Rian's POV
I've been planning this for weeks.
Tonight, dinner at our favorite restaurant. Private room, perfect ambiance, Luca's favorite food.
"What's the occasion?" he asks, looking beautiful in the suit I bought him.
"Do I need an occasion to romance my husband?"
"You've been extra attentive lately. Planning something?"
He knows me too well.
Throughout dinner, I'm nervous. Ridiculous—we're already bonded, already married. But this feels important.
"Rian, you're making me nervous," Luca says. "What's going on?"
I take his hand across the table. "We've been through hell together. Forced bonding, war, death threats, everything."
"Is this going somewhere positive?"
"Yes. Shut up and let me be romantic." I squeeze his hand. "Despite everything, you chose me. Chose this life. Chose us."
"I did. Best decision ever." His eyes are soft. "Even with the kidnapping."
"I want more with you." I pull out a small box. "I want everything."
He stares at the box. "Rian, we're already married—"
"I know. But this—" I open it, revealing a ring—simple, elegant, perfect. "This is me asking properly. No force. No desperation. Just love."
"You're asking me to marry you? Again?"
"I'm asking you to renew our vows. With your family present, your friends. A real wedding, not one you agreed to under duress." I meet his eyes. "Will you marry me, Luca? Again? By choice?"
Tears stream down his face. "You're insane."
"That's not an answer."
"Yes, you ridiculous Alpha. Yes, I'll marry you again." He laughs through tears. "Gladly."
I slide the ring onto his finger—perfect fit, like everything about us.
Then I'm around the table, pulling him into my arms, kissing him desperately.
"I love you," I breathe. "So fucking much."
"I love you too." He admires the ring. "It's beautiful."
"Like you." I kiss him again. "Want to get out of here?"
"Absolutely."
We barely make it home before we're tearing at each other's clothes. The ring catches the light as he touches me, a visible symbol of his choice.
"Mine by choice," I growl, laying him on our bed. "Not force. Choice."
"Yours by choice," he gasps. "Always."
I worship him thoroughly, showing him with my body what this means. Every touch says thank you for choosing me, thank you for loving me, thank you for being mine.
When we finally join, it's overwhelming—emotion and pleasure and love tangled together.
"Going to marry you properly," I murmur against his mouth. "Give you the wedding you deserved from the start."
"Don't need fancy wedding," he gasps. "Just need you."
"You have me. Forever." I move deeper. "But you're getting the fancy wedding anyway."
Later, both satisfied and complete, he traces the ring on his finger.
"When were you thinking?"
"Three months? Gives time to plan properly."
"Three months." He smiles. "I can't wait."
"Neither can I." I pull him close. "Going to be perfect. Like us."
"We're far from perfect."
"We're perfect for each other. That's what matters."