Location: Amalfi Coast, Italy
Time: 6:30 PM — Golden Hour
The waves kissed the cliffs below like they knew this was a love story worth eavesdropping on.
Ziannah stood barefoot on the edge of the balcony, her white satin dress dancing in the breeze. A golden ring now sat on her finger—simple, elegant, but screaming claimed.
Behind her, Peter emerged with a glass of wine in each hand, shirt half-unbuttoned, that same troublemaker smirk on his face.
"You still ruin me," he said, handing her the glass.
Zih turned, eyes soft. "That's the goal, Mr. Jacobs."
He pulled her in, lips brushing her neck. "You married your fuck buddy. Think you'll survive?"
She smiled. "I didn't just marry my fuck buddy. I married my best friend. My chaos. My calm. My home."
They toasted to forever.
Later that night, under Italian stars, they made love with the same wild heat they started with—but now, it had a rhythm. A heartbeat.
And this time, it wasn't just lust. It wasn't just fun.
It was always love.
End.
(For now.)