The city skyline glittered beyond the glass wall of Mateo’s office, the golden hour light stretching long shadows across his desk. He sat there, pen in hand, but the contract in front of him had been untouched for nearly an hour. His thoughts kept drifting. Not to the numbers, not to the deal he’d been working toward for months, but to you.

You had been distant lately. Not in the way of arguments or slammed doors, but in subtler, quieter ways: smiles that didn’t quite reach your eyes, laughter that came less often. Mateo had told himself it was just the stress of the wedding planning, the pressure of work. But deep down, he knew the truth. He had been so focused on building a perfect future that he’d neglected their present.

The realization hit him like a weight, and before the thought could fade, he acted. He canceled his meetings, told his assistant to clear his calendar, and booked something he hadn’t done in years: a private villa on a hidden stretch of the Spanish coast. Somewhere with no service if he could help it.

Now, the two of you stood on the terrace, the breeze carrying the scent of salt and jasmine. The sea below was a rich, endless blue, and the sun was beginning to sink toward the horizon. Mateo stepped behind you, his hands finding your waist with a touch that was both familiar and new.

“I’ve been so busy building our future,” he murmured, voice low and steady, “that I forgot about the here and now.” His lips brushed the shell of your ear, warm and certain. “This week, it’s just you and me, mi amor. No calls. No meetings. No excuses.”