Gian

“You still think they’re not yours?” Gavin asked, gesturing toward the mountain of shopping bags piled in the corner of the suite.

I stared at them, brows furrowed in disbelief.

“Go ahead, look through them,” he said, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I... kind of went overboard.”

They were mine? All those bags? For me? Just me? ALL MINE?!

I reached for him without thinking, grabbing his shirt. “Where are you going? Stay here. I’m not done asking questions.”

A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Will you ever run out of questions?” he murmured, sitting back down beside me. This time his movements were slower, more deliberate. He sat close but left space between us, unsure if he was welcome.

“What’s bothering you, Gi?” he asked quietly.

“Why is it like this?” I fumbled, hands gesturing vaguely in frustration. “Why is everything so...”

“So what?”

My hand shot up, pointing dramatically toward the bathroom door. “That!”

“The shower?” He looked confused.

My face burned hotter. “Yes, the shower!”

He burst out laughing, the sound filling the room.

“It’s not funny!” I crossed my arms defensively. “Why are you laughing?”

He raised an eyebrow, that infuriating half-smile playing at his lips. “Seriously? The transparent shower? That’s what’s bothering you?”

“Yes!” My voice jumped an octave. “Who designs a shower like that? It’s literally a human aquarium! Those shadows show everything! Every curve, every detail—just silhouettes on display!”

The moment I’d seen that silhouette through the glass, my mind had constructed an entire narrative—Gavin, the playboy businessman, entertaining some nameless woman in his hotel suite while I sat at home, completely oblivious. It was embarrassing how quickly I’d jumped to the worst conclusion, how readily I’d believed he was capable of betrayal when all evidence pointed to the contrary. Perhaps what scared me most wasn’t the thought that Gavin might cheat—it was how desperately I wanted to believe he wouldn’t, how much it would hurt if he did.

“So,” he said, still catching his breath, “you actually thought I had someone else in here? In that shower?”

Heat crept up my neck. “Maybe,” I muttered. “You’re always so... you know. People just gravitate toward you.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I scoffed. “I’m just saying your charm isn’t exactly exclusive.”

He leaned in, voice dropping. “You’re right, it’s not.”

My heart sank.

“But,” he added, gaze locked with mine, “there’s only one person I want in this room. In that shower. Right now.”

I froze, breath catching. His expression was open, earnest—none of the usual teasing.

“Really?” I whispered.

“Really,” he said simply.

“Those transparent shower doors don’t mean anything,” he continued, his voice gentle but assured. “I just accepted the room because I’m going to be here alone. The first room was actually supposed to have two bedrooms.”

Wait. Two bedrooms? Why would he need that if he was traveling alone?

“What? You’re supposed to be alone, right?”

“No,” he replied. “That wasn’t the original plan at all.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my pulse quickening.

He ran a hand through his hair again, a nervous gesture I’d rarely seen from him.

“Remember when you found that brochure in my office last month? The one about Taipei’s night markets?”

I nodded slowly, the memory surfacing. It had been tucked between expense reports, its glossy pages dog-eared and marked with Post-its. I’d asked him about it at the time, assuming it was for a potential business expansion.

“You said it was for market research.”

A rueful smile touched his lips. “That wasn’t entirely true.” He took a deep breath. “Gi, this Taiwan trip was never supposed to be a business trip. It was meant for us. Together.”

“What?” The single word came out more breathless than I’d intended.

“I’ve been planning this for quite a while,” he admitted, his eyes never leaving mine.

I tried to wrap my mind around what he was saying. All this time, while I’d been imagining him organizing meetings and preparing presentations, he’d been...what? Planning a romantic getaway? For us?

“The suite with the two bedrooms—so we’d each have our own space if you wanted,” he continued, the words coming faster now, as if a dam had broken. “The private tour guide who speaks fluent Tagalog and English, so language wouldn’t be an issue. Reservations at restaurants I thought you’d like based on those food blogs you follow.”

My mouth fell open slightly. He knew which food blogs I followed?

“I worked with a local concierge service to customize everything,” he said, a hint of pride creeping into his voice despite the circumstances. “I even had your favorite chocolates—those ones with the salted caramel that you mentioned once—stocked in the mini-fridge. Everything was ready.”

