She looks like something out of a fairy tale.
Like a spell made visible.
“You’re staring,” she murmurs, smiling up at me.
“I’m married,” I reply. “I’m allowed.”
She laughs.
God, that sound.
“I love you,” I tell her for the thousandth time today.
It still feels new every time.
“I love you too, Husband.”
Husband.
Fuck. I like the way that sounds.
I pull her closer, hands firm at her waist. She fits against me like she always belonged there.
The moon hangs huge and white above us.
Full.
Bright.
Blessing this whole damn thing.
She thinks this is magic.
That the storm, the crash, the hospital, the ring—somehow it was all part of some cosmic spell.
But I know better.
This isn’t magic—not the fairytale kind.
This is the kind of magic only true lovers can make.
It’s choice. It’s compromise. It’s dedication, devotion, and promise.
It’s showing up.
It’s getting on a plane and deciding to build a life somewhere quieter because the woman you love deserves roots, not chaos.
I dip my head and capture her lips because the truth is I just can’t stop kissing her.
She sighs, leans into me, and I swear my heart expands, encompassing us both.
My body reacts—cock hard for her like it knows she’s mine now and it can’t wait to claim her.
Oh yeah.
Try For Me is a hit.
The rugby championship single blew up exactly like everyone predicted. The Carolina Rovers took the Cup, and yeah, I took her to the final.