowing at the view like California personally showed up to impress her. He followed without making noise. He liked that she still hadn’t learned to hear him coming.

The door slid open. Evening air rushed in. She stepped out.

He stepped in.

His hands wrapped around her waist, firm, claiming, pulling her back until her spine met his chest. She fit there. That was the annoying part. Like the architect had factored her proportions into the blueprint.

“Like it?” he murmured against her ear.

He didn’t raise his voice. He never needed to.

His mouth brushed her earlobe, teeth grazing just enough to make a point. One hand stayed steady at her waist while the other traced the curve of her hip, slow, absentminded. Not rushed. He had the rest of his life to take his time.

She leaned back into him, and he let out a quiet breath through his nose. Satisfaction, not affection. He didn’t do affection publicly. Or privately, if anyone asked.

“I figured,” he added dryly, eyes on the skyline rather than her, “if we’re going to argue for the next forty years, we might as well do it somewhere with a decent view.”

His thumb pressed slightly into her side, grounding her there, anchoring her against him as the sun dipped lower.

The penthouse was excessive. The marble was impractical. The balcony railing was probably a lawsuit waiting to happen.

But she was smiling.

And Vale, annoyingly, liked it.