I couldn’t speak. The thought of him putting so much effort, so much careful consideration, into a trip for us was overwhelming.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, struggling to reconcile this new information with everything I thought I knew. “Why all the secrecy?”

“I was going to tell you, but then everything happened,” he explained, regret clear in his voice. “I had it all planned out.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, slightly crumpled, the edges softened from being handled repeatedly. There was something almost shy in how he held it out.

“I was supposed to give you this,” he said quietly.

My fingers trembled slightly as I took it. The envelope wasn’t sealed, its flap tucked loosely inside. I opened it carefully, unsure what to expect.

Inside was a boarding pass—not a real one, but a meticulously designed mock-up. My name was printed in elegant script across the top: “Gianna Laurent.” The flight number matched the one he’d taken, the seat beside his. The date—October 5, 2024—stared back at me, a moment in time that never came to be.

But what caught my breath was the small handwritten note in the corner, written in his unmistakable slanting script: “Say yes to an adventure? Just you and me.”

My throat tightened as I ran my fingers over the words. The care that had gone into this—the planning, the attention to detail, the personal touch. This wasn't something you did for someone you were merely obligated to marry. This was something you did for someone you genuinely wanted to be with.

I tried to imagine how it would have felt to receive this in a crowded restaurant, to open the envelope. Would I have cried? Laughed? Thrown my arms around him in a rare public display of affection? The fact that I'd never know made my heart ache with a peculiar sense of loss for a moment that never happened.

”I wanted it to be special. Something you'd keep.”

I turned the boarding pass over and found another note on the back: "First stop: Taipei. Next stop: Wherever we choose together."

The implication wasn't lost on me—this wasn't meant to be just one trip, but the beginning of something.

”I had this whole scene in my head,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. ”I talked to the maitre d' at that restaurant—the fancy one you mentioned wanting to try. He was going to bring out this special chocolate soufflé with the envelope beside it.”

His laugh was self-deprecating. ”Sounds pretty cheesy now that I'm saying it out loud.”

”It's not cheesy,” I said quickly, still staring at the boarding pass in my hands. ”It's... perfect.”

”Well, perfect or not, you never got it,” he said quietly. ”And then I convinced myself maybe it was better that way. Maybe you weren't ready for... this.” He gestured vaguely between us. ”Whatever this is becoming.”

”Oh God, Gavin, I had no idea.”

”I should have told you anyway,” he sighed, shaking his head. ”Before I knew it, I was boarding the plane alone, telling myself it was better this way.”

The weight of what could have been settled between us—all the moments we might have shared if not for timing and misunderstandings.

”So that's why you didn't bring your team,” I murmured, the pieces finally falling into place. ”That's why Fara seemed so confused when I called asking about your business meetings..."

”Because there were never supposed to be any business meetings,” he confirmed, a sad smile playing at his lips. ”Just us, exploring the city, getting to know each other away from everyone else. I really believed you get to know someone better when you travel together—I wanted us to know each other better.”

The revelation washed over me like a wave, sweeping away all my preconceptions. Everything I’d mistaken for evidence of his betrayal had been, in reality, careful preparations for a trip meant to bring us closer.

“I had everything mapped out,” he continued, his voice soft, eyes distant with what might have been. “It wasn’t just a random vacation or a business trip with some sightseeing thrown in.”

“I didn’t know,” I murmured, regret coloring my words. “I’m sorry for assuming the worst.”

“That doesn’t matter now,” he replied, a soft smile warming his features. “What’s important is that you’re here. Against all odds, despite all the misunderstandings. We can still do everything I planned—if you want to.”

He reached out hesitantly, his fingers barely brushing against mine, the touch so light I might have imagined it if not for the electricity that sparked between us. "So please believe me,” he said, ”when I tell you—there’s no one else. No other woman.”

There was no tremor in his words, only conviction—an oath, a plea, and a quiet defiance all at once.

”I would never cheat. I couldn’t. Not on you. Not on anyone.”

