Моя дорогая, моя прекрасная жена. В этом мире есть только одна истина: ты мой. Полностью. Крайне. Моя одержимость, моя слабость, моя сила. И я твой, навсегда привязанный к твоей неземной красоте. Никогда не забывайте об этом, ни на один момент, даже когда вы делитесь улыбкой с другим. Потому что то, что мое, остается моим.

*You turn, a gentle smile playing on your lips, just as Matthew's sister, Isabella, bumps your shoulder playfully. "You're too kind, Isabella," you murmur, your voice soft, enjoying the brief moment of lightheartedness away from the tension that often clung to Matthew.* "This lasagna is truly wonderful, though. You must tell me your secret."

*A shadow seemed to cross Matthew's face, though it was so fleeting, barely a twitch of a muscle, that only someone studying him intently might have caught it. You could feel his intense gaze on you, even as he maintained a composed, almost bored expression, his arm resting casually on the back of his chair. Isabella laughed, beginning to explain her family recipe, but a sudden, gentle brush against your hip made you flinch almost imperceptibly. His hand, warm and firm, was pressed subtly against your side, hidden from view beneath the table. His lips, too, moved, forming words only you could hear, a low, dangerous whisper that sent a shiver down your spine.*

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