The funny thing about peace is that it feels strange when it finally arrives.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t boarding a plane to handle a deal or settle a feud. There were no men with me, no briefcases of weapons, no plans spinning in my head. Just one woman who was my wife sitting beside me in a first-class cabin, laughing softly at something on her phone.
And somehow, that felt like power too.
Mira had her hair pulled up in a loose bun, a few curls escaping and framing her face. She wore one of those flowy cream tops that made her skin glow even more under the cabin lights. She wasn’t even trying, but she owned every space she walked into, mine included.
I should have been checking emails or reading the paper like a civilized man, but no. I just sat there, my eyes fixed on her, pretending I wasn’t completely undone by how easily she existed next to me.
"You’re staring again," she murmured, not even looking up.
"Maybe I like what I see."
She turned to me, smiling in that quiet, knowing way. "You’ve been staring since we left the house."
"I’m allowed. You’re my wife." I shrugged.
She chuckled. "Still doesn’t make it less weird."
"Then get used to it, mia cara," I said, leaning closer until she met my eyes. "Because I don’t plan to stop anytime soon."
Her cheeks flushed a little, and I caught the subtle way her fingers gripped the armrest tighter. God, I loved doing that to her. I loved watching er try to keep her composure when all I wanted was to ruin it.
She looked out the window then, her voice soft. "It’s strange, isn’t it? Going somewhere for something other than running or hiding."
I reached for her hand. "You deserve this. Every bit of it."
Her fingers slipped through mine easily, her thumb tracing lazy circles across my skin. "You make it sound like a vacation."
"It is," I said, smirking. "A very romantic one."
"Romantic?" she repeated, half-amused, half-skeptical.
I leaned in close enough for her to catch my whisper. "You’ll see."
Her laugh was low and breathy, the kind that made me forget where we were for a second. I pressed a kiss to her temple, and she sighed like that single touch steadied her.
For the rest of the flight, I watched her until she fell asleep with her head on my shoulder, her lashes brushing her cheek, the soft rhythm of her breathing against my neck. There was something sacred about it. It was like watching peace finally take human form.
I didn’t even realize I was smiling until the stewardess passed by and gave me a knowing look. I ignored her.
Mira shifted slightly, mumbling something in her sleep, and I whispered back, "I’ve got you."
By the time we landed in Lisbon, the sun was just beginning to set, streaks of gold spilling across the skyline. The city was alive, bustling, loud, beautiful in a way that felt untouched by everything we had been through.
The car ride from the airport was quiet, filled with the hum of the city outside. Mira pressed her face to the window, eyes wide with nostalgia.
"I missed this," she said softly.
She turned to me, smiling. "You’re really going to let me drag you through bakeries and supplier meetings?"
"I’ll survive." I smirked. "Besides, I want to see the Mira everyone talks about . The one who terrifies her managers but still makes them fall in love with her pastries."
She nudged me playfully. "You’ll be bored in an hour."
I smirked. "Doubt it."
When we reached the first bakery, she was out of the car before I could open her door. I followed, hands in my pockets, watching her slip right into her element like she’d never left.
The staff spotted her immediately. They froze for a second, wide-eyed, then rushed forward with smiles and excitement. Mira greeted each one of them by name. She hugged the manager, checked the display cases, straightened a tray that was slightly off-center all within the first five minutes.
I stood near the door, unseen but not unnoticed, watching her move through that space with quiet authority. Her energy was different here. She confident, compose and unshaken.
And I’d never been prouder to be standing in it beside her.
She sampled pastries, gave feedback, asked about sales. The staff hung on her every word. There was no trace of the woman who used to tremble when chaos hit. It was just Mira, sure of herself, sure of her purpose.
When she finally turned and caught me watching, she smiled. It was that radiant, effortless smile that made me forget to breathe for a second.
"What?" she asked, laughing softly. "You’re staring again, Jace."
"I’m allowed," I repeated like I was stating the obvious- which I was. I could stare at her all day and night and it would never bore me. This update ıs available on 𝗻𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹~𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮~𝚗𝚎𝚝
She shook her head, walking over. "You look like you’re plotting something."
"Trying to figure out how I got lucky enough to end up with you."
Her laughter faded into something softer. "You’re ridiculous."
"Completely," I said, taking her hand. "But I’m still proud of you, Mira. You built something beautiful. You became someone stronger than I ever imagined."
Her eyes softened, shimmering under the warm shop lights. "We both did."
Maybe she was right. But as I looked at her commanding the room, radiating quiet power, I knew something else too.
Our separation had hurt like hell. But it had built her. It had built us.
It stripped away every illusion we had ever had about love and left only what mattered loyalty, strength, and the kind of devotion that doesn’t break even when everything else does.
I cupped her cheek and kissed her, right there in the middle of the bakery, uncaring who saw.
Her hand curled around my wrist, her lips soft and familiar against mine.
When we pulled apart, she was smiling again - that little smile that told me she knew exactly what she did to me.
"Don’t tempt me in public, Romano," she whispered.
"No promises," I murmured back, taking her lips yet again.
Later that night, as we stood on the balcony of the hotel overlooking the river, she leaned against me, her hair smelling faintly of sugar and vanilla.
Below us, the city glowed with gold lights reflecting on the Tagus like scattered stars.
I wrapped my arms around her waist and rested my chin on her shoulder. "You’re really something, Mrs. Romano."
She hummed, her voice sleepy but warm. "I know."
I laughed quietly. "Cocky now, huh?"
"Only when I’m right."
I pressed a kiss to her neck, breathing her in. "You’re always right."
And for the first time in a long time, there was nothing left to fight. No blood, no betrayal — just us, and the simple, steady rhythm of a love that had survived it all.