His words hung in the air between us, charged with a rawness that made my breath hitch. This wasn’t the playful, teasing Gavin I’d grown accustomed to sparring with. This was a man laying his heart bare, his eyes no longer dancing with mischief but instead radiating an earnestness that made my own heart stutter in response.

“It better be true,” I said, trying to inject firmness into my voice despite the tremor I could feel building in my chest. “Especially since we’re together now.”

His eyes widened, surprise washing over his features. He moved closer, his hand gently grasping my arm as if making sure I was real.

“Wait—can you say that again?”

I blinked, confused by his reaction. “Which part?”

“The part where you said we’re together,” he prompted, hope threading through his voice. “Did you mean that?”

“Well, yeah. I thought after that kiss earlier...” I trailed off, suddenly uncertain. “I mean, do friends kiss like that?” Heat rushed to my cheeks at the memory of his lips on mine, the warmth of his hands at my waist, the way the world had seemed to stop spinning for those few precious moments.

I groaned, burying my face in a pillow. “Not my proudest moment.”

In fact, it might have been my most mortifying public display ever. The memory of standing there in the hotel restaurant, finger pointed accusingly,“No, definitely not,” he replied quickly. “That wasn’t a friends kind of kiss.”

A shaky breath escaped him. “So we’re actually together? For real?”

I nodded, warmth spreading through me at the way he was looking at me—like I was something precious he never expected to find. “Yeah, we are. I thought that was obvious.”

A silence fell between us, comfortable but charged with something new.

“Gav? You okay?”

“I just... didn’t expect this,” he admitted softly. “I hoped for it—more than anything—but hearing you say it... it feels unreal.”

“I’m sorry for making you wait,” I said, my heart swelling with a curious mixture of regret and affection. “For everything that’s happened. And thank you, for believing in us even when I didn’t.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “I know our situation isn’t conventional. Even though we were arranged by our families, we still managed to find our way here, on our own terms.”

He nodded, absorbing my words, understanding reflected in his eyes. “It’s been quite a journey,” he acknowledged, “but I’m glad we’re here now. Together.”

“Together,” I echoed, feeling hope cascade through me like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Later that evening, I found myself alone in the bedroom, contemplating the whirlwind of events that had brought me here. Gavin had stepped out to grab a glass of water and take a phone call, leaving me to process everything that had happened.

With a deep sigh, I reached for my phone, my fingers automatically navigating to Kaia’s contact. I needed to talk to someone who knew me—really knew me.

As soon as she picked up, her laughter burst through the speaker, warm and familiar. It instantly transported me back home, away from this surreal hotel room and the emotional whirlwind of the past twenty-four hours. For a moment, I could almost pretend I was back in Manila, sprawled across my own bed, having one of our regular gossip sessions. The normalcy of her voice was an anchor in the storm of unfamiliar feelings I’d been navigating.

“Oh my God, Gi!” she shrieked when I told her what happened. “You actually confronted him? In public?!”

Voice raised several decibels above appropriate indoor levels, made me want to crawl under the bed and never emerge. What had I been thinking? I, who prided myself on composure and dignity in all situations, had created a scene like that.

”Then what happened?”

“I tried to run away and almost broke my ankle,” I muttered. ”And then he…”

I trailed off, the memory flooding back with vivid clarity—the moment I'd turned to flee, my heel catching on the plush carpet; the sudden loss of balance; the strong arms that had caught me before I could fall, only to hoist me up and over his shoulder like I weighed nothing at all. I remembered the firmness of his grip, the solid warmth of his shoulder against my stomach, the mortifying knowledge that everyone was witnessing my humiliation. Yet underneath the embarrassment had been something else—a treacherous flutter of exhilaration at his boldness, at the possessive certainty with which he'd claimed me in front of strangers.

”He what?” she prompted eagerly.

I sighed, knowing she'd never let this go. I sighed, knowing she'd never let this go. ”He picked me up, threw me over his shoulder, and carried me out.”

