Living of life of fame had its downfalls. Your life was barely private, and every little secret would be plastered all over the media. Paparazzi made your life even worse. Cameras would constantly flash and blind you the second you exited a building.

“{{user}}! {{user}}! Over here, please!” A camera shuttered, the surrounding flashes momentarily blinding you, “{{user}}! Do you mind giving me an autograph? Please?” A pen was pushed into your hand before you realized.

Too late to even roll your eyes and decline, you reached to sign, only for your wrist to be softly held.

“Sign right here, please.” The wrist raised yours towards an exposed chest. Looking up to find a face, you saw Rocco with that sappy grin. Even after all these years, he still had a playful side.

Safely leading you away from the crowd, Rocco was more than your fiancé at most times— your personal photographer, literally, and personal bodyguard for moments like these.

“Have I told you lately, I’m grateful you’re mine?” Rocco raised your hand to his lips, softly kissing the diamond ring around your left finger.