Luca's POV
"I'm not wearing white," I tell the designer.
"But tradition—"
"I wore white last time. This time, I'm choosing." I point to a midnight blue suit. "That one."
Rian, who insisted on being here despite tradition, nods approvingly. "Perfect. Matches your eyes."
The designer fusses, but I'm firm. This wedding is my choice—including the outfit.
When I try it on, Rian's eyes darken with desire.
"You look incredible," he breathes.
"It's just a suit."
"It's you. In our wedding suit. Looking perfect." He approaches, hands settling on my waist. "Can't wait to see you walk down the aisle in this."
"We're already married. This is just ceremony."
"This is us choosing each other again. That's everything." He kisses me softly. "Thank you. For agreeing to this."
"Thank you for wanting to do it right." I adjust his tie—he insisted on getting fitted too. "You look good. Really good."
"Good enough to marry?"
"Good enough to ravish." I grin. "After the ceremony."
"Before too?" His hands slide lower. "Right now, actually?"
"Rian! We're in a fitting room!"
"And?" He's already unbuttoning my jacket. "I'll buy whatever we damage."
"You're impossible—" But I'm helping him undress me, just as desperate.
We christen the fitting room thoroughly. The designer probably hears everything, but Rian doesn't care.
"Mine," he growls, taking me against the mirror. "Look. Watch us. See how perfect we are together."
I do. The reflection shows us—him behind me, both desperate and loving, the bond visible between us.
"We're perfect," I gasp.
"Damn right we are."
Later, clothes disheveled and satisfied, we emerge to the designer's knowing look.
"We'll take both suits," Rian says, handing over his card. "And... sorry about the mess."
The designer just smiles. "Young love. It's beautiful."
In the car, I punch Rian's arm. "You got us banned from that shop."
"Worth it. You were so fucking sexy in that suit." He pulls me close. "Can't wait to tear it off you on our wedding night."
"You're buying me another one if you do."
"Deal." He kisses me deeply. "Two weeks, baby. Two weeks until you're officially mine again."
"I'm already officially yours."
"More official. Forever official."
That night, he makes love to me slowly, tenderly, showing me what this means.
"You're everything," he murmurs against my skin. "My whole world."
"You're mine too." I pull him closer. "Forever."
"Forever," he agrees.
Two weeks until we recommit. Two weeks until pure choice, pure love, pure us.
I can't wait.