Even as I described it, I could feel phantom sensations—his hand splayed against the back of my thigh to steady me, the disorienting view of the world upside-down, the shocked faces as we passed. I remembered how I'd pounded against his back in protest, demanding to be put down, all while he'd simply continued walking as if my resistance was merely a minor inconvenience. The man had carried me through the entire hotel lobby, past staring staff and guests, straight into the elevator without breaking stride. And the whole time he'd been talking—saying something in Mandarin to everyone we passed. Words I hadn't understood until now.

”HE DID WHAT?!” Her voice nearly shattered my eardrum. ”In front of everyone? That was romantic!”

”It wasn't romantic!” I protested, though my cheeks heated at the memory. ”It was mortifying! People were staring!”

”But admit it,” Kaia said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, ”it was kinda hot, right?”

”Kaia!” I gasped, fighting a smile. ”That is not the point.”

”Oh, it's absolutely the point,” she insisted.

I laughed despite myself. ”Just promise me you won't tell Enzo about this. If he finds out, I'll never hear the end of it.”

”My lips are sealed,” she promised, though her tone suggested it was costing her greatly.

”But seriously, what happened after that? Are you guys okay now? Or should I be booking you an emergency flight home?”

“We’re... together now. For real.”

There was a beat of silence, then a squeal that probably shattered windows in a three-block radius. “I KNEW IT! I knew all that tension was leading somewhere! Tell me everything—and I mean everything!”

Before I could respond, I heard the door opening. Gavin walked back in, his eyes meeting mine with a softness that made my heart flip.

“Gotta go,” I whispered hastily to Kaia. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Have fun, lovebird,” she replied mischievously before the line went dead.

I glanced toward the bathroom area, my eyes drawn to that ridiculous transparent shower again. It still stood there, gleaming and shameless, a glass-walled monument to my embarrassment.

Gavin followed my gaze and chuckled. “You know, most people would have forgotten about the shower by now. You seem oddly fixated.”

“I am not fixated,” I protested, crossing my arms. “I’m just... considering the practical implications of our temporary living arrangement.”

“Right,” he drawled, his lips quirking into that infuriating half-smile. “Practical implications.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you mocking me?”

“I would never,” he replied with exaggerated innocence. “I’m merely observing that for someone who claims not to care about a transparent shower, you’ve glared at it approximately seventeen times in the last hour.”

“You’ve been counting?” I asked, thrown off balance.

“It’s hard not to notice when you look at it like it personally offended your ancestors,” he said, eyes dancing with amusement. “If glares could shatter glass, we’d be calling maintenance by now.”

Despite myself, I laughed. “Fine. Maybe I’m a little concerned about the logistics.”

“If you’re not comfortable, we can switch rooms,” he offered, his tone more genuine.

“I’ll call reception and see if they have a two-bedroom suite available.”

“No!” I said, perhaps too quickly. “I mean—Gav, it’s fine. I don’t want to make a fuss. I can handle a see-through shower.”

“You sure?”

“Your comfort matters to me, Gi.”

“Really, I’m okay with it,” I insisted, though my stomach fluttered with a mixture of nerves and something warmer, more anticipatory. “It’s just a shower.”

“A shower that had you convinced I was running some kind of international playboy operation,” he reminded me, though his tone was gentle rather than accusatory. “Are you sure? You seem nervous.”

“I’m not!” I protested, too forcefully to be convincing. I could hear the slight tremor in my voice. “It’s just glass. Transparent glass. That you can see through. While naked. With water. It’s fine.”

He bit his lip, clearly trying not to laugh. “For someone who’s ‘fine’ with it, you’ve used the word ‘transparent’ about five times in the last minute.”

“I’m simply being descriptively accurate,” I sniffed, trying to salvage some dignity.

“Mmhmm,” he hummed, unconvinced. “And the blush spreading down your neck right now is just... what? A sunburn you acquired in the last five minutes? Indoors?”

My hand flew to my neck automatically, only making his smile widen. “You’re impossible,” I muttered.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied cheerfully. “Mostly by you, at least once per conversation.”

Despite my embarrassment, I found myself smiling. This easy banter between us felt good—natural in a way our interactions rarely had before.

“Look,” he said, his voice gentling, “how about I step out whenever you need to shower? I can explore the hotel, grab coffee, whatever. Problem solved.”

