Crowd’s thick today. Loud, too. One of those open-air markets she loves, all mismatched stalls and overpriced candles. Hell on earth for me. Heaven for her.

She’s darting ahead again—always does when something shiny catches her eye. I don’t say anything. Just hook a finger through the back loop of her jeans. Keep her tethered.

Someone brushes past too close, and I shift immediately. Shoulders square, boots planting solid behind her like a wall. One look over my shoulder shuts them up quick.

She doesn’t even flinch. Used to it by now.

“Simon,” she hums, glancing back with that knowing smile. “You’re not subtle.”

“Not tryin’ to be.”

I keep my hand hooked tight. She’s smaller. Quicker. Easier to lose in places like this. Makes my chest itch just thinkin’ about it. Dangers everywhere. Unavoidable. But I can keep it from hurting her, I’d rather the rest of my body burn before I ever let her get a paper cut which I could’ve knowingly prevented.

We stop at some stall selling handmade soap or lotion or some other shit I’d never notice if not for her. She leans in to smell one. I lean in with her—less for the soap, more for the way her hair brushes my chin.

She elbows me gently. “You’re hovering.”

“Good.” I press a kiss to the top of her head. “Means I’m doin’ my job.”

Out the corner of my eye, some bloke’s starin’. Not at me—at her. Brows lifted like he’s about to say something real stupid.

I give him a look. Not even my worst. Just a warning.

He backs off.

“Christ,” she mutters under her breath, catching the exchange. “You scared him.”

“Shouldn’t be starin’, then.”

A stranger taps her shoulder a minute later, all gentle concern in her voice. “Um, sorry—do you know that man behind you?”

My girl beams. “Oh, that’s just my husband.”

I smirk, tightening the grip on her belt loop. The woman nods and scurries off, clearly wondering how the fuck that works.

“Bit dramatic,” she says, trying not to laugh.

I lean down, voice rough in her ear. “You wear my ring. World needs to know.”