The presidential suite offered a view that felt almost too perfect to be real. Rose Harrison leaned into Maximus Anderson, savoring the quiet warmth of the moment.

Since his heart had finally aligned with his intentions, Maximus felt an overwhelming urge to make it up to Rose. He had spent far too long treating her like an afterthought, lost in the shadows of people who didn't deserve his time. He’d made so many stupid, cruel mistakes since they said "I do," and he was desperate to start over.

"Rose," he asked softly, wanting to start with a clean slate. "How about we take that honeymoon we never had?"

Rose looked up, her eyes wide and shimmering with disbelief. "A honeymoon?"

"Exactly," Maximus said, his voice brimming with sincerity. She had offered him her heart, and he was determined to return the favor with everything he had.

Her eyes brightened, practically glowing. She’d always been a traveler at heart, with a bucket list that spanned every corner of the map. She had actually been planning a solo escape to distance herself from the ghosts of her past—but this? This was infinitely better.

She began to smile, her mind already wandering to potential destinations. Then, a sobering thought struck her: he was the CEO of the Anderson Group now. Surely, he couldn't just walk away from his responsibilities for weeks? But a honeymoon… even a short one felt like a dream come true.

"How much time do we have?" she asked, vibrating with excitement.

Maximus laughed, a low, fond sound, and gently pinched the tip of her elegant nose. "We can squeeze in a week. Does that work for you?" He added, his gaze softening, "We’ll make up for the rest later. How about we make it a quarterly tradition? A honeymoon every three months."

"Deal," Rose beamed, looking as if she were about to float away. "We need to plan this right. I have so many places I want to see!"

"Whatever you want, it’s yours," he whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead.

And just like that, the planning began. From the azure coast of Nice to the lavender-drenched fields of Provence and the ancient heart of Arles, they chased a romance they were only just beginning to define.

As their plane touched down at the international airport, the world seemed to open up for them.

The Mediterranean shimmered like a sapphire dream. They gorged on decadent seafood platters and wandered through the kaleidoscopic charm of the Old Town, basking in the sun while occasionally batting away admirers who dared to approach them.

They let the temperamental climate of Provence play with them—one moment kissed by warm, gentle breezes, the next whipped by wild, bracing winds. They traversed landscapes that felt pulled from a painting, moving from vast, rolling plains to jagged, formidable peaks.

Hand in hand, under a relentless sun, they stood in fields of purple lavender that danced in the breeze, painting the valley in shades of deep violet. For those seven days, the chains of their old lives fell away, leaving them lost in the quiet, profound poetry of Provence.

They ended their journey in the solemn, storied streets of Arles. They wandered through the ancient Roman ruins, toured the museums, and watched the drama of a traditional performance in the arena.

Seven days of laughter, of tangled hands, and of chasing the horizon from one town to the next. For those seven days, it felt as though they were walking straight into forever.