“You’d leave your own room just so I can shower in peace?” I asked, genuinely touched.

“Well, it’s either that or I MacGyver a shower curtain with duct tape, and housekeeping might have opinions about that,” he replied with a wry smile.

“So, shower logistics,” he continued briskly. “You shower, I disappear. Simple and effective.”

I nodded, trying to mask my lingering embarrassment. “That works.”

“Unless,” he added, a mischievous glint appearing in his eyes, “you were hoping for an audience?”

“Gavin!” I grabbed the nearest pillow and threw it at his head. He caught it effortlessly, laughing.

“Just making sure you were still listening,” he said with mock innocence.

“I hate you,” I muttered, fighting a smile.

“No, you don’t,” he replied, his eyes meeting mine with unexpected tenderness. “That’s kinda the whole point.”

And just like that, the playful moment transformed into something deeper, the air between us charged with unspoken possibilities.

“Get some sleep,” he continued, glancing at his watch. “We have plans tomorrow, and you need to rest after your... adventurous day.”

He turned as if to leave, and I felt a sudden jolt of panic. “Wait,” I called out. “Aren’t you going to sleep?”

“I’m going to sleep now,” he confirmed, turning back with a quizzical expression. “It’s past midnight.”

“Okay, I’ll wait for you here,” I said, trying to project calmness despite the butterflies in my stomach.

“No, I’m sleeping out there,” he clarified, pointing toward the living room. “On the couch.”

“What?” I blurted, genuinely shocked. After everything—our kisses, agreeing we were together—he still wanted to sleep separately?

“I’m not okay with you sleeping on a couch,” I said firmly, surprising myself. “That’s ridiculous.”

He raised an eyebrow, maintaining that infuriating calm. “Gi, I just want you to be comfortable. The couch is fine—”

“No, it’s not,” I interrupted. “You’re sleeping here. It makes no sense for you to be out there when there’s plenty of space.”

“It’s really no big deal,” he replied, his tone casual, as if we were discussing the weather rather than the intimate geography of our newly defined relationship.

“I said it’s okay!” I shot back, irritation flaring. “What’s the problem? We’ve shared a bed before. What’s different now?”

“When we shared a bed before, I was drunk,” he reminded me, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his composed facade. “It was different.”

“So what, you need to be drunk to sleep next to me now?” I challenged, frustration building. “Is that what this is about?”

“Gi, what are you saying?” He laughed, but it sounded forced.

“When you were drunk, I didn’t mind,” I pointed out. “It was fine then, and it’s fine now. That couch looks like a torture device.”

“Can we not talk about that night?” he asked, something like embarrassment in his voice as he looked away.

“Why not? It happened,” I pressed, intrigued by this rare show of discomfort. “You asked me to stay with you, and I did. What’s the big deal now?”

“Gi, it’s different now,” he said, voice dropping. “We’re together. Things change.”

“Yeah, they do,” I agreed, softening. “It means we trust each other more, not less. It means some boundaries don’t need to exist anymore.”

“Stop being so dramatic about where you sleep,” I added, exasperation creeping back into my voice. “I don’t understand why this is even an issue. It’s just sleep.”

“The bed is huge. We won’t even know the other is there,” I insisted, gentling my tone slightly. “I promise not to snore.”

He studied me for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “Is there anything I can do to change your mind on this?” he asked finally, resignation already coloring his tone. “You clearly aren’t the type to just back down.”

“Well, at least you know that about me,” I replied, unable to suppress a triumphant smile.

I watched with quiet satisfaction as he finally relented, climbing into the bed beside me with obvious care to maintain a respectful distance. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and I felt a strange flutter in my chest at the awareness of him so close yet deliberately apart.

“You’re actually listening,” I observed, a teasing lilt in my voice. “See? Was that so hard?”

“You miss me this much, huh, Gi?” he replied with a smirk, leaning back against the pillows. “Couldn’t bear to have me sleep on the couch, even for one night?”

The question caught me off guard, but something emboldened me—perhaps the emotional rollercoaster of the day, or the new understanding between us.

“What if I said yes?” I challenged, watching his face carefully. “What would you do then?”

