Chapter 14

Matthew’s POV

The idea of taking Gabrielle out on a proper date wasn’t one I took lightly. After the emotional rollercoaster of yesterday, I needed to show her I wasn’t always a fanged tyrant prone to yelling at my “wife.”

So, I planned something… elegant. Classy. Romantic.

And by “planned,” I meant I instructed Julian to book a table at the fanciest restaurant in town and sent him several blood-themed emojis to emphasize the urgency.

Gabrielle, as usual, was skeptical when I told her about our outing.

“Why do I feel like this is some kind of trap?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Trap? Gabrielle, I am insulted,” I replied, hand over heart. “Can’t a husband take his lovely wife out without ulterior motives?”

She snorted. “You’re always plotting something.”

Touché.

...****************...

The night started off smoothly. Gabrielle looked radiant in a simple black dress, and I, of course, was effortlessly dashing in a tailored suit. We could have passed for royalty if royalty had fangs and caffeine addictions.

The trouble began the moment we stepped out of the car.

“Matthew Gorvell! Over here!”

“Is this your new girlfriend?”

“Are you two engaged?”

“Gabrielle, who are you wearing?”

The paparazzi descended like vultures, their cameras flashing relentlessly. Gabrielle froze, her eyes wide as she grabbed my arm.

“Do they always… do this?” she whispered.

“Only when they smell fresh meat,” I replied, guiding her through the throng with a smirk.

“That’s comforting,” she muttered, glaring at a photographer who was practically climbing onto the hood of the car for a better angle.

“Smile,” I whispered. “Or at least pretend to enjoy yourself. You’re with me, after all.”

She shot me a glare that could have melted steel, but she managed a tight-lipped smile for the cameras.

...****************...

Inside, the restaurant was blissfully quiet, the chaos of the outside world fading into the background. A waiter escorted us to a private corner table, the kind reserved for people like me wealthy, important, and occasionally supernatural.

The ambiance was perfect. Candlelight, soft music, the works. Gabrielle relaxed visibly, her shoulders losing their tension as she glanced around.

“This is… nice,” she admitted, her voice soft.

“Only the best for my wife,” I replied, raising my glass in a toast.

“To what?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

“To surviving the paparazzi,” I said, clinking my glass against hers.

She laughed, the sound warm and genuine, and for a moment, I forgot about everything else my company, my immortality, even the insistent ache of my fangs whenever I looked at her soft, delicate neck.

The dinner was exquisite, though I spent more time watching Gabrielle than eating. She had a way of making even the simplest things look captivating. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear , everything about her was mesmerizing and I had a difficult time controlling myself.

I'll do anything to keep her safe from mortal and immortal world.

she's mine

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