I’d seen her happy before.
I’d seen her laugh until she cried, tease until I gave up pretending to be mad, hold like she was afraid I’d disappear.
But the way she’d been glowing lately — that quiet, effortless happiness that ca from deep inside — that was different. That was peace.
And God, I wanted to keep it that way.
It was her fifth morning in Lisbon. She had already disappeared into one of her bakeries before sunrise, wearing a soft cream dress and her hair tied up like she ant business. I stood by the window of the café across the street, watching her in her elent with her sleeves rolled up, clipboard in hand, giving instructions to her staff with a voice that was calm but firm.
The n and won around her looked at her with respect, not fear. That was the difference between Mira and everyone else who’d ever ruled sothing. She led with warmth, and people followed willingly.
Tomas leaned on the door beside , sipping espresso. "Never thought I’d see the day Don Romano would be babysitting a bakery," he muttered.
I made him fly down here for a reason and he was already trying to piss off.
I smirked. "It’s not babysitting. It’s admiration."
He snorted. "Sure. Whatever helps your ego sleep at night."
I ignored him, eyes still fixed on her through the glass.
Watching her move while being confident, grounded and glowing, I realized sothing I hadn’t said out loud in years: she didn’t just survive my world. She rebuilt hers inside it.
And I was damn lucky she still chose to stay in mine.
That was when I decided it was ti.
By the ti she got back to the hotel that afternoon, I already had the plan in motion.
It had taken a few quiet calls with a florist, a string quartet, and one very expensive last-minute reservation but it was worth every minute.
She walked in, hair still a little ssy from the wind, her perfu trailing faintly behind her. I don’t know what it is about seeing Mira after a long day, but it always made feel like I’d co ho.
"You’ve been busy," she said, kicking off her shoes.
"Maybe," I said, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. "You look exhausted."
"I’m fine. Just hungry. And a little tired." She yawned and stretched. "Why?"
"No reason." I crossed the room and kissed her forehead, letting my lips linger. "Take a nap, mia cara. You’ll need your energy later."
She frowned slightly. "For what?"
"You’ll see."
She sighed in that way that ant she was too tired to argue. "If this turns out to be a eting or another dinner with business people—"
"It’s not," I promised, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
She eyed suspiciously, but eventually disappeared into the bedroom.
When the sun began to dip, I made a few final checks. Everything was perfect.
A small cliffside terrace overlooking the river. Hundreds of fairy lights draped over the stone walls, flickering softly in the dusk. A narrow table set for two with white roses and candles. A string quartet waiting quietly in the shadows.
It wasn’t extravagant; it was intimate — sothing I knew would feel like her.
Tomas called to confirm the last detail.
"She’s going to cry," he said, half teasing, half impressed.
"Good," I replied. "She deserves sothing that makes her rember how far she’s co."
"Both of you, boss."
Maybe he was right.
I went back to the hotel to get her. She was just stepping out of the shower, wrapped in a towel, her hair damp and skin still flushed from the heat.
"Where are we going?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at .
"Out."
"Jace—"
"Trust ," I said, handing her the dress I’d bought earlier that day — a soft champagne-colored silk that caught the light like water.
She blinked. "You picked this out?"
I shrugged. "I had help."
She smiled, the kind that made my heart do things it shouldn’t. "It’s beautiful."
"So are you," I said simply.
~
When we arrived at the terrace, the look on her face made every sleepless night, every war, every scar worth it.
Her lips parted in shock as she took in the view — the lights, the flowers, the soft hum of music carried by the wind.
"Jace..." she whispered. "What is this?"
"Sothing I should’ve done a long ti ago," I said, stepping behind her and wrapping my arms around her waist.
She leaned back against , still staring at the glowing horizon. "It’s perfect."
"Not yet."
She turned to face , confusion in her eyes — until I dropped to one knee.
Her breath caught. "Jace..."
"Mira Romano," I began, voice lower than I intended, but steady. "I’ve spent years trying to protect you, to build sothing that would last... and sohow, in the middle of all that chaos, you beca my peace."
Tears welled in her eyes, and I had to pause just to look at her.
"I don’t ever want us to forget what we fought through to get here," I continued. "But I also don’t want the past to be all that defines us. I want a fresh start. A new promise."
I reached into my jacket and pulled out a ring — a simple diamond. It was delicate and tiless, the exact kind she loved.
"I don’t want to ask you to marry again," I said softly. "You already did that once. I just want to ask if you’ll stay. With . Through the calm. Through the quiet. Through whatever’s left of forever."
She was already crying by then, one hand covering her mouth, the other trembling as she reached for .
"Yes," she whispered. "A thousand tis, yes."
I stood and slid the ring onto her finger. Then she threw her arms around my neck, and I kissed her — slow, deep, like it was the first ti and the last ti all at once.
The string quartet played softly behind us, the city lights reflecting in her tear-streaked smile.
"Now this," she whispered, looking up at , "is my kind of celebration."
"Good," I murmured, brushing my thumb across her jaw. "Because I plan to make it last."
We stayed long after the music faded, just sitting there with her head on my chest, the sound of the waves below us and the faint glow of the candles flickering in the wind.
For the first ti in years, I didn’t think about enemies or power or the next move.
All I thought about was her — the woman who’d survived , loved , changed .
And as the night wrapped around us, I realized sothing that made my chest ache in the best way.
Peace wasn’t a place.
It was her.
And I was finally ho.
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