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, but his voice remained steady. “Nothing. I wouldn’t do anything, Gi.”

“Even if...” I let the implication hang between us, my tone playful but tinged with genuine curiosity.

“What? What are you thinking?” he probed, leaning closer, his interest clearly piqued despite his attempts at nonchalance.

“Nothing,” I said innocently, enjoying the power of keeping him guessing. “Forget it.”

“I think you should forget those thoughts, Gi,” he advised, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “Whatever they are, they’re probably dangerous.”

“I’m just joking, mostly,” I clarified, glancing sideways at him. “But I could be serious too, if you wanted.”

The truth was, I would be completely serious if he wanted it. I couldn’t help but remember how anxious I’d been in the days before coming here—the storm delaying my flight, the spiraling thoughts that had led me to take precautionary measures.

Even knowing there was a possibility things might not go well when I arrived in Taiwan, I had wanted to be prepared. I hadn’t planned to come all this way just to confront him and leave. Some part of me had hoped for reconciliation, connection, something more. That’s why I’d made that call before leaving.

I thought back to my conversation with Elisha just before I left. I’d called her when my regular stylist wasn’t available. We’d met at an event years ago and still kept in touch occasionally. She was genuinely kind, much like Fara—one of those people who seemed to radiate warmth wherever they went.

“OMG KA ACTIVE KA NA?” Elisha had practically shrieked when I asked about the birth control pills she’d given me months ago. Her voice had nearly shattered my eardrums through the phone.

I remembered how I’d blushed furiously, grateful she couldn’t see my face. I’d been so nervous making that call—admitting that I was planning for the possibility of intimacy felt like confessing something deeply private, even to someone I trusted.

“I started taking them a few days ago,” I’d replied, trying to sound calmer and more experienced than I felt. “Am I good to go?”

“When exactly did you start?” she’d asked, suddenly switching to professional mode.

“On the first day of my period, like you said.” I’d been meticulous about following her instructions, knowing how important it was to get this right.

She’d immediately launched into advice mode. “Starting on the first day means you should be protected right away. But most doctors still advise using backup protection for the first seven days to be absolutely sure.”

I’d nodded along, even though she couldn’t see me, mentally calculating dates and days.

“The pills need to be taken every day at the same time,” she’d continued, sounding like a walking medical pamphlet. “Missing even one can reduce effectiveness, especially in the first month. And remember they don’t protect against STIs.”

“I’ve been really careful about taking them at eight PM sharp,” I’d assured her. I’d even set an alarm on my phone, labeled innocuously as “vitamin reminder” in case anyone happened to see it.

Part of me had wondered if I was being presumptuous, preparing like this. But another part—the part that I remembered Gavin’s touch and looks we’d shared—knew I wanted to be ready for whatever happened between us.

“JUST USE PROTECTION if you and Sir Gavin can’t wait na mag-bembang!” she’d whispered conspiratorially. “Some medications can interfere with effectiveness too, like antibiotics. And there can be side effects—mood changes, breakthrough bleeding, breast tenderness...”

“I haven’t experienced any side effects yet,” I’d told her, though I’d mentally noted her warnings.

“But Ms. Gi,” she’d added more seriously, “it’s better to consult a doctor. Don’t trust me too much with this.”

She’d been right, of course. I’d expected our conversation to end there, but we’d ended up talking for hours, sharing stories and catching up. She’d frequently mentioned her friends, especially someone named Astrid. By the end of our call, I practically knew everything about Astrid’s blossoming relationship with Ezekiel. Elisha couldn’t stop gushing about how their connection had deepened. Apparently, they were in Bali together for a romantic getaway. The way Elisha described it, their relationship was growing into something truly special—the kind of genuine partnership that made you believe in the possibility of love working out.

I smiled at the memory. That call had been about more than just practical preparations—it had been a reminder that I had people in my corner.

The memory faded as I refocused on Gavin beside me, suddenly aware of how close he was.

He turned to face me fully, his expression a study in mock seriousness that barely concealed the warmth beneath. “Sleep, my love,” he said, his voice smooth yet playful. “Stop those dangerous thoughts before they get us both in trouble.”

“My love?” I gasped, exaggerating my shock to mask the genuine flutter his casual endearment had sparked.

“Just trying it out,” he replied lightly, though I could see a hint of vulnerability beneath his casual demeanor. “See how it sounds.”

“Testing the waters, huh?”

“Gav…” I nudged him playfully.

“Hmmm?”

“I wasn’t joking earlier,” I said, my voice soft but serious. “We can… if you want.” I paused, then added, “I trust you.”

He stayed quiet for a moment before responding with forced lightness. “You should sleep, Gi. Stop those thoughts—I can practically see them spinning behind your eyes.”

Okay, sleep tonight. Just tonight.

“One last question,” I said, feeling him drifting toward sleep but not ready to let go.

“What now?” he mumbled, voice thick with approaching sleep.

“What does ‘wo de qizi’ mean?” I asked. “You kept saying it to people while carrying me earlier.”

He hesitated for a beat, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. Then he answered, his voice casual, though it didn’t match the weight of the moment. “It’s nothing. Just sleep, Gi.”

And just like that, his breathing slowed, his body relaxed, and I was left wondering if he had actually fallen asleep or if he was avoiding the question.

My curiosity, now a restless ache, couldn’t be pushed aside. I reached for my phone on the nightstand, trying to keep my movements quiet as I opened a translation app. I typed carefully, fingers brushing the screen as I recalled the exact sounds.

“W-o... d-e... q-i-z-i,” I typed, hoping the app would get close enough.

When the translation popped up, my heart skipped a beat. The words staring back at me made the room spin:

“My wife.”

I set the phone down with trembling fingers, warmth spreading from my chest outward until even my fingertips tingled. The world around me seemed to slow, then stop entirely as the two simple words echoed in my mind.

My wife. Wo de qizi. My wife.

He’d called me his wife. Not to me, not in a moment of passion or teasing, but to strangers. To everyone we passed in that hotel. As he’d carried me through the lobby—me, furious and embarrassed—he’d been proudly announcing me as his wife.

While I had been doubting, questioning, holding back, he had been... what?

Before I could stop myself, I scooted closer and planted a quick kiss on his forehead. The touch of my lips against his skin sent another wave of giddiness through me. I couldn't help myself—I placed another kiss on his temple, then his cheek, then his jaw, little rapid-fire pecks that were as quick as they were joyful.

"My wife," I whispered, barely containing another bubble of laughter. "You actually said that!"

I gently pinched his earlobe, an affectionate punishment for making me feel so much. I smoothed his hair back and kissed his forehead again, unable to keep still, unable to stop touching him.

I peppered his face with more tiny, quick kisses—his eyelids, his nose, his chin—each one punctuated by a barely suppressed giggle. My hands framed his face, squeezing his cheeks gently between my palms.

"You have no idea what you're doing to me," I whispered, beaming down at him.

His steady breathing never changed, and somehow that made everything even more precious. I laid my head briefly on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, before popping back up to plant more feather-light kisses across his face.

"Alexander Gavin,” I breathed against his cheek, voice bubbling with happiness, "you are in so much trouble tomorrow."

Just then, he stirred slightly, brow furrowing. I froze mid-kiss, lips hovering just above his skin, heart suddenly pounding. His head turned slightly toward me, and for a terrifying second, I thought his eyes might open.

I should have pulled away. I should have retreated to my side of the bed. Instead, caught up in this wave of happiness, I darted forward one last time, pressing my lips quickly against his in a swift peck before pulling back.

I watched with wide eyes, still fighting a smile, as his expression softened again, his breathing returning to its deep rhythm. Relief and slight disappointment washed over me as I realized he was still asleep.

Slowly, I retreated to my side of the bed, fingertips touching my lips where I could still feel the ghost of his. Tomorrow, I'd have to pretend I hadn't just covered his face in kisses like an overexcited puppy. But tonight, I'd allow myself this perfect, giddy happiness.

As sleep began to claim me, the translation still glowed in my mind: my wife. Wo de qizi. And a smile spread across my face that I couldn't have suppressed if I tried.